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Arch-swindler Moist Van Lipwig never believed his confidence crimes were hanging offenses-until he found himself with a noose tightly around his neck, dropping through a trapdoor, and falling into-a government job? By all rights, Moist should have met his maker. Instead, it's Lord Vetinari, supreme ruler of Ankh-Morpork, who promptly offers him a job as Postmaster. Since his only other option is a nonliving one, Moist accepts the position-and the hulking golem watchdog who comes along with it, just in case Moist was considering abandoning his responsibilities prematurely. Getting the moribund Postal Service up and running again, however, may be a near-impossible task, what with literally mountains of decades-old undelivered mail clogging every nook and cranny of the broken-down post office building; and with only a few creaky old postmen and one rather unstable, pin-obsessed youth available to deliver it. Worse still, Moist could swear the mail is talking to him.… (meer)
ChillnND: One of Pratchett's best Discworld books, a fast paced detective novel set in his fantastic world. There's plenty of wry, satirical social commentary in Thud! as there is in "Going Postal"
Informatie afkomstig uit de Engelse Algemene Kennis.Bewerk om naar jouw taal over te brengen.
The flotillas of the dead sailed around the world on underwater rivers.
Citaten
Informatie afkomstig uit de Engelse Algemene Kennis.Bewerk om naar jouw taal over te brengen.
'Can I not?' said Vetinari. 'I am a tyrant. It's what we do.' (chapter 14)
'Oh, *please* sue the University!' Ridcully bellowed. 'We've got a *pond* full of people who tried to sue the University--' (chapter 14)
'Neither Deluge Nor Ice Storm Nor The Black Silence Of The Netherhells Shall Stay These Messengers About Their Sacred Business. Do Not Ask Us About Sabre-Tooth Tigers, Tar Pits, Big Green Things With Teeth Or The Goddess Czol.' (Chapter 6)
'What? Funning? I never fun! I do not fun, Miss Maccalariat, and have no history of funning, and even if I were inclined to funning, Miss Maccalariat, I would not dream of funning with you.' (chapter 7A)
The man going to be hanged had been named Moist von Lipwig by doting if unwise parents, but he was not going to embarrass the name, insofar as that was possible, by being hung under it. (chapter 1)
But, in my experience, the best way to get something done is to give it to someone who is busy, said Vetinari. (chapter 14)
Haven't you ever heard the saying, "Man's not dead while his name is still spoken?"
[When Miss Cripslock asks if Moist really believes that having an image made of him removes part of his soul, as he claims his religion states] 'Er, no. No. Of course not. Not as such. But... but you can't treat religion as a sort of buffet, can you? I mean, you can't say, 'Yes, please, I'll have some of the Celestial Paradise and a helping of the Divine Plan but go easy on the kneeling and none of the Prohibition of Images, they give me wind.' It's tabel d'hôte or nothing, otherwise...well, it could get silly.' (Chapter 7)
Laatste woorden
Informatie afkomstig uit de Engelse Algemene Kennis.Bewerk om naar jouw taal over te brengen.
Vetinari sighed. "You have to admire a man who really believes in freedom of choice," he said, looking at the open doorway. "Sadly, he did not believe in angels."
Arch-swindler Moist Van Lipwig never believed his confidence crimes were hanging offenses-until he found himself with a noose tightly around his neck, dropping through a trapdoor, and falling into-a government job? By all rights, Moist should have met his maker. Instead, it's Lord Vetinari, supreme ruler of Ankh-Morpork, who promptly offers him a job as Postmaster. Since his only other option is a nonliving one, Moist accepts the position-and the hulking golem watchdog who comes along with it, just in case Moist was considering abandoning his responsibilities prematurely. Getting the moribund Postal Service up and running again, however, may be a near-impossible task, what with literally mountains of decades-old undelivered mail clogging every nook and cranny of the broken-down post office building; and with only a few creaky old postmen and one rather unstable, pin-obsessed youth available to deliver it. Worse still, Moist could swear the mail is talking to him.
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