“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…”
Such words have never been truer than when read in the wake of the announcement that Discworld author Terry Pratchett has died, aged 66, after battling with Alzheimer’s disease (or embuggerance as he called it).
Pratchett wrote with levity and enthusiasm, creating a wealth of characters, starting with the cowardly wizzard Rincewind and slowly building the repertoire into a world filled with barbarians, thieves, city guards and so many more.
I first encountered Discworld when I was fifteen years old, starting with the first book in the series, The Colour of Magic. Whilst the lack of chaptering and the speed with which the settings could change were a little bewildering, I was swept up in the adventures of Rincewind and Twoflower, and would often stay up reading late into the night. From there I moved on to the rest of the series, revelling in the seedy underbelly of Ankh-Morpork with the Night Watch, or watching the Lancre coven debating when they should next meet up.
After being diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s in 2007, writing became harder, and Pratchett started to use dictation software and rely on his assistant RW to continue his novels. Pratchett helped campaign tirelessly for more funding for the disease, often speaking publicly on the subject and even presenting two documentaries on both the disease and assisted death.
Pratchett often claimed to be leading three lives, and the announcement of his death today certainly feels like it has left hole big enough for such a great character. Though the Discworld legacy will live on through his daughter Rihanna, any new stories will never be quite the same.
Regardless of the future, Terry Pratchett’s many fans can almost certainly take solace that he was met by the anthropomorphic personification of Death that existed throughout all his works.
He will be sorely missed.