I’m about to sit down and post about the book I read this week but I can’t blog without mentioning Terry Pratchett who died yesterday, Thursday 12th March 2015. I’ve been heartened to see how many writers have wanted to make known their sorrow over his death and their love of his work. Even if the literary establishment doesn’t recognise him other writers (and of course the public) do because this was a man who knew how to bend your reading ear and tell you a story. This was a man who was never pretentious but who understood and knew how to communicate the strange predicament of being human. Like all brilliant writers his fantasies come closer to the truth than any recordings of fact because he knew how to turn philosophical thought into narrative in such a way that most readers weren’t even aware he was doing it. To my mind that is the work of an artist. I’m going to miss having new works of his to look forward to.