It is rare and splendid event when an author is
elevated from the underground into the international
literary establishment. In the case of England's best-
known and best-loved modern satirist, that event has been
long overdue.
Terry Pratchett's profoundly
irreverent Discworld novels satirize and celebrate every
aspect of life, modern and ancient, sacred and profane.
Consistent number-one bestsellers in England, they have
garnered him a secure position in the pantheon of humor
along with Mark Twain, Douglas Adams, Matt Groening, and
Jonathan Swift.
Even so distinguished an author as
A. S. Byatt has sung his praises, calling Pratchett's
intricate and delightful fictional Discworld "more
complicated and satisfying than Oz."
His latest
satiric triumph, Carpe Jugulum, involves an
exclusive royal snafu that leads to comic mayhem. In a fit
of enlightenment democracy and ebullient goodwill, King
Verence invites Uberwald's undead, the Magpyrs, into
Lancre to celebrate the birth of his daughter. But once
ensconced within the castle, these wine-drinking, garlic-
eating, sun-loving modern vampires have no intention of
leaving. Ever.
Only an uneasy alliance
between a nervous young priest and the argumentative local
witches can save the country from being taken over by
people with a cultivated bloodlust and bad taste in silk
waistcoats. For them, there's only one way to fight.
Go for the throat, or as the vampyres
themselves say...Carpe Jugulum
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