All the little angels rise up, rise up. All the little angels rise up high! How do they rise up, rise up, rise up? How do they rise up, rise up high? They rise heads up, heads up, heads up…
They rise heads up, heads up high!
Phantogram Three

#extradirty
Today's Document

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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
noise dept.
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@geezer-with-a-hat
All the little angels rise up, rise up. All the little angels rise up high! How do they rise up, rise up, rise up? How do they rise up, rise up high? They rise heads up, heads up, heads up…
They rise heads up, heads up high!
Terry Pratchett started his career as a crypto-monarchist and ended up the most consistently humane writer of his generation. He never entirely lost his affection for benevolent dictatorship, and made a few classic colonial missteps along the way, but in the end you’d be hard pressed to find a more staunchly feminist, anti-racist, anti-classist, unsentimental and clear-sighted writer of Old White British Fantasy.
The thing I love about Terry’s writing is that he loved - loved - civil society. He loved the correct functioning of the social contract. He loved technology, loved innovation, but also loved nature and the ways of living that work with and through it. He loved Britain, but hated empire (see “Jingo”) - he was a ruralist who hated provincialism, a capitalist who hated wealth, an urbanist who reveled in stories of pollution, crime and decay. He was above all a man who loved systems, of nature, of thought, of tradition and of culture. He believed in the best of humanity and knew that we could be even better if we just thought a little more.
As a writer: how skillful, how prolific, how consistent. The yearly event of a new Discworld book has been a part of my life for more than two decades, and in that barrage of material there have been so few disappointments, so many surprises… to come out with a book as fresh and inspired as “Monstrous Regiment” as the 31st novel in your big fantasy series? Ludicrous. He was just full of treasure. What a thing to have had, what a thing to have lost.
In the end, he set a higher standard, as a writer and as a person. He got better as he learned, and he kept learning, and there was no “too late” or “too hard” or “I can’t be bothered to do the research.” He just did the work. I think in his memory the best thing we can do is to roll up our sleeves and do the same.
Umberto Eco, who owned 50,000 books, had this to say about home libraries:
"It is foolish to think that you have to read all the books you buy, as it is foolish to criticize those who buy more books than they will ever be able to read. It would be like saying that you should use all the cutlery or glasses or screwdrivers or drill bits you bought before buying new ones.
"There are things in life that we need to always have plenty of supplies, even if we will only use a small portion.
"If, for example, we consider books as medicine, we understand that it is good to have many at home rather than a few: when you want to feel better, then you go to the 'medicine closet' and choose a book. Not a random one, but the right book for that moment. That's why you should always have a nutrition choice!
"Those who buy only one book, read only that one and then get rid of it. They simply apply the consumer mentality to books, that is, they consider them a consumer product, a good. Those who love books know that a book is anything but a commodity."
Feeling the burn a bit here...
pratchett will write an entire book about the grim reaper pretending to be santa claus while the grim reaper’s granddaughter goes about hunting down the dumbass who decided to kill santa, and then right when you think you’re done and the oddly pointed shenanigans are winding down he hits you with “humans need fantasy to be human. to be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape,” and knocks you into next wednesday
#YOU NEED TO BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT ARENT TRUE#HOW ELSE CAN THEY BECOME#god those words are engraved on my heart#gnu terry pratchett
“Why does the third of the three brothers, who shares his food with the old woman in the wood, go on to become king of the country? Why does James Bond manage to disarm the nuclear bomb a few seconds before it goes off rather than, as it were, a few seconds afterwards? Because a universe where that did not happen would be a dark and hostile place. Let there be goblin hordes, let there be terrible environmental threats, let there be giant mutated slugs if you really must, but let there also be hope. It may be a grim, thin hope, an Arthurian sword at sunset, but let us know that we do not live in vain.”
GNU TERRY PRATCHETT
Gnu Terry Pratchett
GNU Terry Pratchett
the me that buys books and the me that reads them, are two different people.
2022 mood gonna tape this up in my room
Kathryn Hahn - 2021
Me: *flirts with girl*
Her: *flirts back*
Me: *was not expecting that and am now panicking*
Good morning to former con artists, dog-owning bank chairmen, the postmaster general, people who annoy Lord Vetinari, and the husband of Adora Belle Dearheart.
On an unrelated note, good morning to Albert Spangler
I had this thought in mind when the cast photos for the Watch series were first making the rounds, but never got around to writing it up. Now that it seems to be making the rounds again, here it is.
Thin!Sybil is Bad for reasons that have nothing to do with representation
The narrative heart of Guards! Guards! is built around the thematic parallels between Sybil, the Dragon and to a great extent Ankh-Morpork itself on the one hand, and Vimes and Errol on the other hand. And Sybil being Large is a huge (no pun intended) part of that. Sybil is Large is, to a great extent, what the book is about.
Here is Vimes’ introduction on page 2 of the novel. It’s not quite the beginning, but it’s the second thing introduced after the dragon(s) themselves:
“The city wasa, wasa, wasa wossname. Thing. Woman. Thass what it was. Woman. Roaring, ancient, centuries old. Strung you along, let you fall in thingy, love, with her, then kicked you inna, inna, thingy. Thingy, in your mouth. Tongue. Tonils. Teeth. That’s what it, she, did. Whe wasa…thing, you know, lady dog. Puppy. Hen. Bitch. And then you hated her and, and just when you thought you’d got her, it, out of you’re your, whatever, then she opened her great booming rotten heart to you, caught you off bal, bal, bal, thing. Ance. Yeah. Thassit. Never knew where where you stood. Lay. Only thing you were sure of, you couldn’t let her go. Because, because she was yours, all you had, even in her gutters.”
And here is the end of Vimes’ part of the book, two scenes from the end, almost a perfect bookend:
“And then it arose and struck Vimes that, in her own special category, she was quite beautiful; this was the category of all the women, in his entire life, who had ever thought he was worth smiling at. She couldn’t do worse, but then, he couldn’t do better. So maybe it balanced out. She wasn’t getting any younger, but then, who was? And she had style and money and common-sense and self-assurance and all the things that he didn’t, and she had opened her heart, and if you let her she could engulf you; the woman was a city.”
Guards! Guards! is a love story. It’s a love story between these too, but it’s also a love story between the dragons, and these are not different things:
“But it – she’s a magical animal,” said Vimes. “What’ll happen when the magic goes away?”
Lady Ramkin gave him a shy smile.
“Most people seem to manage,” she said.
I also want to point out Sybil’s introduction, just for funzies:
“The door opened. Something dreadful loomed over him.
“Ah, good man. Do you know anything about mating?” it boomed.
Hehehehe. But also, note the emphasis on the size difference between them. Again, here:
“Even shorn if her layers of protective clothing, Lady Sybil Ramkin was still toweringly big. Vimes knew that the barbarian hublander folk had legends about great chain-mailed, armor-bra’d, carthorse-riding maidens who swooped down on battlefields and carried off dead warriors on their cropper to a glorious roistering afterlife, while singing in a pleasing mezzo-soprano. Lady Ramkin could have been one of them. She could have led them. She could have carried off a battalion. When she spoke, every word was like a hearty slap on the back and clanged with the aristocratic assurance of the totally well-bred. The vowel sounds alone would have cut teak.”
Sybil’s introduction is all about her size and nobility, by contrast to Vimes’ which is all about his wretchedness. Draco nobilis vs Draco vulgaris;
“Draco nobilis. The Noble Dragon. As opposed to these fellows – Draco vulgaris, the lot of them. But the big ones are all gone, you know. This really is a nonsense. No two ways about it. All gone. Beautiful things they were. Weighed tons. Biggest things ever to fly. No one knows how they did it.”
Size. And nobility. Let’s look at Errol, and his utter wretchedness:
“Total whittle, Vimes thought. He wasn’t sure the precise meaning of the word, but he could hazard a shrewd guess. It sounded like whatever it was you had left when you had extracted everything of any value whatsoever. Like the Watch, he thought. Total whittles, every one of them. And just like him. It was the saga of his life.”
Similarly, the dragon:
“It’s a girl,” translated Lady Ramkin.
“But it’s sodding enormous!” said Nobby.
Vimes coughed urgently. Nobby’s rodent eyes slid sideways to Sybil Ramkin, who blushed like a sunset.
“A fine figure of a dragon, I mean,” he said quickly.
It’s also worth noting that, because of her size, it doesn’t really occur to anyone that Sybil might be in danger. They’re imaging the sacrifice to be “some slip of a girl,” and even the arresting guards are hesitant about her because she doesn’t fit their image. They’re just going of the letter of things:
“Bloody hell,” he said, in a voice of mixed horror and respect. “And the dragon wants to eat her?”
“Fits the bill,” said the captain. “She’s got to be the highest born lady in the city. I don’t know about maiden,” he added, “and right this minute I’m not going to speculate. Someone go and fetch a cart.”
Sybil’s non-traditional femininity is an ongoing theme across the book, and literally endangers her life because nobody expects her to be a target. And it deliberately parallels the fact that nobody interprets the dragon as female except her love interest – even Sybil, who should have known better. Because it’s Really Big. That’s the Big Twist of the whole book – that the dragon is a lady to be wooed, not a monster to be slain. Sybil is likewise consistently portrayed as almost monstrous – but that’s exactly what’s likeable about her. Later books talk about how being the Big Girl among her peers is part of what drives her compassion, her care for small broken things, and her Great Personality (see also: Agnes Nitt). Sybil is large and in charge and not used to performing femininity in the same way Vimes is not used to performing anything other than Lawman. But this is why we like her. The conclusion of their story specifically calls up her common sense and self-assurance – her presence and practicality. That’s why she and Vimes can be on the same side even though she’s fabulously wealthy.
Sybil is big because Sybil is the dragon, because Guards! Guards! is a love story between a giant terrifying woman and a tiny and outwardly worthless man, played out in parallel between the human protagonists and the dragons. If you make Sybil thin, you’ve gutted the whole literary structure of the work.
(But again, Sybil is terrifying but also kind, and that’s also super important. I don’t feel like looking for quotes in other books, but they’re there. She is not Strong Female Character ™ though – and that seems to be what they’re making her in the series.)
Turning Lady Sybil into a bounty hunter or whatever tf they’re doing with her is a disservice to the character and the women who kept things going behind the scenes while still being firm, resolute and yet kind. She’s “large and kind but some people seemed think that meant stupid and deaf”. She’s large, yes, but she’s also smart and strong and determined.
Sybil canonically
apologised after hitting a werewolf with a iron bar, after escaping the castle where his leaders were keeping her prisoner because she abhors violence
was underestimated because she was “just Sam Vimes’/the Ambassador’s wife” and in doing so, was able to gather intelligence and conduct complex and intricate political trade negotiations with a head of state
saved her husband’s life and stopped a civil war with knowledge of the arts
is a caretaker, whether or dragons or the scraggly overworking human she calls a husband, feeding them noms and generally making sure they have someone to cherish them
has the equivalent of a spy network made up of all the noblewomen in every country and city in the near vicinity. Oh, yes, call them her schoolchums, but she exchanges information with this network of wives and is very skilled at reading between the lines
is 100% more politically savvy than her husband after spending an entire lifetime in the upper echelons of political society in Ankh-Morpork
The only actress that should be playing Lady Sybil Ramkin in my mind is Dawn French. Period.
Vimes listened as the refrain died away. ‘That’s a nice song,’ said young Sam, and Vimes remembered that he was hearing it for the first time. ‘It’s an old soldiers’ song,’ he said. ‘Really, sarge? But it’s about angels.’ Yes, thought Vimes, and it’s amazing what bits those angels cause to rise up as the song progresses. It’s a real soldiers’ song: sentimental, with dirty bits. ‘As I recall, they used to sing it after battles,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen old men cry when they sing it,’ he added. ‘Why? It sounds cheerful.’ They were remembering who they were not singing it with, thought Vimes. You’ll learn. I know you will.
It wasn’t many steps to Treacle Mine Road and as he turned towards the Watch House a flash of colour caught his eye. And there it was, overhanging a garden wall. Lilac was common in the city. It was vigorous and hard to kill and had to be. The flower buds were noticeably swelling. He stood and stared, as a man might stare at an old battlefield. …they rise hands up, hands up, hands up… -Terry Pratchett, Night Watch
(image description: illustrations in purple of lilac flowers surrounding a metal helmet and the words ‘how do they rise up…’)
Hair for Earwen
<Frantic search for who the f was Eärwen, I know that name...>
Ah yes tolkiengateway.net my eternal saviour...
Athena Kekenes
Want want want :o
What’s the word for when you don’t WATCH-watch a show, but you’ve seen a lot of GIFs so you’re pretty sure you know what’s going on?
Fandom osmosis?