Reading Nation

I tore through both The Graveyard Book and Nation this weekend, a double dose of literary smack that is an excellent definition of being spoiled for choice. The former, ostensibly a book for the younglings, is a satisfyingly disturbing version of Rudyard Kipling's Jungle Book, complete with adoptive family (ghosts not wolves), strange guardian (a [redacted] in place of a panther), and wonderfully creepy villains (both the monkeys and Sher Khan have analogs here). By the bye, anyone who has not read the original Kipling entire has missed out so bad I can't even say; it holds up for adults and you should look well, o wolves, to your local booketeria for a copy. As always, Gaiman's writing gives the sense that the inside of the man's head is something of a fantastic library, full of Victorian children's clothes and strange mythologies. The Graveyard Book is scary without being gross; it sends a fine elegant shiver down the back and is perfect autumn reading.

Nation, now, I'm not sure I can explain my reaction clearly. It's the first of Pratchett's books in a long time not to be set in Discworld, and based on things like Johnny and the Bomb I wasn't sure how it would be. The Johnny books are good, but they haven't had the fine edge that some of the Discworld books have had. The Post's review was glowing, though, and reading it was never in question. I thiefed the family copy and opened it up.

Honestly, I can't say whether it's up to spec, because I spent a goodly share of the book in tears, which is not the typical reaction to Pratchett's writing. The book is passionately angry and joyful and curious about the world and our role in it, especially about who we are when disasters like flu pandemics and tsunamis hit us where we hurt (which is in our people); the man who wrote it is facing a disease that will probably strip away his ability to ask those questions as he watches. All of the anger that you feel at that kind of news is channeled here, into the lives of the two protagonists, but so is the fierce joy in life that makes the diagnosis stand in such sharp relief. People have commented that some of the recent Discworld books, including Nightwatch and Thud!, have been stronger for their darkness and the intensity of the characters' convictions; Nation is all of that without the Vimes, so it's both kinder and a lot more painful. Nation is no-foolin' on the short list for Books of the Year, but I'd be surprised if I were the only one sniffling at the end.