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Tales of Discworld
Dust jacket "When readers visit the Discworld, they're most likely to end up in the odiferous city of Ankh-Morpork or the magic-filled land of Lancre. But in this three-in-one volume, you get to explore other places of interest on this tasty little pizza-shaped planet. Places like the tiny but ancient kingdom of Djelibeybi, which boasts more pyramids per triangular foot than any other; Holy Wood, a ghostly repository of celluloid dreams and terrors; and Omnia, desert home of a people dedicated to the Great God Om...."
742 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2000
3 people are currently reading
820 people want to read
About the author
Terry Pratchett
680 books46.2k 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.
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
June 22, 2025
1. Pyramids ⭐⭐⭐
An Eccentric Satire on Tradition and Time
Perhaps the most unconventional and experimental novel in the widely beloved Discworld series by Terry Pratchett, Pyramids was awarded the British Science Fiction Association prize in 1989. Nevertheless, it remains one of the author’s lesser-known works – likely because it diverges from the familiar subject matter and iconic locations of the Disc. In short, it strays from the beaten path and has been somewhat devoured by obscurity.
The protagonist, Teppic (short for Pteppicymon XXVIII), is a young assassin trained in Ankh-Morpork, who is obliged to return to his ancestral kingdom, Djelibeybi – a surreal, ironic pastiche of Ancient Egypt. His central conflict – between the need for change and the inertia of tradition – delivers a pertinent and weighty commentary, served with Pratchett’s signature subversive humour.
The plot is rich as a proper pastry custard (the kind now lamentably rare, given the public’s unfortunate infatuation with that abomination known as whipped cream), though at times fragmentary. A host of secondary characters – such as the philosophers of Ephebe, the obsessively consistent contractors Ptaclusp, or the “eerily eternal” high priest Dios – enrich the novel’s intellectual universe, though not always to the benefit of its narrative cohesion.
Compared to other Discworld titles, Pyramids oscillates between the theological satire of Small Gods and the philosophical musings of Mort, where concepts such as time and fate are treated with both wit and gravity. Yet here, the intellectual heft is distributed rather unevenly, with ideas introduced boldly but not always developed to their full potential.
The allegory of the “temporal polder” – a domain cordoned off from the flow of time – is arguably the book’s most philosophically ambitious construct. It touches upon the notion of how societies entrench themselves in a self-contained, anachronistic stasis, resisting external change. However, despite its symbolic power, this idea remains somewhat underutilised: Pratchett opens a tantalising metaphysical door, only to leave it swinging.
Dios, as the personification of unyielding tradition, is perhaps the most striking and sinister character in the novel. His devotion to preserving order at any cost exposes the absurdity of “eternal” continuity. Yet his denouement feels somewhat hurried, as though he deserved a more gradual narrative dismantling.
Pyramids is a bold work, brimming with acerbic satire aimed at religion, conservatism, and the machinery of power. While its ideas are undeniably clever and its scenes frequently delightful – notably the return of long-deceased gods and monarchs – the execution is uneven and at times chaotic.
Conclusion:
A novel marked by intellectual ambition, scathing humour, and existential curiosity, Pyramids does not always succeed in balancing satire with narrative coherence. It remains, however, a noteworthy and distinctive stop on the Discworld journey – ideal for the initiated, but perhaps less enticing for newcomers.
For those embarking on their first visit to the Disc, more accessible starting points might be Guards! Guards! , Mort , or Wyrd Sisters – works that strike a more harmonious balance between plot, humour, and philosophy.
In any case, Pyramids reaffirms that even when Pratchett misses the mark, the journey remains well worth taking.
2. Moving Pictures ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐
In Moving Pictures, the tenth instalment of the Discworld series (a noteworthy milestone – we've reached double digits), Terry Pratchett brings the enchantment of cinema to the Discworld with his trademark imagination and wit. The book serves as a parody of Hollywood’s Golden Age and its grand cinematic narratives – from Gone with the Wind to King Kong – all filtered through Pratchett’s distinctive style: incisive satire, surreal twists, and unexpected existential undertones that emerge from the most improbable of plots.
The story begins with a seemingly innocuous invention – the “moving pictures” (clicks) – which swiftly spirals into a runaway industry of illusion and dreams. Our protagonist, Victor Tugelbend, an underachieving wizard, and Theda “Ginger” Withel, a provincial beauty with cinematic aspirations, embody the archetype of the aspiring stars, while Dibbler, reimagined here as a producer, offers a pointed satire of greed and the commodification of art. All the while, Gaspode – the cynically hilarious talking dog (who also plays a memorable role in the iconic adventure game Discworld Noir) – steals the show.
Moving Pictures truly shines in its lampooning of cinematic tropes and the human craving for fame and illusion. The “magic” of Holy Wood reveals itself to be a perilous force, warping reality and opening rifts to the dreaded Dungeon Dimensions – a clever metaphor for the ways in which the stories we tell ourselves can distort the world around us.
That said, the novel is not among the most structurally cohesive entries in the series. While rich in ideas, the plot occasionally meanders, and the tonal shifts – from light-hearted to eldritch – occur without much warning. Certain characters, notably Ginger, might have benefited from deeper development. Nevertheless, Pratchett’s prose remains a delight – replete with wordplay, cultural allusions, and an evident affection for the narrative craft itself.
The upshot? A delightful, postmodern fable about cinema, magic, and the lies we tell ourselves in our search for meaning. While it may not match the masterful coherence of other Discworld volumes, it offers ample humour, reflection, and a sharp mirror to our own world. A must-read for Pratchett enthusiasts and a commendable entry point for lovers of satire.
3. Small Gods ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Small Gods (the 13th novel in the Discworld series) is arguably Terry Pratchett’s most philosophical and provocative work. Though nominally (and, admittedly, practically) part of the wider series that spans 41 volumes, it functions entirely independently and requires no prior familiarity with the other books — unlike Mort (which deals with Death and fate) or Guards! Guards! (a satire on policing and political institutions). Small Gods, by contrast, strips Discworld of its usual cast of familiar faces and focuses instead on one god and one believer — making it stand out through its contemplative tone and its focus on the nature of belief, divinity, and humanity. It explores how belief itself confers existence upon the divine — belief which, of course, originates in the human.
The story begins with the god Om, who has been trapped in the body of a humble tortoise due to the fact that only one true believer remains: a young novice named Brutha, illiterate but blessed (or cursed) with a photographic memory and very little critical thought (if this brings to mind the rote-learners of your schooldays who could recite a text flawlessly without grasping its meaning, I don’t blame you — I despised them too). Their journey, both literal and spiritual, leads them into conflict with a theocratic empire, philosophers with dangerously subversive ideas, and a regime terrified of dissent (nothing more familiar, really…). The result is a rich allegory exploring the relationship between faith and power, as well as the capacity of individual conscience to resist dogma.
Pratchett, with his trademark humanist wit and quiet irony that never bows before sacred cows, absurdities or cognitive dissonance (the quintessence of all religion), takes aim at institutions and authority. In one scene, for instance, Om — still a tortoise — attempts to deliver a divine sign to Brutha by dropping a brick on his head, only to discover that “divine revelations have a disappointingly low success rate when they involve blunt force trauma.” In another, the philosophers of Ephebe engage in an abstract debate about the existence of the external world, even as one of them is quite literally on fire, refusing to acknowledge it because it “didn’t fit with his theory.”
Yet despite the satire, the novel is not devoid of tenderness. Brutha does not become a prophet because he hears voices or performs miracles, but because he learns to think, to feel — and ultimately, to doubt. His transformation from a passive believer to a morally autonomous individual forms the novel’s core, as does Om’s own slow and moving metamorphosis from an egotistical god into something more… human.
If there is a flaw, it is that the plot occasionally halts to make room for philosophical or historical digressions. These, however, serve to deepen the work’s intellectual resonance — even if they require a touch more patience from the reader.
Small Gods is a bold meditation on what it means to believe — not necessarily in a god, but in something greater than oneself. It challenges without alienating, amuses without mocking (well, perhaps it does mock — but with that distinctly Pratchettian elegance), and moves without ever descending into sentimentality. One of Pratchett’s most mature and distinctive novels, and an ideal point of entry for those wishing to explore the Discworld through a more philosophical lens.
An Eccentric Satire on Tradition and Time
Perhaps the most unconventional and experimental novel in the widely beloved Discworld series by Terry Pratchett, Pyramids was awarded the British Science Fiction Association prize in 1989. Nevertheless, it remains one of the author’s lesser-known works – likely because it diverges from the familiar subject matter and iconic locations of the Disc. In short, it strays from the beaten path and has been somewhat devoured by obscurity.
The protagonist, Teppic (short for Pteppicymon XXVIII), is a young assassin trained in Ankh-Morpork, who is obliged to return to his ancestral kingdom, Djelibeybi – a surreal, ironic pastiche of Ancient Egypt. His central conflict – between the need for change and the inertia of tradition – delivers a pertinent and weighty commentary, served with Pratchett’s signature subversive humour.
The plot is rich as a proper pastry custard (the kind now lamentably rare, given the public’s unfortunate infatuation with that abomination known as whipped cream), though at times fragmentary. A host of secondary characters – such as the philosophers of Ephebe, the obsessively consistent contractors Ptaclusp, or the “eerily eternal” high priest Dios – enrich the novel’s intellectual universe, though not always to the benefit of its narrative cohesion.
Compared to other Discworld titles, Pyramids oscillates between the theological satire of Small Gods and the philosophical musings of Mort, where concepts such as time and fate are treated with both wit and gravity. Yet here, the intellectual heft is distributed rather unevenly, with ideas introduced boldly but not always developed to their full potential.
The allegory of the “temporal polder” – a domain cordoned off from the flow of time – is arguably the book’s most philosophically ambitious construct. It touches upon the notion of how societies entrench themselves in a self-contained, anachronistic stasis, resisting external change. However, despite its symbolic power, this idea remains somewhat underutilised: Pratchett opens a tantalising metaphysical door, only to leave it swinging.
Dios, as the personification of unyielding tradition, is perhaps the most striking and sinister character in the novel. His devotion to preserving order at any cost exposes the absurdity of “eternal” continuity. Yet his denouement feels somewhat hurried, as though he deserved a more gradual narrative dismantling.
Pyramids is a bold work, brimming with acerbic satire aimed at religion, conservatism, and the machinery of power. While its ideas are undeniably clever and its scenes frequently delightful – notably the return of long-deceased gods and monarchs – the execution is uneven and at times chaotic.
Conclusion:
A novel marked by intellectual ambition, scathing humour, and existential curiosity, Pyramids does not always succeed in balancing satire with narrative coherence. It remains, however, a noteworthy and distinctive stop on the Discworld journey – ideal for the initiated, but perhaps less enticing for newcomers.
For those embarking on their first visit to the Disc, more accessible starting points might be Guards! Guards! , Mort , or Wyrd Sisters – works that strike a more harmonious balance between plot, humour, and philosophy.
In any case, Pyramids reaffirms that even when Pratchett misses the mark, the journey remains well worth taking.
2. Moving Pictures ⭐ ⭐ ⭐⭐
In Moving Pictures, the tenth instalment of the Discworld series (a noteworthy milestone – we've reached double digits), Terry Pratchett brings the enchantment of cinema to the Discworld with his trademark imagination and wit. The book serves as a parody of Hollywood’s Golden Age and its grand cinematic narratives – from Gone with the Wind to King Kong – all filtered through Pratchett’s distinctive style: incisive satire, surreal twists, and unexpected existential undertones that emerge from the most improbable of plots.
The story begins with a seemingly innocuous invention – the “moving pictures” (clicks) – which swiftly spirals into a runaway industry of illusion and dreams. Our protagonist, Victor Tugelbend, an underachieving wizard, and Theda “Ginger” Withel, a provincial beauty with cinematic aspirations, embody the archetype of the aspiring stars, while Dibbler, reimagined here as a producer, offers a pointed satire of greed and the commodification of art. All the while, Gaspode – the cynically hilarious talking dog (who also plays a memorable role in the iconic adventure game Discworld Noir) – steals the show.
Moving Pictures truly shines in its lampooning of cinematic tropes and the human craving for fame and illusion. The “magic” of Holy Wood reveals itself to be a perilous force, warping reality and opening rifts to the dreaded Dungeon Dimensions – a clever metaphor for the ways in which the stories we tell ourselves can distort the world around us.
That said, the novel is not among the most structurally cohesive entries in the series. While rich in ideas, the plot occasionally meanders, and the tonal shifts – from light-hearted to eldritch – occur without much warning. Certain characters, notably Ginger, might have benefited from deeper development. Nevertheless, Pratchett’s prose remains a delight – replete with wordplay, cultural allusions, and an evident affection for the narrative craft itself.
The upshot? A delightful, postmodern fable about cinema, magic, and the lies we tell ourselves in our search for meaning. While it may not match the masterful coherence of other Discworld volumes, it offers ample humour, reflection, and a sharp mirror to our own world. A must-read for Pratchett enthusiasts and a commendable entry point for lovers of satire.
3. Small Gods ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Small Gods (the 13th novel in the Discworld series) is arguably Terry Pratchett’s most philosophical and provocative work. Though nominally (and, admittedly, practically) part of the wider series that spans 41 volumes, it functions entirely independently and requires no prior familiarity with the other books — unlike Mort (which deals with Death and fate) or Guards! Guards! (a satire on policing and political institutions). Small Gods, by contrast, strips Discworld of its usual cast of familiar faces and focuses instead on one god and one believer — making it stand out through its contemplative tone and its focus on the nature of belief, divinity, and humanity. It explores how belief itself confers existence upon the divine — belief which, of course, originates in the human.
The story begins with the god Om, who has been trapped in the body of a humble tortoise due to the fact that only one true believer remains: a young novice named Brutha, illiterate but blessed (or cursed) with a photographic memory and very little critical thought (if this brings to mind the rote-learners of your schooldays who could recite a text flawlessly without grasping its meaning, I don’t blame you — I despised them too). Their journey, both literal and spiritual, leads them into conflict with a theocratic empire, philosophers with dangerously subversive ideas, and a regime terrified of dissent (nothing more familiar, really…). The result is a rich allegory exploring the relationship between faith and power, as well as the capacity of individual conscience to resist dogma.
Pratchett, with his trademark humanist wit and quiet irony that never bows before sacred cows, absurdities or cognitive dissonance (the quintessence of all religion), takes aim at institutions and authority. In one scene, for instance, Om — still a tortoise — attempts to deliver a divine sign to Brutha by dropping a brick on his head, only to discover that “divine revelations have a disappointingly low success rate when they involve blunt force trauma.” In another, the philosophers of Ephebe engage in an abstract debate about the existence of the external world, even as one of them is quite literally on fire, refusing to acknowledge it because it “didn’t fit with his theory.”
Yet despite the satire, the novel is not devoid of tenderness. Brutha does not become a prophet because he hears voices or performs miracles, but because he learns to think, to feel — and ultimately, to doubt. His transformation from a passive believer to a morally autonomous individual forms the novel’s core, as does Om’s own slow and moving metamorphosis from an egotistical god into something more… human.
If there is a flaw, it is that the plot occasionally halts to make room for philosophical or historical digressions. These, however, serve to deepen the work’s intellectual resonance — even if they require a touch more patience from the reader.
Small Gods is a bold meditation on what it means to believe — not necessarily in a god, but in something greater than oneself. It challenges without alienating, amuses without mocking (well, perhaps it does mock — but with that distinctly Pratchettian elegance), and moves without ever descending into sentimentality. One of Pratchett’s most mature and distinctive novels, and an ideal point of entry for those wishing to explore the Discworld through a more philosophical lens.
June 15, 2014
This omnibus was a collection of three of Mr. Pratchett's books: Pyramids, Moving Pictures, and Small Gods. Pyramids was interesting in that the main character was adamant that he didn't want to be the King after his father passed, and yet, when his kingdom disappeared, he did whatever it took to get it back. It's the nice philosophy of 'you don't know what you've got until it's gone'. Moving Pictures was an amusing look at the film industry (and I just loved how Mr. Pratchett didn't even try to really disguise the fact that the main characters were based on Clark Gable and Marilyn Monroe). Small Gods was, by far, my favorite in the trilogy. The ideas he presented, that gods rely on humans for life because they feed off of human belief, and the challenges that Brutha faced in being the prophet and how he stood up to both gods and man, were really intriguing. I found myself both liking and disliking Om, and as a god squaring off against other gods and getting them to pay attention to what goes on dirt side was an interesting twist that redeemed his character in my eyes. As usual, all the stories were peppered with Mr. Pratchett's unique brand of humor, which I seriously admire. Good stories all around.
August 24, 2024
V good
September 6, 2015
This book has Pyramids, Moving Pictures and Small Gods in it. I have already read and reviewed the first two elsewhere. I read this one for Small Gods. I am happy the way it ended, and there was lots of thought provoking stuff along the way, but I just don't enjoy stories with so much religion in them. Of these three books, I think I liked Moving Pictures the best.
Read
September 24, 2015great as all his are
March 26, 2017
40 of so books, different collections, some audio, it's pratchett, read and heard some as well, all. Dates wrong.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews