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I knew going into The Shepherd’s Crown that this one was going to be difficult. Not because I expected it to be a bad book, but because I knew what it represented. This is the final Discworld novel. The last time Terry Pratchett would take us there, and, for me, the end of a read-through that has taken me across the entire series. And now I’ve finished it, I’m genuinely a bit sad.
Something feels slightly different about The Shepherd’s Crown. It doesn’t always feel quite as polished as some of Pratchett’s other books, and knowing the circumstances surrounding its publication, that’s completely understandable. Pratchett died before the book was published, and while the novel was essentially complete, I get the feeling that, had he been given more time, he probably would have gone back over it. There are bits he might have expanded, lines he might have tweaked, scenes he might have tightened and probably another joke or two that would have appeared somewhere along the way.
But I don’t think any of that takes away from what is here. Because what is here is still Terry Pratchett. It’s still Discworld. It’s still funny, clever, strange, warm and, at times, incredibly moving. More importantly, it feels like a fitting ending to Tiffany Aching’s story.
I’ve loved watching Tiffany grow throughout her books. We first meet her as this incredibly determined young girl armed with a frying pan, a very practical way of looking at the world and absolutely no patience for the idea that somebody else should come along and solve her problems. Across the series, we’ve watched her learn what being a witch actually means. Not the magic, necessarily, but the responsibility that comes with it.
And The Shepherd’s Crown feels like the culmination of it all.
Tiffany isn’t the little girl trying to prove that she can be a witch anymore. She’s a witch. Other people depend on her. People look to her for answers, even when she doesn’t necessarily have them. She has responsibilities pulling her in different directions, and she has to work out not only what kind of witch she wants to be, but what kind of person she wants to be.
That’s always been one of my favourite things about Pratchett’s witches. The magic is almost secondary. Being a witch is about noticing things. It’s about doing the jobs nobody else wants to do. It’s about turning up when somebody needs you, making difficult decisions and sometimes knowing when not to use magic. Tiffany embodies that brilliantly here.
There is also a real sense of change running through the book. Discworld has always changed as the series progressed — sometimes despite the best efforts of the people living on it — but here that feeling seems particularly strong. The old ways aren’t necessarily disappearing, but they’re having to make room for something new. Tiffany is part of that new world, but she’s also carrying everything she has learned from the witches who came before her.
And, obviously, there is Granny Weatherwax.
I won’t go too deeply into what happens because I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who somehow reaches a review of book 41 without knowing what happens, but Granny’s presence hangs over this entire novel. Considering she’s one of my favourite characters in the whole of Discworld, parts of this book hit me particularly hard.
Pratchett handles it in such a Discworld way, too. There is sadness, but there is also practicality. Life carries on because, well, it has to. There are things that need doing. People need helping. Animals need feeding. Problems don’t politely wait until you’ve finished grieving.
There’s something incredibly human about that.
The Nac Mac Feegle are here too, thankfully, bringing exactly the kind of chaos you’d expect from them. I’ve always loved the contrast between Tiffany’s sensible, thoughtful approach to problems and the Feegles’ general belief that most situations can be improved by fighting something, stealing something, drinking something, or preferably all three.
But underneath all the humour, there’s a melancholy running through The Shepherd’s Crown that I found impossible to separate from the knowledge that this was Pratchett’s final book.
Maybe that’s unfair to the novel because obviously I’m bringing that knowledge with me as a reader, but it’s there. Every now and then I’d hit a line or an idea and suddenly remember: this is it. There isn’t another one after this. That’s probably the strangest feeling I’ve had while reading it.
I’ve spent so long making my way through Discworld that it almost felt like there would always be another book waiting. Another visit to Ankh-Morpork. Another encounter with Death. Another witch, wizard, Watch officer, troll, dwarf or completely ridiculous member of the Discworld population waiting somewhere in the next novel.
For the first time, there isn’t. And I hate that. At the same time, I’m incredibly glad that The Shepherd’s Crown exists.
Is it exactly the book Pratchett would have published if he’d had another year to work on it? Probably not. I imagine he’d have fiddled with it. Changed sentences. Added things. Removed things. Moved jokes around. Found another little observation about humanity that somehow manages to be hilarious and painfully accurate at the same time.
But judging the book for what it is, not what it might have become, I still thought it was excellent.
It gives Tiffany a conclusion that feels right without making it feel like her life suddenly stops when the final page is turned. In fact, that’s one of the things I liked most about it. Tiffany’s story doesn’t really feel over. It feels like we’ve simply stopped watching.
She’s still out there somewhere on the Chalk. There are still people who need a witch. There are still jobs that need doing. And Tiffany will get on with doing them. Maybe that’s also the perfect way to think about Discworld itself.
I’ve now finished my read-through of the entire series, and I’m genuinely sad about that. Forty-one novels. So many characters, places, running jokes, ridiculous ideas and unexpectedly profound moments. Discworld is one of those series where you can be laughing at something completely stupid on one page and then, a few pages later, Pratchett casually drops an observation about people, politics, prejudice, death, religion, technology or society that makes you put the book down for a second.
There really wasn’t anyone else who wrote quite like him.
Finishing The Shepherd’s Crown feels like closing the door on somewhere I’ve spent a lot of time. But thankfully, it’s a door that isn’t locked. Because although this is the end of my Discworld read-through, I already know it isn’t the end of me reading Discworld. I’ll go back.
I’ll return to Ankh-Morpork. I’ll visit the Watch again. I’ll go back to Death and Susan and the witches and the wizards and Moist von Lipwig. I’ll probably discover jokes I missed the first time around and appreciate certain books differently now that I know where everything eventually leads. And, eventually, I’ll come back to Tiffany Aching.
So yes, The Shepherd’s Crown might be slightly unfinished around the edges. There might be places where you can see the version Pratchett could have refined further if he’d been given the chance. But I’m not knocking a star off for that. Not a chance. It’s funny, thoughtful, emotional and unmistakably Discworld. It’s a wonderful final chapter for Tiffany Aching and, even if nobody wanted it to be, a fitting final visit to the world Terry Pratchett spent decades creating.
GNU Terry Pratchett.
Gareth Ellis - Author 