Pretty cool of Samantha Irby to just tell the world about all her bullshit. Made me feel better about all my bullshit. We’re all messes, if we’re beinPretty cool of Samantha Irby to just tell the world about all her bullshit. Made me feel better about all my bullshit. We’re all messes, if we’re being honest with ourselves. Some of us just can’t mask it quite as well as others....more
Thoroughly pleasant. It made me feel good the whole way through. Everyone was kind and competent. The story was about building up together. One can drThoroughly pleasant. It made me feel good the whole way through. Everyone was kind and competent. The story was about building up together. One can dream ...more
Ah, Pratchett, my beloved. It feels good to be back with my ladies: Maiden, Mother, and Crone.
Maiden Magrat – exactly like a 20-year-old witch from thAh, Pratchett, my beloved. It feels good to be back with my ladies: Maiden, Mother, and Crone.
Maiden Magrat – exactly like a 20-year-old witch from the suburbs who talks game on tumblr, but who’s too anxious to be mean to someone in real life.
Mother Ogg – who fucks
Crone Weatherwax – a force of nature. Unyielding as a hurricane, possessing world-shaping magics, like she stared into the eyes of God until he looked away for shame. Who could grab the world by the ear and drag it along until it submitted into a different shape - except she understands that it is best Not To Do That.
As usual, I’m not English enough to really resonate with at least a third of the book. Until out of nowhere it just. Hits.
There’s a scene where Magrat is climbing a tower to stop a wedding – while far away, the city is partying without her. Fireworks burst in the sky: “It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen”
She climbs through the window and stands before a beautiful wedding dress. Then:
“Magrat had dreamed of dresses like this. In the pit of her soul, in the small hours of the night, she’d danced with princes. Not shy, hardworking princes like Verence back home, but real ones, with crystal blue eyes and white teeth. And she’d ~worn~ dresses like this. And they had ~fitted.~
She stared at the ruched sleeves, the embroidered bodice, the fine white lace. It was all a world away from her… well… Nanny Ogg kept calling them ‘Magrats’, but they were trousers, and very practical.
As if that mattered at all.
She stared for a long time.
Then, with tears streaking her face and changing colour as they caught the light of the fireworks, she took the knife and began to cut the dress into very small pieces.”
Not to be trans in public but. Are you. Fucking. Kidding me??? Everything about this. The joy she’ll never reach, muffled by distance, reflected in her tears. YEARNING. Self-destruction. The chasm, suddenly, between what she’s asserted about herself, and what she ~really~ wants. I could scream. How did an old man write this.
The villain is someone who forces people to be happy, and to fit into stories which don’t suit them. Even if it kills them. Her soul is stretched thin by infinite reflections between two mirrors. Inside the mirrors with all her reflections, Granny Weatherwax asks Death, “when can I get out?”
Death says, “when you find the one that is real.”
So Granny looks down at herself, and says,
“This one.”
Pratchett’s got heart. Like no one else in the game. There’s a reason I keep coming back. Bravo. May the earth lay lightly upon you, old man....more
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