This volume contains "Mort", "Reaper Man" and "Soul Music", all starring Death, the "Discworld's" most endearing characters, his steed Binky, his granddaughter Susan, the Death of Rats and all the various denizens of the "Discworld".
Sir Terence David John Pratchett was an English author, humorist, and satirist, best known for the Discworld series of 41 comic fantasy novels published between 1983–2015, and for the apocalyptic comedy novel Good Omens (1990), which he co-wrote with Neil Gaiman. Pratchett's first novel, The Carpet People, was published in 1971. The first Discworld novel, The Colour of Magic, was published in 1983, after which Pratchett wrote an average of two books a year. The final Discworld novel, The Shepherd's Crown, was published in August 2015, five months after his death. With more than 100 million books sold worldwide in 43 languages, Pratchett was the UK's best-selling author of the 1990s. He was appointed an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in 1998 and was knighted for services to literature in the 2009 New Year Honours. In 2001 he won the annual Carnegie Medal for The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents, the first Discworld book marketed for children. He received the World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement in 2010. In December 2007 Pratchett announced that he had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease. He later made a substantial public donation to the Alzheimer's Research Trust (now Alzheimer's Research UK, ARUK), filmed three television programmes chronicling his experiences with the condition for the BBC, and became a patron of ARUK. Pratchett died on 12 March 2015, at the age of 66.
We begin with Mort--poor, hopeless, clumsy, head-in-the-clouds Mort, whose own father fears he has no prospects whatsoever--whom Death takes as an apprentice. Barely into the book, I was reminded of why one cannot read Terry Pratchett on public transportation. Well, if one doesn't mind being thought whacked out, having other riders move away, etc., I suppose it would be ok. Pratchett is just so much fun! Also, I hadn't read Mort before. It was a delightful, magical tale. I'm going to take a break before beginning Reaper Man, so I guess I can't put up my stars just yet. On it's own, I'd say Mort is a good 4.
Continued with Reaper Man--Death is forced into retirement, with his own death looming. On the one hand, this is a tale of how things screw up if we don't have Death, but with a comic flair (as in, laugh-out-loud funny). On the other hand, it's a bit of a character study of Death, including his adventures when he tries life. Either way, a quite worthy read. The bits about the wizards at the University were less engaging than they sometimes are, with the exception of Windle Poons, who dies, but doesn't, what with Death being off duty and all, and comes into his own as a result. Other than the wizards, this would be a 5, so I'm thinking 4-1/2.
Soul Music is next, and I enjoyed Reaper Man so much I didn't even pause before beginning. Pratchett's tale did not disappoint. We have Music With Rocks In. We have wizards who cannot resist this Music. We have Susan, the granddaughter, not fully up on how it all works, though she tries. Sort of. And, of course, we have Death.
It's so long since I originally read Reaper Man and Soul Music that I had them all jumbled up in my head. It was a real treat to revisit them and all the wonderful folks of Discworld. And Mort was a totally new story for me--can't imagine how I'd missed it. Pratchett is just terrific--clever and funny, with a bit of something to say here and there. On this read I would do 4 stars, but that's only because it isn't new for me. So I've put up the 5 I would have given the first time through.
Mort is the first novel in the Discworld series to centre explicitly on the character of Death. Of course, we have encountered Death before—most notably in The Colour of Magic—as a delightfully macabre reaper who speaks in capitals and waits, in vain, for Rincewind to expire. However, his elevation here to a principal role marks a significant step in the maturation of Terry Pratchett’s narrative craft. Indeed, the author himself has admitted that this was the first work in which he felt he had successfully married inventive satire with a coherent and meaningful plot.
The story begins with young Mort, a lad conspicuously ill-suited to agricultural life—he appears to possess more elbows and knees than one might consider anatomically proper—who becomes Death’s apprentice. What follows is a narrative that toys intelligently with philosophical themes such as fate, free will, and identity, all while maintaining Pratchett’s signature wit.
The personification of Death as a figure who is at once paternal, curiously tender, and frequently clueless is paradoxically human, making him instantly endearing. (Not that we disliked him in his earlier appearances, of course—but now we truly get to know him.) Death’s fascination with the human condition—from dancing and drinking to, rather amusingly, gainful employment—yields moments that are as comedic as they are quietly affecting.
Mort, for his part, undergoes a rather compelling transformation. His gradual assimilation into the “essence” of Death introduces ethical dilemmas and psychological tension, deepening the dramatic scope of the novel.
The narrative becomes genuinely delightful when Mort intervenes in the fate of Princess Keli, preventing her assassination and dispatching her would-be killer—thereby disrupting the natural order. Nevertheless, those around her continue as if she were dead, preparing her funeral and mourning her... in her presence. This conceit of an alternate reality—one on the brink of collapse—adds unexpected urgency and narrative propulsion. Meanwhile, the contributions of the wizard Cutwell and Death’s adopted daughter Ysabell offer not only comic relief but also vital support for Mort’s journey.
To be sure, there are moments where the humour overshadows the emotional or narrative depth—an indulgence that may wear thin for some readers. Yet these minor lapses do little to detract from the novel’s overall charm and structural success. Mort is among the first truly accomplished entries in the Discworld canon. With Death at the forefront and a plot that deftly combines magic, metaphysics, and quintessentially British humour, the novel stands tall and inaugurates what might be called the informal “Death Saga” of Pratchett’s universe.
A clever, touching, and uproariously funny read that unquestionably deserves its place among the high points of modern fantasy literature.
2. Reaper Man ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Death learns to live
If you've landed here straight from the clouds—or, more accurately, from the stratosphere of ignorance—and you’re entirely Pratchett-virginal, allow me to begin by saying that the Discworld, the ingenious universe created by Terry Pratchett, is a fantasy realm where satire, absurdity, and human truth coexist in a delicate balance—sometimes tenderly humorous, sometimes sharply ironic. On this disc, which rests upon four elephants standing on the back of a cosmic turtle, anything is possible—even Death losing his job.
Reaper Man (the 11th in the series, and the second to centre on Death) is one of Pratchett’s most touching, philosophical, and well-crafted works, written as he races towards full literary maturity. In its pages, Death is punished for having developed… a personality—an "unheard-of" flaw for a primordial entity of the cosmos. He is compelled to live as a mortal under the name Bill Door, working on a farm beside the elderly, practical, and unexpectedly sensitive Miss Flitworth.
From the imperishable eternal to the grime of the finite everyday Death’s sojourn in the realm of mortals confronts him with something he had never truly experienced, despite his millennia of observing ephemeral humankind: the passage of time, fatigue, fear. And yet, through this journey, Pratchett demonstrates that humanity lies not in biological characteristics but in the capacity for care, sacrifice, empathy.
“No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.”
The book masterfully balances humour and existential inquiry. Through Death, who… learns to live, Pratchett touches upon fundamental questions: What does it mean to have a purpose?What is the value of life if it has no end?
Life after death (or before?) Meanwhile, as Death shovels the metaphorical muck of mortal toil and shared fate, his absence from his official “duties” plunges the world into chaos: the spirits of the dead refuse to depart, and life stagnates. The deceased wizard Windle Poons returns not to seek vengeance by screaming skyward “MWAHAHAHA” amid thunderclaps, but for a second chance to discover what it means to be… alive.
His story—narrated through the hilariously unconventional “undead activist” group, the Fresh Start Club—offers satirical and socially charged counterpoint to Death’s inner path. As ever, Pratchett employs absurdity to speak of the essential: the need for change, for restless thought, for hope.
Satire, yes—but with “ballz” and heart If Mort approached Death as the hero of a fantastical coming-of-age tale, Reaper Man elevates him to an almost theological level. His final dialogue with Azrael, the supreme entity embodying Death of the Universe, is one of the most profound and poetic moments in the entire series (and a majestic application of the theory of the imaginary institution of the real): “You need to believe in things that aren't true. How else can they become?”
The Pratchett locomotive is now running at full speed, with power that transcends the bounds of satire, offering us at least 20 more exceptional stops (books, of course) before that cursed Alzheimer’s desecrates this wonderfully creative, tender, human mind. Reaper Man is a literary moment of self-awareness, a gentle hymn to the importance of finitude, of tenderness, of coexistence. It is the book in which Terry Pratchett, behind the irony and the wit, reminds us that the most magical thing in the universe is that we care. And as long as that continues—in pages, in actions, in memory—Terry Pratchett shall never truly die.
3. Soul Music ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Soul Music – When Music Composes Destiny
Soul Music is among Terry Pratchett’s most inventive, emotionally resonant, and multilayered works—combining his unparalleled wit with a moving exploration of memory, loss, and—naturally—the power of music.
In the sixteenth novel of the Discworld series, Pratchett brings rock 'n' roll to the Disc. And yes, I’m not quite sure why you’d be reading this review if you were unaware of the first fifteen books, but should that be the case, dear reader, know that this is the fever dream of a flat earther (or rather, its ultimate satire): a fantastical disc-shaped world (yes, the water flows off the edge) balanced on the backs of four gargantuan elephants (there is, cosmologically speaking, a significant fifth—but that’s for another volume), who themselves stand upon the shell of a vastly larger turtle travelling through space.
Despite its overtly comic nature, the Disc astutely mirrors our own world—distorted through a lens of satire and sorcery.
Imp y Celyn—“Buddy” to some—is a young bard from Llamedos (and yes, we’ve started…), which is itself an anagram of "sod 'em all", and a nod to Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood, specifically to the town of Llareggub (anagram of “bugger ‘em all”). When reading Pratchett, references will strike like machine-gun fire—you must come armed and alert.
This young bard is literally overtaken by the Music With Rocks In—a quasi-sentient force that emerges on the Disc and uses Buddy as its conduit to revolutionise sound, aesthetics, and culture. Music is not merely the subject of the novel—it is a character with volition. In one of the book’s most telling episodes, Buddy’s band is thrust onto a stage against their will, propelled by an invisible force that refuses to halt—even when they themselves attempt to back away. Music pushes them, quite literally, toward glory—or ruin. This is a clear commentary on the perils of ascent into the pantheon of rock and pop (and, naturally, the charts).
Through the rise of the Band with Rocks In, Pratchett delivers a razor-sharp satire on the history of rock—from the Beatles to Woodstock—while simultaneously offering a commentary on the power of music to move minds, hearts, and indeed reality itself. His parodies of musical genres and their zealous adherents offer him a canvas on which to unfurl his unflagging inventiveness. The wizards of the Unseen University—more accustomed to grimoires, cauldrons, and spells—succumb to riffs and ballads with near-terrifying glee, while CMOT Dibbler, perennial peddler and now band manager, utters such indelible gems as:
“If you can’t sell T-shirts, what’s the point of art?”
—a remark as ludicrous as it is alarmingly accurate when it comes to the entertainment industry.
Meanwhile, Susan Sto Helit—granddaughter of Death, as we’ve come to know him in Mort and Reaper Man (despite his… ahem, intrinsic reproductive limitations)—makes her debut as a compelling heroine: deeply human, quietly incisive, and caught between the world of the living and the obligation to assume her grandfather’s mantle. Her arc is tender and multifaceted, as she struggles to comprehend her identity, balance logic with the inexplicable, and accept that some things—like death, or music—simply are. Her relationship with Buddy is subtly romantic, full of interiority, a note of human warmth amid the chaos of the Music.
Pratchett, known for his razor wit and relentless wordplay, is in full form here. From song titles that cleverly parody pop culture, to the unforgettable quip from Archchancellor Ridcully:
“I don’t know what this beat thing is, but it seems you’ve got one!” —Soul Music hits all the right notes—comic and poignant alike.
Soul Music shines as a beacon within Pratchett’s already dazzling oeuvre, for its ability to bind satire to soul. Here, music is not a decorative motif but a fundamental mechanism, an irresistible force coursing through the world—yet made meaningful only when it encounters the human element: a child with an instrument and a song. Witty, moving, intelligent, and richly enjoyable, Soul Music ranks among the finest of the Discworld novels, and perhaps offers one of Pratchett’s most poignant reflections on the human condition and our cultural hunger for meaning through sound. If you love music, you will adore this book. If you love Pratchett, you already do. It is eminently rereadable—perhaps with a guitar beside you or an old vinyl spinning softly in the background.
And as a cherry on top: the book was adapted into an animated series in 1997, featuring a similarly offbeat aesthetic. It lacks today’s 3D graphics and high-resolution CGI—you’ll be lucky to find it in anything above grimy 576p on some dodgy torrent—but it is PRATCHETT TO THE BONE in tone and spirit, never letting the visuals overshadow the tale.
Terry Pratchett, Is one of my all time best Authors he created a new world in witch I feel I find a home.
His work with the Discworld take me no time at all to read and enjoy from the beginning to the end of each book.
This Trilogy see death take a young woman and giver her a home then comes the male, there is a great deal of funny moments in these books if you take the ride it will take you from daughter to granddaughter we all know that ends with the Hogfather one of the best twists ever written down regarding the commercial Christmas story of Santa Clause
The audiobooks of all three novels are hilariously performed by Nigel Planer in various accents. I admit I listened to the audiobooks first (more than three times) before reading the books (repeatedly) — with no signs of diminishing amusement and chortling on my part. If you're addicted to Terry Pratchett's Death or the Grim Squeaker, this is the perfect thrillogy to get high on. Chances are if you die from laughing over the Death Trilogy, they'll probably bury or cremate you with it.
Pratchett--puns and parody aplenty! Lots of silliness, but a some substance, too. The use of Death as a means of questioning/understanding life is quite effective--not that the author hits you over the head with it. These books are prime examples of the "fun read." Extra points to "Soul Music" for its jabs at numerous musician cliches--too many of which I have experienced firsthand.
Whilst I love all of Terry Pratchett's Discworld books, DEATH is my favourite character. What can you say about someone who name's DEATH'S horse Binky? Or how about DEATH, taking WAR, WANT and FAMINE to a pub to get them drunk? Pratchett's sense of humour is wonderful and I am just deeply sorry that his illness will one day prevent the creation of these wonderful stories.
Reaper Man is my favourite Pratchett book so far. It manages to be funny and philosophical as well as moving. Living in England, this books makes much more sense than if I'd read it in Cali. (I didn't read the last, Soul Music-- will save that for later)
'Mort' was my first Terry Pratchett book. Hilarious and smart (subtle though-provoking). He makes fun of fantasy and this fantasy-buff loves it ^_^ Who would have though that Death is such a sweety-pie?
Liked Mort when I read it a while ago; enjoyed meeting the Death of Rats in Reaper Man. Power-skimmed the last bit of Soul Music. Because I am thoroughly TIRED of the same running joke about "rock music" at least a hundred pages ago.