Terry Pratchett has written a lot of good books. When my teenage self ran out of Doctor Who novelisations, it was Pratchett's Discworld series that maintained my terrifying reading rate until I was old enough to appreciate all the pop culture and drugs references in the Doctor Who New Adventures.
But of all the Discworld novels, 'Small Gods' is the one to which I keep returning. It's not exactly my favourite, as I always loved the slightly earlier Reaper Man even more because I was a very pretentious teenager. But this
novel is without doubt the most solidly intellectual of the entire canon.
The book takes its premise pretty directly from Diderot's 'Supplement au voyage de Bougainville'. Instead of rules losing their relevance as they become increasingly institutionalised (from social custom, to civil law, to religious doctrine), however, Pratchett plants the subversive idea that it is the Gods themselves who lose their potency as they are surrounded by ever-increasing circles of dogma and Church bureaucracy. Great God Om returns to his domain after several hundred years, only to find that he only actually has one genuine believer, a guileless novice monk called Brutha. Brutha, a young man blessed with total recall, befriends his deity as he is drawn into a political plot to take over Ancient Greece (Ephebe, in Discworld terms).
The wacky theological adventures that ensue are stunning in their diversity. If later scenes in Omnia seem to resonate slightly with current Middle Eastern
conflict, it's worth pointing out that the main thrust of the plot concerns the conflict between the Omnian belief that the world is a globe, and the philosophers of Ephebe who have the (correct) theory that it is in fact a flat disc on the back of a giant Turtle. However much he tries to hide it with desert settings, Pratchett's principal target is Christianity and this novel is an amalgam of the Discworld's Renaissance (all the astronomical conflict) and the Enlightenment (the exploration of more philosophical themes, however watered down for pretentious teenagers).
Of course, there's also much that is hilarious, this being a Terry Pratchett novel. The fact that this superb humour derives mainly from a quaint theological conceit is astonishing. Having previously mentioned a Temple of Small Gods in the Discworld's main city of Ankh-Morpork, the novel expands the concept. The world is full of tiny, potential Gods that swirl in empty spaces waiting for the chance to gain believers. Once a God has belief, it is unstoppable. Without it, it is an insane little voice dwindling into the night. When Om realises he has only one true believer left to him, his panic at the possibility of this happening to him is palpable, and strangely affecting. The scene in which he meets a forgotten God out in the desert is oddly poignant.
Solid comedy comes from the conflict between Brutha's pious vision of his God, and Om's more practical sensibility. Brutha is astonished to learn that when his deity appeared before a prophet in a column of fire, his words did not concern holy commandments, but the choice phrase: 'See what I can do!'
The Ephebians provide even more entertainment, with its cautious philosophers who preach atheism very quietly so as not to offend the terribly physical Gods of the Discworld. This is taken to its very Pratchettesque insane extreme when an Omnian sargeant shouts at Om: 'This changes nothing! Don't think you can get around me by existing!'
However, alongside the belly laughs, Pratchett covers a lot of serious material. The dangers of fanaticism, the ways in which religious faith can be subverted by political concerns, even a hint of an attack on institutionalised child abuse can be picked up from Brutha's early conversations with a very pervy monk obsessed with 'tempting voices'.
Essentially, this is easily one of Pratchett's most important novels. The lack of all the usual characters such as Rincewind, th means that it is often overlooked within the canon, alongside the earlier Pyramids. However, the lack of 'safe' character crutches has forced a writer who occasionally seems to slip into complacency to take a much more dynamic and forceful approach to his work. Even a fleeting visit from the Librarian can't disguise the book's starker feel. With none of the old favourites present, none of the characters are safe from a chat with the good-natured Grim Reaper. It's an approach that could bear repeating. Even as Pratchett attempted to hit the narrative reset button on the increasingly cosy city of Ankh-Morpork in his recent 'Night Watch', few readers believed for a moment that any of the regulars were going to sign off. Which somewhat cheapened Ankh-Morpork's rejuvenated menace. With this all-new cast, Small Gods has no meta-textual assurances that main characters are going to make it to the final chapter. In a book so intent on exposing the evils humanity has committed in the name of religion, scenes hinting at martyrdom for Brutha are gripping and suspenseful.
Read Small Gods. There's a lot of jokes about testicles, nipples and tortoises, but this is combined with some startling insights as to how religion, or our perceptions of religion, can be distorted by hawkish politicians.