Terry Pratchett is a highly successful writer, and Making Money has been well received, with one critic, commenting:
"Pratchett is in top form in Making Money. Who else, after 32 hilarious, cult-inducing Discworld books could still manage to create characters like Mr. Fusspot’s canine chef, Aimsbury, who is allergic to the word “garlic”? (Not the substance itself; just the word—it makes him throw a knife and speak in fluent Quirmian for four seconds). Or Gladys the golem who wears a blue dress and insists to Moist that A Man And A Young Woman Should Not Be In The Same Bedroom, despite the fact that golems are, not to put too fine a point upon it, sexless? Or the long dead wizard of Unseen University, Professor Flead, who agrees to help Moist only if he afterwards he will be permanently insorsiced into Ankh-Morpork’s Pink Pussycat Club?
At the rate Mr. Pratchett is going, he will soon have enough money to purchase ¼ of his native England, the other 3 bits of course being currently owned by the Queen, J.K.Rowling, and Paul McCartney. And good riddance to Mr. Pratchett; we’ll not likely see such inspired lunacy from anyone else."
Last week, when I was some hundred pages into Making Money,
I almost gave up. I decided to persevere but alas, I only lasted to around page 280, when I truly ran out of steam and abandoned the book for good. I'm glad for having tried, but it looks like the genre is no longer for me.
While Making Money is a colourful and clever book that is filled with endless jokes and other fun-filled nonsenses, I found Pratchett's writing style to be too bland to keep me going. I liked the main character, a certain Moist Van Lipwig, and the episode when he introduces paper money into society is brilliant, but the fun didn't last and just after the halfway point the book started feeling like a chore. This is when yo must give up. I don't believe in finishing a book for the sake of it - it is a twofold sin because not only are you not enjoying reading it, but you are reading something bad at the expense of something potentially brilliant.
I have moved on to 'Down and Out in Paris and London' by George Orwell and am loving every minute of it.
---
Quotes from Making Money:
Pucci's eyes lit up. 'You know something, don't you?'
'Not exactly, but I think I know where there is something to be known.'
Give him a fool any day. Slow people took some time to catch up, but when they did they rolled right over you.
Tenth Egg Street was a street of small traders, who sold small things in small quantities for small profits. In a street like that, you had to be small-minded. It wasn't the place for big ideas. You had to look at the detail.
These were men who counted every half-farthing and slept at night with the cash box under their bed. They'd weigh out flour and raisins and hundreds-and-thousands with their eyes ferociously focused on the scale's pointer, because they knew they were men who lived in the margins.
And they (the 'Igors') were perfectionists. Ask them to build you a device and you wouldn't get what you asked for. You'd get what you
wanted.
He looked nervously at the little man. He wasn't insane, Moist was sure, but it was clear that mostly, for him, the world happened elsewhere.
He'd bought it - why? Because it was like the lockpicks: a token to prove, if only to himself, that a part of him was still free. It was like the other ready-made identities, the escape plans, the caches of money and clothes. They told him that any day he could leave all this, melt into the crowd, say goodbye to the paperwork and the timetable and the endless, endless
wanting.They told him he could give it up any time he liked. Any hour, any minute, any second. And because he could, he didn't...