In a quest to escape the reality of 2020 and recapture my youth, I’ve set myself the goal of reading all 41 Discworld novels in one year. Join me on this voyage of discovery which definitely isn’t a complete waste of time. Mild spoilers, probably.
So, it happened again. Eagle-eyed Pratchett fans will be well aware Maskerade isn’t the 16th book in the series but the 18th. In my defence, a combination of waiting for books to arrive, a pandemic and racial strife meant I dropped the ball and have been reading out of sequence. No fear, I now have both Soul Music and Interesting Times, books 16 and 17, ready to go and some semblance of order, at least on a microscopic scale shall be restored.
Maskerade is yet another entry in the sub-species of Discworld novels dominates by Witches. Here, Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg are seeking out a new third witch for their coven, while Agnes Nitt a.k.a. Perdita X Dream is desperately avoiding being a witch by heading to the city and joining the opera. The opera in question is haunted by a ghost, murderous madmen and the deeply superficial. Yet more reasons to avoid the damn thing.
“Largely though, I couldn’t enjoy it.”
I don’t have much to say in terms of textual analysis about Maskerade other than there is some nice plotting in a few places that give a real sense of craftsmanship to the overall pieces. Largely though, I couldn’t enjoy it. There is a disconnected sense to what's going on and where, and a few of Pratchett’s gags elicited only, “what does that mean?” The writing itself feels rushed or incomplete.
Normally what happens when I think about the books I’m reading in this challenge is I look for some part of the book through which to look at myself. That’s my “Process”, if rambling at length about wizards, witches and my childhood can be said to have a process. But that process shifted while reading Maskerade. The real world invaded my reading far too much. I’d only flick through a few pages before I’d be back looking at the news. My eyes would drift over the text at a reading pace while my mind failed to register the meaning of a single word. Which is to say, it’s not all Pratchett’s fault.
My inability to analyse Maskerade comes from not being able to tell if it was badly written or if I was reading it badly. But, it did help me to think about something outside the text and outside myself. It helped me to look at the process.
If you’ve been following this blog or even read the lede, the point of this challenge was to escape the strains of 2020. I’d been reading and writing a lot about of politics and wanted to recreate a simpler, personal time when I wasn’t quite so despaired at the state of the world (though I admit, the world has always been a shitty place, I was just happier in my ignorance). Inevitably reading satire hasn’t always allowed me to escape the world but it has allowed me to move into myself. It’s not exactly a selfish campaign, but it is insular.
In the book, Agnes Nitt can’t help but investigate the murders in a witchy way, she is just drawn to it. Similarly, I couldn’t help but look at the recent news and, despite thinking I was generally a “right-on” kind of liberal dude, realise I had the luxury of turning away from the plight of others. Of course, I was appalled by the murder of George Flloyd, as I was Tamir Rice, Treyvon Martin and the countless other black men and women killed by police. But my privilege as a white man was brought more clearly into perspective. I could be appalled, and then go back to normal because it doesn’t affect me.
In that same vein, I was tired of the reality bringing me down, so I’ve turned to fantasy not just a solace and the idea that things can be okay, but perhaps as the idea that things are okay. But they’re not.
The immediate reality of the world I live in and my place in it tipped the scales against my ability to get lost in imagination. It might not be the theme of Maskerade, but it’s my inability to connect with it or be seduced by the spell or of creation helped me to sift through my priorities. No, I’m not a racist, but am I anti-racist? Do I know enough? Do I do enough? To quote Pratchett,
“But you ain’t part of it, are you?” said Granny conversationally. “You try, but you always find yourself watchin’ yourself watchin’ people, eh?”
And that’s just it. I realised I’m not apart of what's happening and though I think I’m supporting black people by not being racist, I’m sitting back and watching.
It seems trivial to say “a book I didn’t enjoy helped me to realise my white privilege creates it’s own fantasy world.” But the fact I remember exactly where I was when Barrack Obama was inaugurated and thought the fight against racism is almost over (Old Bar, Leeds University Union) and where I was when I watched the racist American polices respond to accusations of brutality with brutality (in my flat, failing to read Maskerade) makes it a milestone in my own education about what I think about race.
I guess all this pontification and navel-gazing boils down to the question “when does escapism become a privilege?”
I don’t really know anything about the opera, the core setting for Maskerade and I don’t really know anything about what it’s like to be black. But I know I need to learn more (about the black experience, not opera). As Pratchett writes of a minor character visiting the Opera to better himself culturally,
“His progress through life was hampered by his tremendous sense of his own ignorance, a disability which affects all too few.”
I hope I can get a better sense of my own ignorance.
