Running Close to the Wind

by Alexandra Rowland

And finally … eternal and undying thanks to Terry Pratchett. I never got to meet him, and that breaks my heart to this day. His books taught me so much about comedy and about how devastatingly, breathtakingly kind it is to be able to openly love the messy, beautiful, deeply imperfect, and yet deeply human experience of being alive, and trying your best, and sort of just doing an okay job at it along the way. His books taught me even more about anger and justice and the grim necessity of engaging in a scrungly, undignified mud-wrestling match against Entropy just for the sake of wresting from its jaws one single scrap of fairness that’s gotten a bit raggedy and smells rank (but take it to a good dry cleaner and maybe they can work a miracle or two for ya). Injustice abounds—the injustice of institutions, of entrenched systems of hegemony, of capitalism itself. Terry Pratchett’s works (and mine, I hope) serve as a reminder of the single most important lesson we have in resisting oppression: The best comedy comes from a place of deep, righteous anger—and as long as you can laugh, there’s still a part of you that’s free.