Death dons the false beard

© C A Lovegrove

Hogfather by Terry Pratchett.
Penguin Books, 2022 (1996).

Was the Hogfather a god? Why not? thought Susan. There were sacrifices, after all. All that sherry and pork pie. And he made commandments and rewarded the good and he knew what you were doing. If you believed, nice things happened to you. Sometimes you found him in a grotto, and sometimes he was up there in the sky…

On Discworld every Hogswatchnight the Hogfather is expected to take his sledge drawn by four pigs to visit  every child and deliver appropriate gifts. But this particular Hogswatch there is a problem: the figure widely believed to be merely a figment of the collective imagination appears to have been assassinated, and it therefore falls to another figure to secretly stand in for the role of “the Fat Man”.

But his dissembling has aroused the suspicion and then irritation of his granddaughter Susan of Sto Helit, who feels compelled to get involved as Hogswatchnight plays out. Temporarily abandoning her role as governess to Gawain and Twyla Gaiter she steps outside time in an attempt to resolve matters, picking up a decidedly odd divinity along the way.

Nothing in Discworld is straightforward, however, for on its ill-lit motorways of logical narrative there inevitably lurk dirty great big DIVERSION signs, with traffic cones leading the unwary traveller on to confusing roundabouts; take any exit and it’ll lead to murky backstreets thronged with shady characters and clueless bystanders. All that’s certain is that we’ll eventually reach Journey’s End, but where that will leave us is anybody’s guess.

Snowfall in the Preseli Hills in West Wales © C A Lovegrove

Pratchett novels defy simplistic summaries, especially when outlining plots with multiple threads, as here. So as well as Death revelling in rehearsing his new catchphrase HO! HO! HO! (in small capitals, obviously) while the patient Albert forlornly offers advice, we have Archchancellor Ridcully determinedly demanding answers from Hex the Unseen University’s “thinking machine”, the mystery of the Tooth Fairy’s whereabouts, an excess of Belief resulting from the Hogfather’s disappearance which in turn has occasioned the popping into existence of new deities, fairies and household gods, and much else.

But the saviour of the hour increasingly looks like being Susan, the only sensible personage around despite being alternately plagued and advised by, respectively, a wise-cracking raven and the Death of rats. As the true grown-up in the room she represents the adult Susan Pevensie that Narnia ought to have valued and respected but didn’t, to its loss.

In addition I believe Terry Pratchett, who knew his English folklore, may well have taken some inspiration from traditional Mummers Plays for aspects of Hogfather‘s plot. Commonly performed around Christmas and the New Year, these folk plays involve a couple of characters who mock-fight each other, a doctor figure who brings one of the dead combatants back to life, and a Father Christmas who introduces the proceedings, among others. This being Discworld the roles played by these individuals are somewhat swapped around but we definitely have deaths, disguises, a resurrection of sorts, and a personification. All seemingly to ensure that the sun will return to warm the earth.

As with every Discworld novel I’ve so far read Hogfather encompasses much wisdom and humanity – and even righteous anger – under its surface sheen of anachronism, pratfalls, punning and exaggeration. Fallible most of the personages may be but, apart from the occasional sociopath or out and out psychopath, it’s easy to become fond of them. And quintessentially human virtues emerge, often to the surprise of the individual involved.

Also in evidence is a consideration of the nature and function of belief, even those beliefs that may appear as superstitions, and whether such things, even when they’re clearly metaphors, are necessary for our mental wellbeing. As Death says – still in small caps – IT IS THE THINGS YOU BELIEVE WHICH MAKE YOU HUMAN. GOOD THINGS AND BAD THINGS, IT’S ALL THE SAME.

And, as he later tells Susan, HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.

Terry Pratchett is the archetypal jester; the jester’s role in medieval society was not just to entertain and amuse but also, on occasion, to freely comment on and perhaps criticise official attitudes and policies, and so we find that Pratchett’s fiction is full of such jesting yet serious utterances. The Conscience of Discworld turns out to be every bit a Conscience for our own world. HO HO HO.

---

Victorian Christmas Mummers Play

“In come I, Old Father Christmas, welcome or welcome not,
I hope old Father Christmas will never be forgot.

A room, a room
I do presume
For me and my brave gallants all,
Please Sir to give leave to rhyme
For now I am come this merry Christmas time.

Activity of Youth, Activity of Age
The like was never seen before, nor acted on the stage.

A Christmas Play from Keynsham, Somerset, 1822 

© C A Lovegrove

This Yuletide do have a calm and peaceful time – hopefully with a sackful of new books waiting for you under the Christmas tree! 🙂