“[T]he truth was indeed a fog, just like Charlie said, and people shaped it the way they wanted it to go.”
Reading Terry Pratchett, at this point in my life, is nostalgic and comforting for me. I have a shelf spilling over with Discworld novels; they make me remember the best parts of junior high and high school.
Dodger is typically Pratchett, despite the “historical” before “fantasy”. London is alive and dirty, and Charlie Dickens and Sir Robert Peel effectively team up to represent Pratchett’s usual street-smart, moral copper (better known in other works as Samuel Vimes, though I couldn’t speak to cause-and-effect of that inspiration). Dodger‘s fun, and less silly in some respects than his other books. Pratchett’s wordplay is still alive and well. He touches briefly on topics of class and poverty and politics all over the place, even if some characters stayed mostly flat. I think the character problems have generally happened more in his YA books, to be honest. Possibly a side effect of the greater simplicity demonstrated in his plotting.
As entertaining as this was, I couldn’t finish it without wanting to go back to my old favourites. They’ll have to wait their turn, though, because that’s against the rules.
(Also, YAY Oilers. We just beat Dallas, and I totally took a reading break to watch the game. Edmonton hockey problems.)