The Last Continent - Terry Pratchett

The Aussies are a very interesting bunch. They must be the only people on the planet who pride themselves on their peculiarities, and you’d be hard pressed to find a more captivating nation. So, it was only a matter of time before Mr. Pratchett sank his teeth into this very workable subject.

If you know Terry’s writing, you will know that he has an almost uncanny, and very clever way of mirroring our society in that of the Discworld’s, sometimes so obscurely that you could miss it if you weren’t paying attention. But that is what makes his books so much fun, and always worth at least two or three reads…there is always something new to discover within its pages.

Unfortunately perhaps, with such a wonderful setting as XXXX (i.e. Australia), it’s natives and it’s beer-swilling population of corked-hat wearing Bruces, he chose my least favourite character, Rincewind, the erstwhile failed wizard of Unseen University to be the intrepid explorer.

There is plenty to untangle within the story: how Vegemite came about, what the legend behind bullroarers are, and just how loony a person can get living in the middle of the outback with only beer and sheep for company.

What is not so apparent however, is where the sub-plot fits in: the faculty of Unseen University climbing through the bathroom window of one of the missing (and lesser known) faculty members, into a strange world where they meet the Creator, a little grey haired man who builds everything from machinery parts. It does detract from what I consider to be the main plot, that is, Rincewind and the very annoying little kangaroo that disappears every time Rincewind tries to find out what the mission is that he is supposed to be accomplishing. That is supposed to be finding out where ‘The Wet’ went. Or in our terms, why the hell doesn’t it rain?!

After a trek across the Australian Outback, and almost being killed a dozen times, Rincewind picks up a wooden object and swings it above his head, thereby calling the rain. Which arrives. Now, correct me if I am wrong, but surely the final ‘crescendo’ should be exactly that, and not a wet squib, if you’ll pardon the pun?

It was the first time I had ever worked out the ending before it came, and to be truthful, I was disappointed. I enjoyed the middle of the book more than the end, which ended in such an anti-climax that I wondered if my days of enjoying Terry’s work were over.

To be fair though, perhaps all writers have off days, or in this case, off books. I feel that so much more fun could have been had with a different hero, possibly Cohen the Barbarian, who little is written about, and that the Australian theme could have been played out to the max.

But, I hasten to add, it is not a wasted buy: Terry still manages to come up with some hair-raising situations, and side-splittingly funny remarks. It should give you a pretty good giggle at best.