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… Usually Not Wizards.
You might think that goes without saying, but in Discworld, there are some exceptions. We talked about Eskarina in other chapters. Mrs. Letice Earwig, Granny Weatherwax's rival in
Wintersmith,
uses wizard magic—behavior of which Granny disapproves as she explains in
Equal Rites.
Is there a so-called “women's magic”? As we mentioned in
chapter 4
, wizards consider witches incapable of high magic and look disparagingly at the “womanly” art of hedge witchery. (They're only
fooling themselves.) So in Discworld, the magic usage seems to be a point of division between the sexes. Yet someone like Idalia from the Obsidian Trilogy (Mercedes Lackey) is called a “mage” (a “wild-mage,” to be exact), rather than a witch. She performs the same kind of magic that a male mage does and seems to be one of the best in the land. Hermione also performs the same magic that Harry or Ron does. But she's considered a witch. It's a matter of semantics.
… Not Religious.
Faith is the hallmark of a religion. If you don't believe, what's the point? Pratchett has said in more than one book that the witches aren't believers in the gods. (See, for example, page 15 of the paperback edition of
Witches Abroad.
) This is because they can see the gods and elementals at times and aren't very impressed by what they see, kind of like how we feel whenever we read stories from Greek mythology. For example, Tiffany sees Anoia—the goddess of things that get stuck in drawers—in
Wintersmith
and is less than awed. And she, of course, is wooed by the Wintersmith, whom she discovers has a major screw loose, but who at least is on the hot side when he takes on human flesh. Still, being a hottie does not automatically gain one worship and respect in the witches' book.
Witches see Death every now and then, especially since they're the ones who watch over the dead on the first night after death. Like the wizards, they know when they're going to die, which takes away some of Death's mystique.
While the witches' lack of faith in the gods might seem like a paradox—how can you not believe in something you can see?—it really isn't, if you think about having faith or trust in someone. You wouldn't put your trust in someone who has proven to be unfaithful or uncaring. And many of the gods and elementals of Discworld are untrustworthy, petty, vain, and just plain weird. The witches even see Death in “You're the Man keeping us down” terms.
Since the gods and personifications (more on them in
chapter 9
) behave so predictably—and illogically—at times, the witches feel they're the last resort for humanity. Remember in
Mort,
when Death says, “There's just me,” in response to Mort's statement, “There is no justice”?
80
That's how the witches feel 24/7. Consider the fact that Tiffany has to save the people of the Chalk time and time again. And Granny and Nanny are always in the Save the World queue. A woman's work is never done.
… Shepherdesses.
Although Tiffany's grandmother (Sarah Aching) was considered a shepherdess by trade, rather than a witch, she not only watched her flock, she shepherded the land as well. Tiffany has inherited the instinct for shepherding—or safeguarding—the land and the lambs, especially the “strays” Wentworth and Roland de Chumsfanleigh (the baron's son), who are captured by the Fairy Queen in
The Wee Free Men.
Granny, Nanny, and others have their own particular flocks—the people in the villages for whom they provide medicine or deliver babies and perform whatever task needs doing. This also includes shepherding their peers. When a witch looks as if she's ready to cackle, another witch has the obligation to check on her.
Another way a witch acts as a shepherdess is by finding other witches and keeping them from harm. That's the job of Miss Perspicacia Tick, the witch finder in
The Wee Free Men.
She's like a talent agent, in a way. She discovers Tiffany and later introduces her to Miss Level in
A Hat Full of Sky.
Miss Tick also is the writer of
Magavenatio Obtusis
(Witch Hunting for Dumb People), a book she slips into the town of Dogbend (page 39 of
Wintersmith
—the hardcover edition) to prevent the town from harming witches. This brings to mind yet another point. Witches are …
… Teachers of One Another.
There is no Unseen University (see next chapter) for witches. Yes, we know that, in
The Wee Free Men,
Miss Tick tells Tiffany to open her eyes and see the school for witches. But she is speaking metaphorically, as Tiffany is quick to guess. Life is the great teacher witches depend upon. But mainly there's the community of witches from which to learn.
Tiffany, Magrat, and Agnes all had the benefit of hanging with Granny and Nanny and learning from them or, in some cases,
in spite of
them. Tiffany's first teacher, however, was Miss Tick. In turn, Tiffany helps Annagramma in
Wintersmith
and encourages other young witches to do so when Annagramma gains Miss Treason's cottage.
 
 
Discworld might not have the shiny linoleum of suburbia embodied in
Charmed
or
Bewitched
. But it has what those shows don't have: a community of magic practitioners whose exploits will entertain you without fear of cancellation.
Wise Women
I
f you read fantasy or medieval fiction a lot, you've probably come across a wise woman or two. By this, we don't mean strictly female versions of King Solomon, although women bearing this title (wise woman) know a thing or two. We mean witte wieven, as they are called in Dutch folklore or “wise women”—the village herbalists and mystics others sometimes seek for prophecies or fortune telling.
They're the ones to go to for potions or charms. Some might call them witches (specifically white witches) or hags or even the village “wisdom” as Nynaeve is called in Eye of the World by Robert Jordan.
With their knowledge of herbs, midwifery skills, and just plain common sense, Pratchett's witches seem to follow the wise woman tradition in folklore. They are like the powerful woman Princess Irene calls Grandmother in George MacDonald's The Princess and the Goblin and The Princess and Curdie and, of course, the wise woman in his novella The Wise Woman—a woman who lived alone and knew just what to do in order to tame a spoiled princess. (We can only imagine what Granny Weatherwax would've done with her!)
Being “the wise woman” isn't without hazards. In Good Omens, a book Pratchett coauthored with Neil Gaiman, a seventeenth-century witch, Agnes Nutter, who makes Nostradamus-like prophecies, is burned at the stake. While we may read the book and laugh, no one was laughing during the Salem witch trials back in 1692, when twenty people were put to death. Consider also the case of Bessie Dunlop, a midwife living in Dalry, Scotland, who was burned at the stake in 1576 after being charged with witchcraft. Although she was a real person, a number of stories associated with her life may be fact or fiction. One story is that, before she died, she was told to denounce her faith in God and admit that she served the devil. She did neither. A wise woman, indeed.
We're Off to See the Wizards
Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there's a
Wizard
to manage here … .
—Treebeard in
Return of the King
(the movie)
81
 
There's magic … . It don't take much intelligence, otherwise wizards wouldn't be able to do it.
—Granny Weatherwax in
The Wee Free Men
82
When was the first time you saw a magician? When you were a little kid, sitting wide-eyed with wonder while your older brother pulled a quarter out of your ear, thanks to his magic tricks book? When you were an older kid, sitting bored while the Great Lame-O the Magician, who had all the charisma of a soft-boiled egg, failed miserably at performing (and groused about his soul-destroying job)? Or was it just last year in Vegas, watching the latest magic debunker who explained how all the other magicians did their tricks?
Sooner or later, you discover that while Penn and Teller, David Blaine, David Copperfield, Houdini, the wizard in
The Wizard of
Oz,
or Borden and Angier—the rival wizards in Christopher Nolan's movie,
The Prestige
—are wizards at the sleight of hand, now-you-see-it-now-you-don't trick, they aren't … well …
real
wizards (Well, Angier had that weird Tesla-designed box … . )—the kind that lob fireballs at people and wear pointed hats.
Maybe you're thinking about Rincewind right about now … .
Many writers have written about wizards—no doubt inspired by the legends of Merlin (also known as Myrddin) the magician, King Arthur's teacher-wizard as rendered by Geoffrey of Monmouth and T. H. White (who favored the Merlyn spelling) in
The Once and Future King
and
The Book of Merlyn;
or Gandalf the Grey-turned-White wizard of
The Lord of the Rings
trilogy, J. R. R. Tolkien's baby. These are your über-wizards: powerful, self-sacrificing, wise, cranky old men—at least in appearance. (Well, they've been known to laugh every now and then.) Their powers go far beyond pulling a quarter out of someone's ear or making the Statue of Liberty “disappear.” These are the kinds of wizards who put monarchs on thrones and help change the world.
Whether you call them wizards, sorcerers, male Aei Sedai (channelers), spell weavers, chanters, mages, magicians (a vast cut above Lame-O), thaumaturgists, dragon riders, or blacksmiths (see
chapter 14
) , these power wielders come in all shapes and sizes these days. You could easily name several dozen without breaking a sweat. There are Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, the evil Lord Voldemort, and many others from the Harry Potter series. Pug conDoin (Milamber), Kulgan, Macros the Black, and other magicians populate Raymond Feist's Riftwar series. Ged/Sparrowhawk, the mage turned archmage; Ogion, his former master; and many others appear in Ursula LeGuin's Earthsea series. Then there are First Wizard Zeddicus Zu'l Zorander (Zedd) and his grandson Richard Rahl (a war wizard) in Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth series; Rand al'Thor (the Dragon Reborn) and others of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series; the dapper Jonathan Strange and fussy
little Mr. Norrell of Susanna Clarke's novel,
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell
; Darrow, of Kate Constable's Chanters of Tremaris trilogy; the elemental wizards of Mercedes Lackey's Elemental Masters series and Kellen the Knight-Mage of the Obsidian Trilogy (written with James Mallory); Harry Dresden, the wizard detective created by Jim Butcher; dragon-riders Brom and Eragon in
Eragon
; the fake wizard turned real wizard Schmendrick in
The Last Unicorn
(Peter S. Beagle)—the list goes on and on and on.
In Discworld, there's a difference between wizards, magicians, conjurers, and thaumaturgists. Magicians are those who flunked out of Unseen University but at least they aren't conjurers or thaumaturgists—the lowest form of magic practitioner, a person lacking an education. Proper wizards earn their degrees from Unseen University.
In terms of wise, heroic wizards, on a scale of 1-10 (10 being the wisest/most heroic), many of Pratchett's denizens of Unseen University would probably rank a 2 at best, with Merlin, Gandalf, Ged, Dumbledore, and many of the others mentioned above solidly at the 10 spot. (Okay, maybe we'd give Ridcully and the Librarian a 5 or 6 for effort.) Pratchett's wizards are at the college don end of the spectrum—more apt to wield a knife and fork than a staff in action. It's not that they're powerless, they're just … well … hungry.
DISC-CLAIMER:
Plot spoilers ahead. Read at your own risk.
On a number of occasions, Granny Weatherwax and other witches mention that a witch's hat earns a witch respect. But what about the wizards? Is there a look that screams “wizard” (or in Rincewind's
case—“wizzard”)? When you think of the archetypal look of a wizard, perhaps you immediately think of Gandalf, Merlin, or the wizard in
The Sorcerer's Apprentice
(whose score,
L'apprenti sorcier
, a scherzo by Paul Dukas, was based on a story by Goethe) as animated in
Fantasia. The Sorcerer's Apprentice
wizard had your typical blue robe and the tall, pointed blue hat with moons and stars. Merlin also favored the tall, pointed hat and a robe with zodiac symbols, fur tippets, and owl droppings. A nice look for spring. Gandalf, not to be left out, wore a similar hat, a gray robe (until he became Gandalf the White), and a dashing silver scarf. Ooo-la-la. And of course there's the beard—white or gray—and the all-important staff—the medium through which power flows. (Wands are used in the Harry Potter series. Harry Dresden uses a wand and a staff.)
Pratchett's wizards are the equal of other wizards of fiction in fashion sense. They've got the beards, the pointed hats, the flowing robes, and the staffs. But Rincewind, a wizard wannabe, has a scraggly beard, a ragged robe, and a hat with the word “wizzard” on it. Not the kind of outfit that makes the best-dressed list or inspires confidence in Rincewind's abilities.
Evil wizards such as Abrim, the grand vizier in
Sourcery,
favor the turban-with-a-tiny-fez look set off with a thin moustache—a look Jafar rocked in Disney's
Aladdin
movies (
Aladdin
;
Return of Jafar
).
Another look that says “wizard” is the stuffed alligator, described by Quoth the Raven in
Soul Music.
Igneous Cutwell, a wizard with whom Death's one-time apprentice Mort has some dealings, also has one hanging from the ceiling of his shop. This brings to mind a story by L. Frank Baum called “The Stuffed Alligator,” published in 1905. It concerns the capture, stuffing, and display of a young, disobedient alligator and how his mother rescues him through the aid of the Red-Eyed One, an alligator magician.
Unseen University in Ankh-Morpork is to the Discworld series what Hogwarts is to the Harry Potter series; what the School of Wizardry on Roke is to the Earthsea series; what the City of Magicians on Kelewan and Pug's academy on Macros's island are to the Riftwar series; and what the Mage College of Armethalieh is to the Obsidian Trilogy—the place where magic is studied and taught. Hogwarts has its headmaster, the School of Wizardry on Roke its Arch-Mage, and Armethalieh its High Mage—the one who really runs the city. The three are considered the top wizards of their worlds. But in Unseen University, a place compared to the castle of Gormenghast (from the series written by Mervyn Peake), the archchancellor rules the roost.
The archchancellor supposedly is the leader of all of the wizards throughout Discworld, just as the Arch-Mage is the leader of all high mages in Armetheliah and was handpicked by the gods but elected by his fellow wizards. (Go figure.)
Who is like Mustrum Ridcully, who assumes the position in
Moving Pictures
? While not as kindly as Albus Dumbledore, he's big on charm. He's like
Fellowship of the Ring
's Radagast in color (Ridcully the Brown), but unlike Radagast in that he yells at birds rather than befriends them, and hunts them with his hunting dragons. And he's like Saruman, but only in rank (the leader of the wizards). Bluff, blustering, and outdoorsy, Ridcully, a seventh-level wizard (out of eight levels), isn't the usual sort to hang around Unseen University. He attains the position for that simple fact. (The old archchancellor, Galder Weatherwax, an eighth-level wizard, disappears in
The Light Fantastic
.) He's also incredibly cheap, as he cheerfully withholds office supplies from the staff. And in his youth, he wanted to marry Granny Weatherwax!
Coin, a child sourcerer (an obvious wordplay on “sorcerer”) in
Sourcery,
briefly rules Unseen University and Ankh-Morpork, thanks to the plan of his crazy, vengeful father, Ipslore the Red. Since Coin is the eighth son of an eighth son of an eighth son, he is a “wizard squared,” according to Pratchett, and therefore a source of magic, rather than just a practitioner of magic. Drum Billet, the old wizard in
Equal Rites,
expects Eskarina to be an eighth son of an eighth son. This is a parody of the seventh-son-of-the-seventh-son aspect of mythology. You know—the seventh son is the wizard, the hero, a healer, or has some other unusual fate in folktales. Seven is believed to be a special number. So why eight here? Eight is an extremely important number in Discworld. Consider the eight great spells; octarine, the color of magic and the eighth color of the rimbow (Discworld's version of a rainbow); the octograms wizards use—the list goes on and on.
Discworld has its share of eccentric wizards (almost a redundancy). We know many of the wizards of Unseen University by their titles, rather than their names. There's the Senior Wrangler, the Lecturer in Recent Runes, the Dean, the Chair of Indefinite Studies, Dean of Pentacles, and so on. But then there's Rincewind, who for a time has only one spell firmly anchored to his brain. He can't do magic to save his life.
And what of Unseen University's Librarian? Although he is currently an orangutan, he was once a human who was magically transformed into an orangutan. And no, he does not wear a pointed hat. With Pratchett committed to the fight to save orangutans, is there any wonder that the Librarian chose to remain an orangutan rather than return to being human?
It's only fitting that we again mention Eskarina, who invades the boys' club of wizardry by becoming Discworld's first female wizard.
Of course, Granny Weatherwax could have had that honor, had she been allowed to attend Unseen University in her younger days.
It stands to reason that a place of learning has to have students. And a wizard is always in the process of learning. But they had to start somewhere. For many, the road from apprenticeship to mastery is unending. Maybe that's why many of Discworld's wizards are really old. Ponder Stibbons, a former graduate student-turned-head of Inadvisably Applied Magic, is one of the youngest wizards on staff. But there are students like Victor Tugelbend (
Moving Pictures
), who has the ability but lacks the drive to be a wizard, and Mr. Sideney (
Hogfather
), who lacks a moral compass and winds up in trouble for his part in the Hogfather escapade. They're about as far from true mastery as toast is from being an apple. Small wonder since the risk of death for wizards is far higher than for nonwizards.
Ged, Harry, Ron, Pug—we watch each on his road toward mastery. But does a wizard ever fully master his profession? Probably not. The wizards on Discworld keep learning one important lesson—how to stay alive.
In
The Prestige,
the magicians always searched for the next trick—the one that would truly amaze an audience as well as catapult the magician to fame. Making the next discovery was their great work, like that of any scientist. But a wizard's great work seems to consist of putting the right person on the throne (a job for witches in Discworld), stopping evil wherever it may arise (as a knight would), and then fading away with the passage of time. Merlin, Ged, and
Gandalf accepted the fading aspect of life. Discworld wizards accept this insofar as they know when they're going to die. But as for putting the right person on the throne and other civic duties, well, they'd rather not get involved because doing so somehow always involves taxes. We can't blame them.
For some wizards, their great work is to find out what they're really made of. Schmendrick, in
The Last Unicorn,
didn't know he could work magic until he joined the unicorn's quest. And Harry Potter's soul-destroying life with the Dursleys proved to be the launching pad that gave Harry the resiliency he would later need in the fight against You-Know-Who. But what of Rincewind? Unlike self-doubting Schmendrick, he never comes to a place where he can work magic on his own. Yes, he works some in
Eric
—or at least seems to. But he was manipulated by a demon. And he works magic to a degree in
Sourcery,
but that's all due to the incredible amount of magic in the air because of the rule of sourcery. So, for Rincewind, his great work is remaining alive.
Some mundane tasks that a wizard handles might seem extraordinary to us. Wizards also are known for working the weather—stoking a breeze or blowing a cloud over the right place. Zedd, Ged, and many of the other mages of Earthsea were skilled weather workers. Even the wizards of Discworld accept this task as part of wizardry, but only act upon it when necessary. Teaching classes at Unseen University is another task they act upon only when necessary. But they are quick to lob a fireball at someone or something. They're trigger-happy.
For the wizard, words are of supreme importance—no matter what the task. Knowing the right words gives the wizard control. This is the lesson Brom taught Eragon in
Eragon.
This is what Ged learned in
A Wizard of Earthsea
. The Discworld wizards, too, are expected to have mastered the languages needed to cast spells—although they sometimes argue about those words.
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