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I’ve been reading Pratchett for a long time. By my reckoning, I could have been no older than 10 when I read my first Discworld book. I know this because I remember the re-release of one of his non-Discworld books – The Carpet People – being advertised in 1992, which inspired me to check out some of his books from the library. I think the first ones I read were Pyramids, Small Gods and The Colour of Magic.

That was seventeen years ago, which is kind of frightening, but that’s how it is. I grew up reading Discworld and I’m still a fan. This Summer, I’m going to be re-reading the whole series, from The Colour of Magic through Making Money. Or possibly Unseen Academicals, which is due out in October. Pratchett’s one of the few authors whose books I automatically pick up as soon as they’re released. He’s the only author whose books I’ll buy in hardcover. So don’t expect the utmost objectivity with these reviews.

Then again, I can see the flaws in The Colour of Magic. This first book of the series follows the adventures of Rincewind, a hapless wizard, as he tries to keep Twoflower, the Disc’s first tourist, alive against some serious odds. The wafer-thin plot is besides the point, though, and the real meat is in the gentle parody of classic fantasy, which touches on Fritz Leiber, Anne McCaffrey and even H.P. Lovecraft. It’s all rather light and unchallenging, but there’s some genuinely funny bits among the Douglas-Adams-esque absurdity of it all. This one-liner is as funny, if not more so, than anything in Adams:

Let’s just say that if complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he’d be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting ‘All gods are bastards’.

The Colour of Magic is far from Pratchett’s best, but it’s a perfectly good example of the Adams-esque funny-fantasy subgenre. There’s hints of how the series would develop. I was actually surprised by how good it was – it’s been a long time since I read it and I’d assumed it would be a chore in comparison to the more recent novels. It’s far from them in both style and skill, but it’s still a pleasant way to spend a few hours.

I read this before Amsterdam and what with going on holiday, I didn’t have time to write a review. The book’s now back at the library so I don’t have a copy to hand. It was very good though.