Terry Pratchett, Carpe Jugulum
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'You just . . . killed someone?' said Agnes.
'Of course. We are vampires,' said Vlad.
'Or, we prefer, vampyres. With a "y". It's more modern.'
Pratchett takes a rapier to Goth pretensions by way of warm-up,
but is really after bigger game: the dark and mesmerising power
of style, beauty and popularity. I rave about Pratchett all
the time. This is good stuff. Just read it.
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Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn
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Okay, the blurbification on the back cover calls it ``enchanting'',
``unforgettable'', and ``an enduring tale ... of the special magic
that burns deep within every heart,'' so naturally I was nervous. But,
thank heavens, Mr Beagle seems to have understood that to approach
this stuff without a sense of humour is to kill it. And how can you
not love a tale that features, for example, the leader of an outlaw
band in the woods that worries about his PR in terms like this:
One always hopes, of course, even now -- to be collected,
to be verified, annotated, to have variant versions, even
to have one's authenticity doubted ... well, well, never
mind. Sing the other songs, Willie lad. You'll need the
practice one day, when you're field-recorded.
I kind of wish I had an imaginative 13-year-old on my
Christmas list, just to give this book to. Is that corny, or what?
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