![]() It’s the last night of the year, the time is turning, and if Susan, Gothic governess and Death’s granddaughter (sort of), doesn’t sort everything out by morning, there won’t be a morning. It’s just not right to find Death creeping down chimneys and trying to say Ho Ho Ho. Superstition makes things work in the Discworld and undermining it can have Consequences. OH, THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN THE STOCKING THAT MAKES A NOISE, said Death, OTHERWISE WHAT IS 4:30 A.M. ![]() The Discworld is very much like our own – if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is. ‘Has the energy of The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and the inventiveness of Alice in Wonderland’ Sunday Times ![]()
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