What do you think?
Rate this book
Soul Music [Discworld]. BCA edition
Hardcover
Published January 1, 1994
About the author
Terry Pratchett
684 books46k followersSir 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.
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.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 of 1 review
June 25, 2025
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.
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.
Displaying 1 of 1 review