It may be obvious if you’ve read some of my previous blogs (so not obvious at all then), I am quite fond of the works of Terry Pratchett. I have read many of his Discworld novels, my favourite being Mort (although Guards! Guards! has a special place in my heart) and the first two of the Long Earth series. My friend, also a big Pratchett fan, recommended me Good Omens as something that isn’t Discworld but equally funny and good. So, I borrowed the book. Then proceeded to not read it for several years. Since he never asked for it back, I assume it is mine now, but the twanging guilt every time I saw it on a bookshelf finally caused me to snap and read it.
Good thing I did.
Not many books make me laugh out loud, and this delivered several times. Excellent British wit and humour carry this absurd yet vastly enjoyable story.
In a short summary, an Angel and Demon are good friends and have grown to be rather fond of Earth. Unfortunately, the Apocalypse is just around the corner, so in order to keep their beloved Earth they must find the Antichrist and find some way to stop him. Many eccentric characters can be found here, including the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse (including Death from Discworld in in same capital-letter print way of speaking), a witchhunter called Newton Pulsifer and his witch love interest Anathema Device. I did find the sheer number of characters as well as some of the ‘main’ cast being introduced relatively late into the book a slight issue, but not enough to ruin the read. I think it also helped that I am British myself, so could relate to a lot of the humour that might not be so obvious for those not from ol’ Blighty.
A stand out moment for me was Crowley’s (the demon) plant tending method:
What he did was put the fear of God into them. More precisely, the fear of Crowley. In addition to which, every couple of months Crowley would pick out a plant that was growing too slowly, or succumbing to leaf-wilt or browning, or just didn't look quite as good as the others, and he would carry it around to all the other plants. "Say goodbye to your friend," he'd say to them. "He just couldn't cut it. . . " Then he would leave the flat with the offending plant, and return an hour or so later with a large, empty flower pot, which he would leave somewhere conspicuously around the flat. The plants were the most luxurious, verdant, and beautiful in London.
Also the most terrified.
I would highly recommend giving it a read if you are fond of good, British humour and don’t take religion too seriously. It involves religion, but you don’t really need to understand it or be a part of it to read this.
As it says on the front cover of my copy, “Heaven to read, and you’ll laugh like Hell.”