Book Review: Hogfather (Death #4) by Terry Pratchett (three stars)
“You a witch or something?” moaned the bogeyman. “I’m just . . . something.
A several bubbles off straight-and-level look at Christmas, except in Discworld it’s Hogwatch and the fat guy in the Santa suit is … well, it’s Pratchett’s zany take on all things remotely Yule. If you’ve read the blurb you know what … or, who is up. Full of cynicism and snarky takes on everything and everyone.
“I just want to make sure I’ve got this clear,” said the oh god [of hangovers] in a reasonable tone of voice. “You think your grandfather is Death and you think he’s acting strange?”
Pratchett is an acquired taste, which I never acquired. This is my fourth attempt. The ping pong progress is familiar to his fans; disorientating to the rest. Some excellent zingers, but no substance.
“Real stupidity beats artificial intelligence every time.”
My kids are fans – I’ve managed to plow through a couple of them.
An acquired taste – I don’t find satire and sarcasm fulfilling. Interesting, yes. Capable of causing me to want larger doses than an occasional Dave Berry end-of-year, no. (This year’s one was good.)
It’s too exhausting to be in on the in jokes.