Terry Pratchett Books

The Colour of Magic was Pratchett’s first Discworld book. It came out when I was thirteen and I gobbled it, and then every other book he ever wrote. It was different from anything that had come before: sui generis, I think posh people call it. In a class of its own. Rubbish wizards, elderly barbarian heroes with false teeth, a flat planet carried on the back of a giant turtle … The Colour of Magic took tired ideas in fantasy writing and turned them on their head, creating something completely new and fresh. Also, did I mention funny? So, so funny. I still read the entire Discworld series from start to finish at least once a year and it always makes me think the world is a better place for having had Terry Pratchett in it.