“I meant,” said Ipslore bitterly, “what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?”
Death thought about it.
CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.”

Terry Pratchett – The Light Fantastic

There is a point in every long-running series where you suddenly realise that the author has stopped experimenting and started finding their stride. For me, Sourcery is where the early Discworld books really begin to click.

That is not to say everything is suddenly perfect. This is still very much an early Discworld novel, and there are moments where the plotting feels like it has been assembled from several excellent ideas and then shaken vigorously. But this is the first Rincewind story where I found myself thinking, ‘Yes, this is genuinely good.’

And, rather importantly, Rincewind is still Rincewind.

He remains spectacularly ill-equipped for the sort of adventures that keep finding him. Given the choice between saving the world and finding somewhere quiet to hide, he would quite happily choose the latter and consider the matter closed. Unfortunately for him, the arrival of a sourcerer, the return of extraordinarily powerful magic and the ambitions of people who really should know better make hiding increasingly difficult.

There is something particularly enjoyable about watching Rincewind being dragged into events that are so far beyond his capabilities that even he knows he is out of his depth. He has somehow become the hero by default, which is rather like becoming the captain of a sinking ship because everyone else has sensibly abandoned it.

The story also feels more confident in the way it handles its themes. Sourcery is, at its heart, interested in power and what happens when people acquire rather too much of it. Magic becomes a particularly useful metaphor for authority, influence and the temptation to believe that having enormous power means you must also be entitled to use it.

It is not exactly a subtle message, but subtlety has never been the Discworld’s only tool.

There is plenty here about ambition, tradition and the way institutions protect their own importance. The wizards are once again an excellent target, with their endless arguments over status and precedence serving as a rather familiar reminder that people can become astonishingly petty when there is a hierarchy available to climb.

The book also plays with the idea of inherited power. What happens when someone is handed enormous ability without necessarily having the experience or judgement to understand what it can do? There is something very human in the answer. The problem is rarely the power itself. It is the people standing around it saying, ‘I have an idea.’

This is also where the comedy starts to feel more naturally integrated into the story for me. In the earlier books, there were occasions when I could almost see the joke being assembled. Here, the absurdity feels more organic. Characters behave foolishly because that is who they are, rather than because the plot needs someone to behave foolishly for the next gag.

That makes a surprisingly big difference.

Listening to the audiobook certainly helps. Colin Morgan is settling very comfortably into the Discworld universe, and I particularly enjoy the energy he brings to Rincewind’s increasingly desperate circumstances. There is a wonderful sense of momentum in his performance. Even when the story slows down, there is the feeling that something ridiculous is probably waiting around the next corner.

His character work is another strength. Morgan manages to give the various personalities their own identities without turning the narration into an exhausting parade of exaggerated voices. There is warmth in the performance too, which matters because beneath all the jokes, there is something rather likeable about these characters.

And I have to admit that Rincewind works particularly well in audio. His mixture of panic, irritation and reluctant determination comes across beautifully when performed. I found myself grinning at some of his reactions simply because Morgan gets the timing right.

Then, of course, Death turns up, and suddenly everything acquires a slightly different atmosphere.

Peter Serafinowicz gives Death an appropriately commanding presence without making him feel cartoonishly sinister. There is an inevitability to his delivery that works beautifully. He sounds like someone who has seen absolutely everything and is therefore understandably unimpressed by the latest outbreak of magical nonsense.

Bill Nighy gets to have his own fun with the footnotes, and I am increasingly convinced that his contribution is one of those details that makes this audiobook particularly enjoyable. His trademark nonchalance gives the footnotes an almost detached, observational quality. It is as though someone sensible has been assigned to stand at the edge of the chaos and quietly explain just how ridiculous everyone else is being.

I love that.

By this point, I was properly invested in the audiobook rather than simply using it as background entertainment. I found myself looking forward to getting back to it, which is usually a good indication that a book has got its hooks into me. There is a rhythm to the narration that makes even the more chaotic passages easy to follow, and Morgan clearly understands that Discworld works best when the performers take the nonsense seriously enough for the jokes to land.

Sourcery also feels like an important step forward for the series. The world is becoming more confident, the satire has a little more bite and the characters are starting to develop beyond their basic comic functions.

Most importantly, this is the first Rincewind story where I genuinely felt that the series had found something.

There will be stronger Discworld books. Quite a lot of them, in fact. But Sourcery feels like the moment when the potential glimpsed in the first two novels starts turning into something real.

And for a Rincewind fan, that is rather satisfying.

Especially when the man himself would probably prefer not to be involved.

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