Alan Hammler

TRU3032: Dissertation

5 May 2015

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Dedicated to the memory of Sir Terry Pratchett, without whom my literacy, sense of

humour and this work would be in no doubt found wanting. I am sure he would

appreciate it:

Several times he had to flatten himself against the shelves as a thesaurus

thundered by. He waited patiently as a herd of Critters crawled past,

grazing on the contents of the choicer books and leaving behind them

piles of small slim volumes of literary criticism. (Guards! Guards! 191)

A special thank you to Melissa Trender for allowing me to adjourn the cover page with

her wonderful illustration, The Great A’Tuin.

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Table of Contents

Introduction .............................................................................................................................. 4

Critical Background ............................................................................................................ 8

Chapter 1: Editorial Footnotes ........................................................................................ 13

Immersive ............................................................................................................................ 15

Digressive ............................................................................................................................. 17

Chapter 2: Deviant Footnotes .......................................................................................... 20

Regressive ............................................................................................................................ 21

Florid ...................................................................................................................................... 24

Chapter 3: Conclusion ......................................................................................................... 27

Works Cited ............................................................................................................................. 30

Works Consulted ................................................................................................................... 32

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Introduction

“Imagination, not intelligence, made us human. Squirrels are quite intelligent when it

comes to nuts, but as far as we can tell they never told stories about a hero who stole nuts

from a god.”

- Terry Pratchett (Foreword 6).

In a 2010 interview with the Times Higher Education, the late Sir Terry Pratchett

recounted the impetus behind The Colour of Magic (1983). Whilst it was not his first

fantasy novel, it marked a revitalisation of a perceived banality besetting the genre, and

the epoch of Discworld:

Why did I write it? Because I thought fantasy was getting silly... because I

got fed up with the post-Tolkien stuff. You know: “Ho, landlord! A pint of

your finest ale!” No one ever says that who is not on drugs... And so I said,

let’s write fantasy as if the people are actually real even if the situations

are not. (Gilbey)

Pratchett’s desire to somehow bring reality, or a more human element, to the fantastical

was an intriguing prospect. Could humanity be realistically portrayed outside the real

world? If the foremost scholars in the field can “agree that fantasy is about the

construction of the impossible” (James, and Mendlesohn 1), then how can an accurate

representation exist without its possible context? Pedantry aside, this was not to read

too much into Pratchett’s words. Having accumulated forty Discworld novels over the

past decade (in some cases, twice), a mixture of intuition and experience insisted that

Pratchett had sustained, by definition, a paradox; mimesis, or the “rendering [of] reality

(Hume xi), within fantasy. Of course, any reader of Discworld is also aware of

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Pratchett’s inconsistency in maintaining this reality; no small thanks to his penchant for

referring back to our own universe. Regardless, the subsequent outpour of mourning

from fans after his death contained celebrations and responses to his work that gave

further impetus to my conjecture. One eulogy stated:

And that was for me the key thing about Pratchett’s fantasy. It always has

reality stitched into it, so people . . . who don’t read much fantasy feel at

home in his world of magic, monstrousness and mortality. We recognise

our own chaotic lives, the exaggerated characteristics of the people we

know and the institutions that make up our world. (McDermid)

McDermid’s recognition of the (ironic) realism of Pratchett’s work, at least in regards to

his portrayal of humanity, resonated with reviews and critics across his readership.1

This shared awareness clearly confirmed the potential of examining Pratchett’s

execution of mimesis, despite his aforementioned habit for dispelling the illusion.

However further investigation did not yield a discovery of Pratchett, by some literary

magic, producing reality-tearing paradoxes to create his mimetic works. Instead, his

ability to inject reality into a fantasy setting is dependent on manipulation of the

reader’s perspective. Farah Mendlesohn refers to this perspective as the “reader

position[:] . . . an invitation to construct a fictionalised self who can accept the

construction of the rhetoric of a particular fantastic text” (Rhetorics xviii). In building a

convincing reality, maintained consistently at a distance from our own, the fictionalised

self becomes enveloped by the new universe. Mimesis, to the writer, then becomes a

1 For further examples, see Ben Aaronovitch’s “Raising Steam – Review”,

Brandon Sanderson’s “Discworld Might Be the Highest Form of Literature on the

Planet”, and Andrew M. Butler, Edward James, and Farah Mendlesohn’s compilation of

essays, Terry Pratchett: Guilty of Literature. All offer high appraisal of Pratchett’s ability

to reproduce the human condition in prose.

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point of conveying reality in a different but otherwise accepted context. As a

consequence the previously stated ‘mimesis within fantasy paradox’ is negated,

provided that the writer keeps the fictionalised self within the new world. Returning

the reader’s attention back to the reality they inhabit voids the fictionalised self’s

acceptance of the writer’s creation. If the construction is fabrication then mimetic

depiction cannot be accurate, thus both are dismissed.

Of course, Pratchett breaks this rule frequently yet has ostensibly become

immune to the consequences, thus the overarching aim is to establish how Pratchett

maintains a mimetic perspective in his works whilst simultaneously including elements

that destabilise them.

It is unsurprising, at this juncture, that one would question the relevance of the

titular references to footnotes. As David Langford states in his introduction to Guilty of

Literature, Pratchett’s use of them is “notorious” (11). Despite the frequency in which

footnotes appear in the Discworld novels, Pratchett’s footnotes have so far remained

out of the spotlight of academic engagement. Yet if one were to compare his adaption of

this critical device against its historical use, one will note that they authenticate his

fiction. By masquerading as the genuine input of an editor, these digressions grant a

potential to purport reality. Thus, an examination of the footnotes of Discworld and the

extents to which they are used to substantiate the world presented to the fictionalised

self.

The methodology hereafter employed is wholly reliant on how we, as the reader,

respond to how Pratchett chooses to present his footnotes. With every footnote, the

fundamental questions posed are: What is it that these supplements do for the main

text? Where and when do they come in the main text? Are they relevant? How is the

language or rhetoric suited to the effect of the footnote? What is the effect? And

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ultimately, does the effect authenticate or destabilise the illusion of the fantastic as real?

In responding to these questions, I contend that a pattern emerges in which one can

suitably categorise Pratchett’s footnotes into one of two forms: Editorial and Deviant.

The first is given to footnotes that authenticate fantasy; the second, to those that dispel

it. A chapter is devoted to each of these classes detailing, their characteristics and

function. In providing footnotes from Discworld novels that exemplify these

descriptions, the classes are split further into subcategories: Immersive, Digressive,

Regressive and Florid. In turn these are dependent on whether the footnote continues

or deviates from the narrative path; however, one should note relevance is measured by

the footnote’s relation to the point of its intrusion and not its relevance to the text as

whole. The reason for this is simply due to the task being markedly easier when

confronted by the many examples that change relevancy halfway through their

contribution; in other words, starting on-topic then trailing off (or vice-versa).

To give a brief overview, Immersive footnotes supplement the fictional context of

a text’s universe via contributions that are relevant to the moment they annotate;

Digressive footnotes also expand context but by temporarily leaving the subject at hand;

Regressive footnotes denote pertinent information but, in doing so, draw attention to

the entire work’s contrivance; lastly, Florid footnotes are both irrelevant and weaken

the fictionalised self’s ability to believe in a fictionalised universe.

The result of this classification shall provide a means of understanding the

structures footnotes place on the main text in fantasy narratives. Using the taxonomy as

apparatus, it can be shown how Pratchett can destabilise Discworld, from the

perception of the fictionalised self, without dispelling the illusion entirely. It is this

work’s overarching contention that he is able to do this by reversing the fantasy-reality

dynamic. Fantasy becomes reality and, conversely, reality to fantasy; therefore,

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intrusions of reality merely become flights of whimsy that cannot compromise the

Discworld’s structure.

Critical Background

There are three distinct areas of literary theory needed in forming the proposed

taxonomy: fantasy as a genre and its characterisation; mimesis and its relation to

fantasy; and critical understanding of paratext, specifically footnotes.

Beginning with the first, in order to assess the extent of Pratchett’s

authentication of Discworld, one must be sure that we are, in fact, dealing with the

fantasy genre. According to Farah Mendlesohn in Rhetorics of Fantasy, the long-

standing debate over its characterisation reached a consensus, albeit a broadly general

one. The major theorists in the field, Tzvetan Todorov, Rosemary Jackson, Kathryn

Hume, W. R. Irwin and Colin Manlove, are now rarely subscribed to individually as the

quintessence of fantasy characterisation but together, as an intermeshing “range of

critical definitions” (Mendlesohn, Rhetorics xiii). Broadly speaking, despite their

divergence in theories, they “all agree that fantasy is about the construction of the

impossible whereas science fiction may be about the unlikely, but is grounded in the

scientifically possible” (James, and Mendlesohn, Introduction 1). Of the theorists James

and Mendlesohn highlight, Hume and her Fantasy and Mimesis present an opportunity

to bring together two of the three required fields of aforementioned literary theory.

The most recent text of the above theorists, Hume’s work attempts to unify the rift in

western literature between fantasy and mimesis, responding to the ubiquitous idea that

the two are irreconcilable. Hume cites the reason for this as a critical marginalisation of

fantasy: “The recent theorists assume, along with Plato and Aristotle, that the essential

impulse behind literature is mimetic, that fantasy is therefore a separable, peripheral

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phenomenon” (8). In order to resolve fantasy’s disassociation with mimesis, Hume

elects to revise an accumulated twenty years worth of critical definitions for fantasy:

I propose a different basic formulation, namely, that literature is the

product of two impulses. These are mimesis, felt as the desire to imitate,

to describe events, people, situations, and objects with such verisimilitude

that others can share your experience; and fantasy, the desire to change

givens and alter reality. . . We need not try to claim a work as a fantasy

any more than we identify a work as a mimesis. Rather, we have many

genres and forms, each with a characteristic blend or range of blends of

the two impulses. (20)

So the contention Hume is making is that, fantasy and mimesis are not mutually

exclusive. Fantasy is not an entirely separate entity or genre to be cast away from the

rest of literature but an element that has a presence “in most literature . . . even as it

includes mimesis” (22). Therefore Fantasy and Mimesis provides an excellent

theoretical background in which to discuss Pratchett’s style in reproducing reality

within fantasy.

A further benefit of Hume’s work is that, at its foundation, it attempts to fill in

the gaps left by Erich Auerbach’s groundbreaking Mimesis: The Representation of Reality

in Western Literature. Auerbach’s intention was to survey the styles, techniques and

conventions used to imitate reality throughout Western literature, the depth and scale

of which, has canonised Mimesis as the most seminal text of its kind. Hume adopts a

similar strategy whereby her redefinition of fantasy assimilates a whole range of texts

whose fantastical elements were previously overlooked. The opportunity Hume

presents by conjoining fantasy and mimesis is, however, not without challenge. One

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such opponent is the aforementioned Farah Mendlesohn, whose own theories certainly

put forward a worthy counter.

As stated, it is Mendlesohn’s belief that the debate over defining fantasy has

reached a conclusion of sorts. Her interests, then, are not to do with what constitutes

the genre but better methods of understanding it. Specifically, Mendlesohn sets out in

Rhetorics to classify the types of structure that compose fantasy through a criterion of

tropes (xiii). To accomplish this, Mendlesohn has set out to “argue that there are

essentially four categories within the fantastic” (xiv). Each of these categories is

indicative of certain structures that keep the narrative within that classification. In the

case of Discworld, it is designated as immersive fantasy by Mendlesohn in a chapter on

the subject and thus its rhetoric is intended towards “[presenting] the fantastic without

comment as the norm both for the protagonist and for the reader” (xx).

The three that remain are portal-quest, intrusive and liminal: “In the portal-

quest we are invited through into the fantastic; in the intrusion, the fantastic enters the

fictional world; in the luminal fantasy, the magic hovers in the corner of our eye” (xiv).

Where Mendlesohn poses an obstruction to Hume is in the former’s criterion of

what constitutes effective immersive fantasy:

It should construct an irony of mimesis in which ornamental speech and

persuasive speech become inseparable . . . Irony of mimesis does not

necessarily mean that we are assumed to be in the world (although this is

one technique), but that we must share the assumptions of the world as

much as a contemporary reader of Jane Austen shared the assumptions

she presented in Pride and Prejudice. (59)

Like Hume, Mendlesohn has settled on this conclusion by a revision of definitions. In

Hume’s case it was to change fantasy, whereas Mendlesohn opts for a redefinition of

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mimesis within fantasy i.e. the “irony of mimesis” notion. In brief, Mendlesohn means

that a successful fantasy becomes a reality in itself to the fictionalised reader. As an

accepted reality, one can attain mimetic writing but that renders the faux reality a

believable experience. In that case, does one discuss such mimesis as genuine?

Remedying the differences between Hume and Mendlesohn’s theories is paramount to

determining whether Pratchett truly and successfully recreates our world through

another.

In comparison to the critical fields pertaining to fantasy and mimesis, the

concern afforded to paratext is not quite as wealthy, especially in relation to footnotes.

Gerard Genette’s Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation elaborates on the significance of

the kinds of text that is included both within and outside a book but is not the main

narrative itself. For example headings, cover illustrations, page numbers, and footnotes

to name a few. Genette’s encyclopaedic survey is valuable as it provides a basis of

understanding one can juxtapose with the footnotes usage in fiction. Shari Benstock in

At the Margin of Discourse: Footnotes in the Fictional Text actually does this; however,

Benstock does not specifically cite Paratexts as the source of her understanding of

footnotes, an addition which certainly would have proved beneficial for its abundant

detail on all aspects of footnoting. Despite this, she provides an important point no less:

Footnotes in fictional texts do not necessarily follow the rules that govern

annotation in critical texts . . . they belong to a fictional universe, stem

from a creative act rather than a critical one, and direct themselves

toward the fiction and never toward an external construct. (204-5)

By oscillating between Genette and Benstock, the difference between footnotes in

critical and fictional texts becomes a setting in which to stage an examination of

Pratchett’s footnotes. That being said, every aspect of this essay’s main concerns,

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fantasy, mimesis, and paratext, all have a designated critical background in which to

begin a discourse that unites them: mimetic depiction in fantasy via annotation. So, at

last, we may begin.

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Chapter 1: Editorial Footnotes

“HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING

APE.”

- Death (Hogfather 422).

The footnotes that constitute the Editorial category possess, if one interprets

Mendlesohn correctly, the immersive fantasy’s quality of language required to attempt

to convince a reader of the credibility or realness of a fantasy creation: “The immersive

fantasy is a fantasy set in a world built so that it functions on all levels as complete

world . . . it must assume that the reader is as much a part of the world as are those

being read about” (Rhetorics 59). The language of such works are therefore tailored to

encapsulate the reader. In other words, information about the fantasy are presented as

stating ‘facts’; for example, a regular in Pratchett’s Editorial footnotes is the phrase ‘in

fact’. The utility of this utterance is that, being such a short, common phrase, it can be

applied en passant without the reader divining its purpose. Unnoticed, it tells the

reader the footnote is above reproach for how could one argue with something known

to be true. While on some other plane of consciousness one is aware that these ‘facts’

are fantasy, in the moment the fictionalised self is engaged, we are denied the ability to

contest the veracity of what we are told. However, tailored language is only half of what

Editorial footnotes can do to immerse readers. What they actually are has as much to

do with this power of infallibility as its language. Here, Benstock’s input is paramount.

Foremost, the answer is in the name itself. The eponym for Editorial footnotes

originates, unsurprisingly, from its own ability to annotate the main text under the guise

of an editor. Benstock explains that an editor’s role in footnoting critical texts was to:

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Ensure the authority of the text either by extending the critical argument

or by limiting it-that is, either by offering external support (i.e.,

references) for the argument or by sufficiently constraining it to make it

safe, enclosed by the language that articulates it. (205)

She continues by stating that though the effect of the ‘editor’ in fiction is similar, it

cannot refer to external supports that do not exist therefore the footnotes “can only

extend the authority of the text by seeming to enlarge the context in which the fiction

takes place” (219). Therefore the ‘power’ that was mentioned also, partly, comes from

the reader’s belief that the annotations symbolise the necessary additions, amendments

and supplements needed to elucidate a writer’s work.

An important feature of the footnote taxonomy is that, whether Editorial or

Deviant, a footnote is always further categorised by its relevance. The reason for this is

because based on relevance alone, the effects they produce are too different to discuss

logically under the Editorial/Deviant headers. In the case of Editorial footnotes, the

relevancy sub-categories are Immersive and Digressive footnotes. The former seeks to

maintain the narrative by highlighting certain information, either to clarify or correct it.

Its counterpart, essentially, provides the same service but to a field that is not relevant

to course of the narrative at that time. Between the two of these sub-categories, the aim

henceforth is to elucidate how their unique contributions to a text secure Mendlesohn’s

Immersive fantasy: a world that whilst one is in it “we are allowed no escape” (Rhetorics

xiv), as well as the vast difference granted by their relevancy’s effects to the narrative..

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Immersive

The Immersive footnote, due to its similar meaning, derives its name from

Mendlesohn’s Immersive class of fantasy. Although both categories of the Editorial

footnote attempt to realise fantasy, the Immersive footnote does so without leading the

reader away from the machinations of the main text. Thus the keeping of the reader

within the moment of the narrative makes it a far more apposite choice in receiving the

‘immersive’ eponym.

Nonetheless the Discworld series’ samples of immersive footnotes are quite

prevalent, there being an understandable need to elucidate features or characters that

readers, new to the novels, will be unfamiliar with. For example, Night Watch (2002), as

the twenty-seventh Discworld novel, has a vast antecedent of lore, history, characters,

and in-jokes. The Librarian, faculty member of the Unseen University and a favourite

amongst fans, was introduced in The Colour of Magic but transformed into his current

form, an orangutan, during the events of the second novel, The Light Fantastic (1986).

Despite appearing in nearly every Discworld novel, the nature of the majority of these,

with the possible exception of the Tiffany Aching series, are standalone. Therefore

peculiarities entirely pedestrian to readers au fait with Pratchett’s novels sometimes

require reasserting with every new narrative. The appearance of the University’s

librarian as an ape is one such peculiarity. Hence his first line in Night Watch, “‘Ook,’

said the Librarian*” (58), is annotated by:

* Who was an orangutan, changed from his former human shape as a

result of a long-forgotten magical accident. It was so forgotten, in fact,

that now people were forgetting he was an orangutan. This might seem

quite hard to do, given that even a small orangutan is quite capable of

filling all immediately available space, but to the wizards and most

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citizens he was now just the Librarian, and that was that. In fact, if

someone ever reported that there was an orangutan in the Library, the

wizards would probably go and ask the Librarian if he’d seen it. (58)

It is a rather interesting creative choice for this footnote to be connected to the main

text by enjambment. Its use in this instance exemplifies cogent syntax that allows a

more fluid transition between the question raised by the text, what is “Ook”?, and the

response in the annotation. However, enjambment is, clearly, not unique to Immersive

footnotes but certain syntax and general choice of language are. Most obviously, the

language will reflect the movements of its referent as well as an assertive development

of it.

One first encounters these traits in the above with “it was so forgotten, in fact”.

The purporting of facts has already been covered, what is more interesting at this

juncture is the notion that the history surrounding the Librarian is so extensive in its

reach, the most significant and pertinent incident to his abnormal morphology is now

beyond the memories of Discworld’s denizens. Seasoned readers of Pratchett will be

able to recall, twenty-five novels ago, the specific near-apocalyptic event that

transformed him. In terms of “enlarging the context in which the fiction takes place”

(Benstock 219), the effect of this particular footnote is twofold: both an insinuation of

the depth and breadth of Discworld and an appreciative nod to those who have

remained readers through two decades of work.

The rest of the language is subtly designed to be expressed in a manner similar to

the effect of dropping ‘in fact’ into a sentence but without an explicit reference to

feigned truth. For example, “This might seem quite hard to do” assumes the reader into

a conversation with the writer. The reader cannot respond but their scepticism for the

Librarian’s genus apparently going unnoticed is assumed and given response. The

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response eventually culminates with “and that was that”, a colloquial, but no less firm,

QED.

In light of these qualities, it only remains to conclude that the effectiveness of

Immersive footnotes is dependent on the quality of writing used in creating them. As

Pratchett’s footnotes highlight, the writer’s aim should be to draw the reader in and

challenge their misconceptions by stating irrefutable ‘facts’. To this effect, the imposed

structure on the narrative is one of support. With more context provided by the

footnotes, the more effectively the fantasy purports to be real.

Digressive

Of the four classes of footnote identified, none are more ubiquitous in Pratchett’s canon

than those that digress from narrative’s path. The reason for this category’s prevalence

is that, unlike its sibling, who is tied down to the subject of its referent, it grants free

reign to explore any other aspect of the fantasy, essentially without limit. Whilst

Immersive footnotes still enable a certain amount of freedom, it cannot compare to all

that is off-topic. As a result, the Digressive footnote is a far superior informant of

fantasy and thus has a higher frequency of use.

The language of Digressive footnoting will have the same immersive qualities as

its Editorial counterpart: purporting factually based histories, and expansions on a

fantasy’s fictional context. Further analysis of the language would not glean any more

than has already been shown; however, at this stage, a look at the difference of between

Immersive and Digressive style content would be far more valuable. With the room for

exploration in Digressive footnotes only limited by the imagination of its writer,

studying an example of Pratchett’s yields proof of their boundless potential.

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The first Discworld novel, The Colour of Magic, presents a fine example in which

Digressive footnotes can be explored. Whilst The Colour of Magic only contains one

footnote it is not for this reason that it should be dissected. Instead, it is its unusual

length that warrants critical attention. Being a mere few pages into the narrative, the

length of the annotation spans two half pages. At its intrusion, the reader has just

learned that one of Discworld’s greatest cities, Ankh-Morpork, is burning to the ground

(again), and is being watched from afar by two highwaymen. Having spotted two riders

escaping the blaze, one of the two thieves steps from the shadows to assume his trade

on the road when he is met with the following reaction: “‘Bugger off,’ said the face.

‘You’re Bravd the Hublander,1 aren’t you?’” to which the annotation begins: “1 The shape

and cosmology of the disc system are perhaps worthy of note at this point” (20). The

irrelevance of this first sentence is self-evident but it does highlight an important, albeit

obvious, relationship that all footnotes will have with their referent. No matter the

category, the referent provides a launch point by which to begin the annotation. In that

regard, the irrelevant style footnotes will still have some causal link to their referents,

they simply cannot relate to the narrative’s current subject matter. What this highlights

is that footnotes, especially Digressive and Florid ones, cannot be entirely arbitrary in

their usage, there needs to be something to necessitate its incorporation into the text.

After the introductory sentence of the Hublander annotation, Pratchett truly

utilises the potential of Digressive footnoting by touching on as many, variant subjects

as possible. In addition to the aforementioned “shape and cosmology”, topography,

astrology, meteorology, geography, lore and belief are presented to the reader in quick

succession, specifically to give a reader a more vivid sense of the world they are

entering into. Which, the final sentence encapsulates in true Discworld fashion:

“Precisely why all the above should be so is not clear, but goes some way to explain why,

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on the disc, the Gods are not so much worshipped as blamed” (The Colour of Magic 21).

The reason the reader is bombarded with so much, at this stage, superfluous

information is likely to do with the nascent condition of Discworld as a fictional

universe. As has been stated, this is the first novel with the footnote occurring mere

pages into the narrative, it is as good a time as any to make such information available.

Pratchett has also proved the reaches of Digressive footnotes can transverse

texts, even considering the standalone structure of most of the narratives. For example,

there is a reference in both Hogfather and Pyramids to drill chuck keys and their

seemingly universal ability to never be found when needed. The footnotes that make

these references are actually both Immersive but, again, for the seasoned Discworld

reader, the repeated in-joke can draw the fictionalised self out of the narrative.

Therefore, having come to the end of both Editorial footnotes, it is evident that with this

style of annotation alone, Discworld can be made more authentic, consequently

achieving the same effect as bloating the narrative with the requisite information.

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Chapter 2: Deviant Footnotes

“It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs

and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or

fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.”

- Neil Gaiman, and Terry Pratchett (Good Omens 39).

As is probably evident from its title, the subject of this chapter describes those

footnotes that depart the shores of fantasy to return the reader to reality. In light of the

fictionalised self, Deviants subvert the reader’s perception of the writer’s world,

drawing attention to its artificial status. The nature of Deviant footnotes being

intrusions of reality, by definition, can only participate in the narratives of Immersive

Fantasy. It is worth reiterating that Immersive fantasies, for the sake of convincing the

fictionalised self, do not contain elements of, or relate to, the real world. Therefore the

practice of Deviant footnoting generally appear as a reference to someone or thing

external and wholly separate to the fantasy. In stark contrast to the imagined world of

the writer, these references reveal the contrived nature of the fantasy. Fictional works

that assume reality as an existing part of their narratives, in other words, any work that

pertains to one of Mendlesohn’s other three fantasy structures, are thus excluded.

J.R.R. Tolkien in his essay “On Fairy-Stories” rebukes such a referent as the

cardinal sin of fantasy writing, stating that: “The moment disbelief arises, the spell is

broken; the magic, or rather art, has failed. You are then out in the Primary World

[reality] again, looking at the little abortive Secondary World [fiction] from outside”

(37). Therefore, divining why a writer would choose to use such a device yields

interesting answers. For instance, Tolkien himself committed his cardinal sin a few

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times throughout Lord of the Rings. Whilst these references to trains and fish and chips

were not in the form a footnote, it highlights destabilising elements can appear simply

due to oversight on the writer’s part (“Genre Fantasy” 66). In Tolkien’s case, Edward

James states that he nonetheless retains the reader’s belief in his Secondary World by

“provid[ing] enormous historical and cultural depth to Middle-earth” (“Genre Fantasy”

66). It is in a similar vein that the discussion turns to Pratchett and how he, too, out-

manoeuvres the issues created by destabilising elements in his footnotes via the sub-

category forms of Deviant footnotes: Regressive and Florid.

Regressive

The Regressive sub-category is one of the more unusual classes of the entire footnote

classification as its incorporation suggests the writer intentionally wishes to topple the

very structures they have just raised. Specifically, Regressive footnotes are relevant

digressions that present real-world information as opposed to furthering the fictional

context of the fantasy. Discovering the writer’s rationale for using such a footnote is

wholly dependent on the information that is conveyed within them; however, this can

only boil down to one of three reasons: error/oversight, like the Tolkien example; a

belief that their creation will remain unaffected from the perspective of the reader; or, a

disregard of whether the reader remains convinced, as might be found in non-serious

works.

In regards to Discworld, unlike Tolkien’s minor Primary World references,

Regressive footnotes have a widespread presence so an unawareness of these ‘mistakes’

is not likely to be the case. Instead the more likely rationale is Pratchett’s Deviant

footnotes are a blend of the second and third attitudes mentioned above. As James

states of Discworld, it “has a strange resonance with the Earth that we know, making the

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books an ideal setting for satire and wry humour” (“Fantasy Genre” 75). It is the

resonance with Earth that reality breaks into both the Discworld narrative and paratext.

Therefore, what remains is to show how Pratchett incorporates reality and why.

Pratchett’s twentieth novel, Hogfather contains a somewhat lengthy but

otherwise stringent example on which to make the necessary analyses:

It’s amazing how good governments are, given their track record in

almost every other field, at hushing up things like alien encounters.

One reason may be that the aliens themselves are too embarrassed

to talk about it.

It’s not known why most of the space-going races of the universe

want to undertake rummaging in Earthling underwear as a prelude to

formal contract. But representatives of several hundred races have taken

to hanging out, unsuspected by one another, in rural corners of the planet

and, as a result of this, keep on abducting other would-be abductees.

Some have been in fact abducted while waiting to carry out an abduction

on a couple of other aliens trying to abduct the aliens who were, as a

result of misunderstood instructions, trying to form cattle into circles and

mutilate crops.

The planet Earth is now banned to all alien races until they can

compare notes and find out how many, if any, real humans they have

actually got. It is gloomily suspected that there is only one – who is big,

hairy and has very large feet.

The truth may be out there, but lies are inside your head.

(Hogfather 242)

Hammler 23

Out of context, one may assume the above to be further example of Pratchett’s fondness

for sudden and overt deviation. Indeed, the references to extra-terrestrial life, rectal

probing and Big Foot are so far removed from what any reader au fait with the

Discworld canon would come to expect that, quoted out of context, it could be from

another series entirely. However, the content of the example does not stray

thematically from the passage it expands on. Rather, the main text is a new paragraph

and it begins by questioning the nature of knowledge, or, more specifically, asking how

one acquires it. Whilst these epistemological musings are presented somewhat

abruptly, there is a purpose to this line of questioning. One is being ushered, in timely

fashion, towards a character exposition. This exposition enlightens the reader on the

qualities of one of Discworld’s most prevalent denizens, Mustrum Ridcully: “Mustrum...

believed that knowledge could be acquired by shouting at people, and was

endeavouring to do so” (Hogfather 242). Of course, the revelation of Ridcully’s

unorthodox, yet not overly unsuccessful, approach to erudition does not present itself

until after the interruption of the footnote. Therefore, the nature of this example,

though bearing reality-related content continues its referent’s contemplation of

government, making it perfectly within the stipulations of Regressive footnoting.

Reality, in this instance, is not given a modest introduction. Rather than hint or

allude to a world beyond Discworld, the fictional self is subjected to a sudden expulsion

from the Secondary world back into the Primary. It should be stated unequivocally that

instances of reality are not reserved for just Pratchett’s footnotes. In this example, the

referent makes two remarks of devices that do not exist within Discworld:

It’s obvious they had flying machines, right, because of the way the

earthworks can only be seen from above, yeah? and there’s this museum I

Hammler 24

read about where they found a pocket calculator . . . but the government

hushed it up…* (242)

Arguably the reference to flying machines is vague enough to escape accusation but,

nonetheless, the pocket calculator quip certainly pertains to reality. Reality is therefore

present before the footnote is introduced; however, whether or not this is the case for a

Digressive footnote, their purpose does not arbitrarily destabilise fantasy but furthers

the reader’s understanding by drawing on elements they can relate to. Returning to the

original example, the footnote takes the reader through amusing derision of the

unfounded, yet common, beliefs in the efficiency of government cover ups; through into

an ironic conspiracy proposal whereupon it finishes on the unexpected but surprisingly

poignant: “The truth may be out there, but lies are inside your head” (Hogfather 242).

In light of this, though there is no denying fantasy becomes less convincing in the

presence of Deviant tier footnotes (or just allusions to reality), Pratchett also shows that

mimetic and fantastic elements can be juxtaposed to better inform the reader.

Florid

The rarest class of the taxonomy, Florid footnotes neither inform the context of the

fantasy nor contribute a relevant subject. Delineating their usage then is quite puzzling.

From their definition alone, one would assume, in their ability to offer nothing of value

to the text, that they are useless. However, the Florid footnote is as far from the

footnote’s critical usage as any other. In this sense, it is the most absolute subversion of

Genette’s pejorative opinion of what footnotes should do. To Genette, the footnotes, or

notes as he referred to them, were merely compensatory measures to “offset the . . .

disappointing nature of a ‘genre’”, further adding that because of the close connection

Hammler 25

footnotes have to their referents, they have “no autonomous significance” (319).

Overall, the footnote’s basic function is to:

Serve as supplement, sometimes a digression, very rarely a commentary:

as has often been observed, there would be nothing absurd about

incorporating this kind of note into the actual text . . . rather than appear

pedantic, [many] prefer either to abstain from using notes or to limit them

to a minimal apparatus of references. (327)

By overhauling these functions, Pratchett uses the Florid footnotes for the sake of

humour. The ridiculousness of the footnote, a critical device with a recognisable

purpose, being stripped to denote nothing in particular should evoke humour or

amusement. For example: “He looked at You Bastard, who had stuck his muzzle in a

wayside spring and was making a noise like the last drop in the milkshake glass*”

(Pyramids 325), to which the annotation responds: “*You know. The bit you can’t reach

with a straw” (325). The subject of the narrative at this juncture sets the protagonist

and his camel, You Bastard, at the brink of dehydration. The noise in question that the

footnote ‘expands’ on is self-explanatory. What information the footnote does give the

reader is consequently superfluous hence the contention that they are reserved to

provide humour.

In another example, the text reads: “Of course, any attempt, any overt move

which missed would attract immediate failure and loss of privileges*” (Pyramids 13),

which is annotated by “* Breathing, for a start” (13). Again, the information given is not

useful, even fairly self-evident, but it clearly marks an attempt at dark humour.

Returning to Genette, the Florid footnote epitomises every aspect of footnoting

that he has a problem with. Pratchett’s use of them is in recreating the telling of a joke

and the punchline. The exiting of the narrative being the pause and the footnote the

Hammler 26

punchline. In this sense, there is at least a purpose that defies Genette’s opinion that

they highlight a lack of decent writing ability. Beyond providing a witty vehicle for

humour, Genette’s predilection for limiting usage of footnotes certainly applies to this

category.

Hammler 27

Chapter 3: Conclusion

“It’s still magic even if you know how it’s done.”

- Tiffany Aching (The Wee Free Men 308).

Over the course of this essay the aim has been to find a means to better

understand footnoting outside their critical usage. The focus could have been on any

fictional writer with a proclivity for footnotes yet it is Pratchett’s work that has been

selected. The reason for this is, in no small part, due to a lack of critical recognition:

“Pratchett suffers from being considered as a popular, humorous, fantasy writer who

also writes books enjoyed by children” (Butler, James, and Mendlesohn xi). Even up

until his death, Pratchett has been observed by some to be no more than “fantasy’s

licensed jester” (Mullan). The problem, as I saw it, was as Hume had highlighted:

fantasy in western literature was merely mimesis’ peculiar cousin, too eccentric to deal

with reality and unworthy of consideration. The aim of this work was a vindication of

sorts, not solely for Pratchett, but for fantasy as a genre; an effort, not only to prove the

seriousness of Pratchett’s work beyond its humour, but of the understated significance

of fantasy within literature.

The taxonomy created in response to this became, in a sense, a theoretical

anchor in which to bed reality within fantasy: the Editorial footnotes demonstrate the

writer’s intention to expand and inform their creation so as to make it more immersive;

the Deviant footnotes draw reality in to serve the narrative’s mimetic needs.

The next step was to unify pertinent critics to the fields of mimesis and fantasy.

Hume had claimed that the two terms were not incompatible and that there was proof

to show that, with a redefinition of fantasy, it was just as much an element of western

Hammler 28

literature as mimesis. Mendlesohn, on the other hand, had devised a classification of the

structures that exist in fantasy and claimed that mimesis in the type of fantasy that

Pratchett uses, immersive, exhibited an ‘irony of mimesis’. Which, in essence, is

rendering reality but inasmuch as the fantasy is reality. Whereas, conversely, we had

initially set out to show that elements pertaining to reality, as it is known to us, was

genuinely present in Pratchett’s works.

Based on the research drawn from this essay’s own taxonomy, and an

assessment of Discworld using it, both Hume and Mendlesohn’s theories are correct. As

stated, Deviant footnotes cannot exist outside of immersive fantasies as they require a

reality outside of its own to reference. Pratchett’s use of them should destabilise

Discworld, blowing open its disguised artifice yet I have provided opinions other than

my own that remain convinced of Discworld’s universe. Therefore, Discworld must be

wrongly categorised under Mendlesohn’s system. Rather than immersive, Discworld

exists in a space between immersive and intrusion. For those that have read The Science

of Discworld, this is not based on the fact the wizards of the Unseen University

accidentally created the earth, or Roundworld as they christened it, as this would not

have accounted for the intrusions of reality Pratchett makes before Science of

Discworld’s publication. Instead, one must rethink how immersive fantasy is perceived.

The strength of immersion in the Discworld novels is so absolute that Mendlesohn is

correct, an irony of mimesis is achieved. However, an additional effect of this is that

intrusions of reality are perceived as if the situation was reversed. Therefore, actual

reality appears as flights of fantasy. Mendlesohn acknowledges and expounds the

possibility of transitions of fantasy class quite extensively, stating:

Inevitably, there will be texts that appear to cross categories, but these

exceptions test the rule: where authors move from one category to

Hammler 29

another within the text, they invariably assume new techniques; the

cadence shifts, and both metaphor and mimetic writing take on different

functions to accommodate the new category. (Rhetorics xv)

Therefore we reach an accord between Mendlesohn and Hume whereby one can accept

that fantasy is as equally an inseparable part of literature as mimesis being a part of a

truly immersive fantasy.

The necessity for Pratchett to even forge mimetic elements into the core of

Discworld relates to an article by fellow fantasy writer, Neil Gaiman. In it, he spoke of

what drove Pratchett to write. Despite the humour that pervades his books, Pratchett

was driven to write by an intense rage:

And that anger, it seems to me, is about Terry’s underlying sense of what

is fair and what is not. It is that sense of fairness that underlies Terry’s

work and his writing, and it’s what drove him from school to journalism

to the press office of the SouthWestern Electricity Board to the position of

being one of the best-loved and bestselling writers in the world. (Gaiman)

Gaiman’s elucidation of his friend shows that Pratchett should not be side-lined as

merely a jester of an irreverent genre. Underpinning his works is a strong sense of what

it means to be human, anger at our infallibility, mistakes and stupidity but also a

profound love regardless. Pratchett had a lot to say about the world and Discworld was

his conduit to doing so.

Hammler 30

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