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It's a long time since THE COLOUR OF MAGIC and THE LIGHT FANTASTIC took the reading public and satire by the heels and gave them a good shake. Discworld's evolution has not, perhaps, strictly followed along the lines of that laid down by Darwin but has, on the whole, been good fun and captivated the reading public. Thoughts of money, no doubt, have a very depressing effect on most people. Perhaps the contemplation of it for months on end might stunt the humour arising from one's creative juices, but there has to be a reason for Terry Pratchett not making me laugh quite as much as usual in this outing. It's not as though, in the face of his enormous success over the years, that the author could be wondering if he should take out a mortgage on a seaside holiday shack. Moist von Lipvig first appeared in GOING POSTAL and made a big impression on the reading public and Discworld alike. It's a shame that Pratchett couldn't keep the same impetus going in an examination of Discworld's Mint, but that's money for you. Von Lipvig made an enormous success of the postal system to the extent that he is now almost respectable. He can still add interest to his existence by going on climbing expeditions in the middle of the night but, with his girlfriend absent, life lacks a certain zing of pleasure. Still, he's not terribly well prepared when the bank's chairman, Mrs Lavish, turns up her toes, appointing Mr Fusspot the chairman and giving him into the care of Moist. Mr Fusspot is her dog. Moist, of course, brings his massively criminal intellect to bear on the problems of the Mint and bank alike. If the gold has disappeared from the vaults of the Mint, what sort of standard should replace the Gold Standard? And can Vetinari find a use for all the golems that have recently been disinterred? If this work had been produced by lesser hands than those of Terry Pratchett, I would, doubtless, have found no fault with it, but this is Terry Pratchett. Somehow, one expects a more distinct spark to his work. There are laughs – Gladys the Golem, who, by rights, should be sexless, gives rise to some of them – but they are not as belly-quivering as is customary for those arising from a Discworld novel. Perhaps it's because of the absence of the Witches, or even Rincewind, from this opus that left it a bit flat. I hope Terry Pratchett returns to his customary gold standard with the next outing.
Reviewed by Denise Pickles, October 2007
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