Mort by Terry Pratchett
Mort was the first Discworld novel to focus on Death (previously limited to scene-stealing walk-on parts), and arguably the first one to have a proper plot. Death, for reasons never quite explained, recruits an apprentice named Mort, a gawky, gangly teenager from the Ramtops. Mort is soon upgraded from stable-cleaning to soul-reaping duties, but he bungles one of his early jobs, thwarting the fated assassination of a princess and thereby causing a schism in reality.
It’s clear Pratchett takes delight in this opportunity to flesh out (for want of a more appropriate term) Death. As the skeletal harvester of souls enjoys some downtime, we learn of his passion for cats, his bemused regard for human customs, and his confected, monochrome Domain. Death’s otherworldly presence is captured wonderfully from the very beginning – his hand ‘smooth and rather yellowed like an old billiard ball’, his cough ‘like the pistol-crack of an ancient beam full of death-watch beetle’. Pratchett can send a shiver down the spine, then immediately undercut it with a wisecrack as dry as a bone, or a (literal) pratfall.
It’s an odd experience re-reading a Discworld novel after more than 20 years – the movement of the story feels nearly new, but particular scenes and jokes are startlingly familiar, as if the better part of them had been lodged in the back of my mind all this time. Among these old favourites were a footnote about monarchy travelling faster than light, and the section where Mort visits a pub and samples the corrosive drink ‘scumble’. There’s also plenty of stuff that must have flown way over my head during my first read.