Flak Magazine: Review of The Fifth Elephant, 05-05-00

What makes an otherwise respectable book escapist? Light, zesty prose. A sunny outlook on things in general, complemented by witty dialogue. Trolls, dwarfs and a talking dog probably won't hurt your case too much, either.

Terry Pratchett's Discworld series of fantasy novels is consistently popular, particularly in Britain. His non bodice-ripping, non yam-straining, non "oh God, take me right here in the carriage, you vampire lover!" volumes are world-renowned for their smooth texture and digestibility. His latest, "The Fifth Elephant," is served up right according to spec: it's bright, it's engrossing, and it's a nice quick read.

"The Fifth Elephant" is rather straightforward as these things go. There's the usual heir apparent to the throne, and his werewolf girlfriend. There's an ancient, rock-hard scone that dwarf-kings sit upon. There's a guy killed by being pushed into a vat of rubber. And there's a small, witty talking dog named Gaspode who, naturally, is sassy and lovable.

The plot revolves around the theft (and possible destruction) of the Scone of Stone, a dwarf artifact with considerable geopolitical importance to the vast and barbaric land of Uberwald. This, in turn, means the nasty old piece of bread has indirect but considerable importance to the cosmopolitan burg of Ankh-Morpork, home base to the Discworld series.

As the book unfolds, some stuff happens, witty lines are said, and the ambience of a really good, lightly drunken Advanced Dungeons & Dragons adventure is consistently maintained. With "The Fifth Elephant," Pratchett accomplishes the literary equivalent of hitting the bull's eye by walking within 10 paces of the target and then firing a shotgun. His clean, wit-laden writing deftly paints character sketches and humorous situations, but he fails to score any really telling points.

Pratchett builds characters like a master carpenter might build outhouses - each unglamorous but servicable unit is a little different, but all of them get the job done. You can count on every character to have a distinguishing quirk, and for none of them (even the bad guys) to be too unpleasant to hang around with. When the book is boiled down to its essence it is a comedy, for God's sake.

As such, it's is a good antidote to the more serious reading that some of us might accidentally stumble into. There's nothing like a quick escape to whimsical Discworld after having read, say, a soul-starving account of Jewish refugees being beaten by British soldiers on their way back to occupied Palestine.

Escapism aside, the beauty of books like Pratchett's probably has considerably more to do with their value as gateway literature than anything else. A young person could conceivably start off with Pratchett books, acquire a taste for dry wit and creativity, begin reading some of the more simple (and essential) post-modernists like Kurt Vonnegut and then find themselves wrapped up in some of the really hard stuff, like Pynchon.

And while this isn't necessarily the case (in fact, in some of the ugly scenarios, Pratchett books could actually cause young people to play Magic, or, worse, read Xanth novels), there's a good chance of Pratchett's writing doing good for the sharper little pre-teens out there.

A final note: your copy of "The Fifth Elephant" may claim to contain a SPECIAL "Guide to the World of Terry Pratchett." This incredible masterwork, which seems to have taken a small team of interns at least an afternoon to complete, is a couple of character lists and a miserable little crossword puzzle. Keep hopes low.

So: "The Fifth Elephant." Is it art? Probably not. Is it entertaining? Yes. Is Pratchett a helluva writer — again, yes. World-weary and downtrodden depressive types of the world, rejoice: "The Fifth Elephant" is a book that won't hurt you.

"The Fifth Elephant" wants to be your friend.

— James Norton (jrnorton@flakmag.com)