Hogfather (Discworld, #20; Death, #4)

by Terry Pratchett

Getting an education was a bit like a communicable sexual disease. It made you unsuitable for a lot of jobs and then you had the urge to pass it on.

“Wherever people are obtuse and absurd . . . and wherever they have, by even the most generous standards, the attention span of a small chicken in a hurricane and the investigative ability of a one-legged cockroach . . . and wherever people are inanely credulous, pathetically attached to the certainties of the nursery and, in general, have as much grasp of the realities of the physical universe as an oyster has of mountaineering . . . yes, Twyla: there is a Hogfather.”

Yes, Virgina there is Santa Claus

“No, no, no!” said Albert. “You got to put a bit of life in it, sir, no offense intended. It’s got to be a big fat laugh. You got to . . . you got to sound like you’re pissing brandy and crapping plum pudding, sir, excuse my Klatchian.”

Mind you, the stuff for the girls was just as depressing. It seemed to be nearly all horses. Most of them were grinning. Horses, Death felt, shouldn’t grin. Any horse that was grinning was planning something.

HAH, YES. HE ACTUALLY SAYS IN HIS LETTER, “I BET YOU DON’T EXIST ’COS EVERYONE KNOWS ITS YORE PARENTS.” OH, YES, said Death, with what almost sounded like sarcasm, I’M SURE HIS PARENTS ARE JUST IMPATIENT TO BANG THEIR ELBOWS IN TWELVE FEET OF NARROW UNSWEPT CHIMNEY, I DON’T THINK. I SHALL TREAD EXTRA SOOT INTO HIS CARPET.

“I ought to point out that she decided to do that so the Hogfather would think she was sweet,” said Susan. “Including the deliberate bad spelling. But look, why are you—” SHE SAYS SHE IS FIVE YEARS OLD. “In years, yes. In cynicism, she’s about thirty-five. Why are you doing the—” BUT SHE BELIEVES IN THE HOGFATHER? “She’d believe in anything if there was a dolly in it for her.

And Susan was bright enough to know that the phrase “Someone ought to do something” was not, by itself, a helpful one. People who used it never added the rider “and that someone is me.” But someone ought to do something, and right now the whole pool of someones consisted of her, and no one else.

AND I MADE SURE SOME OF THEM SAW ME. I KNOW IF THEY ARE PEEPING, Death added proudly. “Well done, sir.” YES. “Though here’s a tip, though. Just ‘ho, ho, ho’ will do. Don’t say, ‘Cower, brief mortals’ unless you want them to grow up to be moneylenders or some such.” HO. HO. HO.

HO. HO. Albert gave up. “Well, Crumley’s in The Maul, for one. Very popular, the Hogfather Grotto. They always have a good Hogfather, apparently.” LET’S GET THERE AND SLEIGH THEM. HO. HO. HO. “Right you are, master.” THAT WAS A PUNE OR PLAY ON WORDS, ALBERT. I DON’T KNOW IF YOU NOTICED. “I’m laughing like hell deep down, sir.” HO. HO. HO.

“You can’t give her that!” she screamed. “It’s not safe!” IT’S A SWORD, said the Hogfather. THEY’RE NOT MEANT TO BE SAFE. “She’s a child!” shouted Crumley. IT’S EDUCATIONAL. “What if she cuts herself?” THAT WILL BE AN IMPORTANT LESSON.

I THOUGHT IT WAS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY, said Death. “Ah, well, yes, you see, one of the things that makes folks even more jolly is knowing there’re people who ain’t,” said Albert, in a matter-of-fact voice.

It was amazing how many people spent their whole lives in places where they never intended to stay.

“Charity ain’t giving people what you wants to give, it’s giving people what they need to get.”

He didn’t believe in any gods, since most wizards seldom like to encourage them, but he prayed anyway the fervent prayers of an atheist who hopes to be wrong.

MERE ACCUMULATION OF OBSERVATIONAL EVIDENCE IS NOT PROOF.

HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.

YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES. “So we can believe the big ones?” YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING.

This is very similar to the suggestion put forward by the Quirmian philosopher Ventre, who said, “Possibly the gods exist, and possibly they do not. So why not believe in them in any case? If it’s all true you’ll go to a lovely place when you die, and if it isn’t then you’ve lost nothing, right?” When he died he woke up in a circle of gods holding nasty-looking sticks and one of them said, “We’re going to show you what we think of Mr. Clever Dick in these parts . . . ”