by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
First sentence: “It was a nice day.”
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This is one of those “everything but the kitchen sink” kind of books. There’s witches (who carry bread knives around for protection, because that’s the sort of witch they are) and witch hunters. Prophetesses (well, one: who wrote the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, which is surprisingly correct) and anti-Christs (well, one. He’s eleven.). Demons and angels. Not to mention the four riders of the Apocalypse, as well as several telephone salespeople.
And all are headed toward Lower Tadfield. Because, of course, that’s where the End of the World/The Great War/Impending Doom is going to take place.
I adore Gaiman and Pratchett separately, so I figure together (and, yes, it was about time I read this book!) they’d be brilliant. And they were. So much so, that I think I missed a good 60% of the jokes. Completely. It’s not that I didn’t like the book: I did. I laughed at parts, I kept turning pages, I did love bits and pieces of it. But really (and Hubby says it’s because I haven’t seen The Omen, nor do I have plans to), I felt like I was sitting in on a conversation where I got some of what was being talked about, but was, for the most part, left completely out to pasture.
Which means, although it’s brilliant (I really did like the forward and afterward in my 2006 edition), it’s not my favorite Gaiman or Pratchett.