(Review by June Dwolatsky, M.A., Cape Town, South Africa)

This is the twenty-second of the Discworld novels and the question on everyone’s* lips is, "Has Pratchett written himself out?"

Well, has he?

The book opens as usual on the Discworld, which as all cosmogonists know is supported by four giant elephants standing on the back of a turtle swimming through space. Once again disaster looms and Rincewind, failed wizard and reluctant hero, is called upon to save the day. He is assisted along the way by a giant talking kangaroo who is not (surprise, surprise) all that he seems, a road warrior dwarf, a crocodile barman, transvestites and chefs, and only slightly impeded by bush rangers, wild horses, watchmen and the multiverse’s first pair of thongs…

We see a lot more (a lot more) of Mrs Whitlow, the housekeeper of Unseen University, and other characters that we’ve met before, like the Archchancellor, who has temporarily and temporally become separated from most of his faculty and the Bursar, who lost his a long time ago. Fans of Death (the most popular of all Pratchett’s characters, which should tell you a lot about Discworld fans) will be delighted to know that he makes the occasional appearance. So does the Luggage, Rincewind’s faithful though homicidal fellow-traveller and source of clean underwear. We also renew our acquaintanceship with the only Librarian in the world who can replace books with his feet and with the Food Vendor with a Thousand Faces, Dibbler.

To sum it up, the gang’s all here. And despite their help, Rincewind has to end the Dry and bring back the Wet. The entire giant red continent lies gasping for lack of rain, the brewery’s just burned down and when they run out of beer things could turn ugly.

Terry Pratchett says in a preamble to the book that "this is not a book about Australia." Well, stone the crows, cries the astonished reader, what about the emus, and the Opera House, and the venomous spiders and snakes, and the beer, and the koalas and the roos, then?

But that is to miss the point, that The Last Continent is a myth. It’s about the Dreamtime and creation myths. It’s also about how myths get created, and why, but you’d hardly realise it, for the jokes, the wordplay, the pace and the sheer fun of it all. Which is what sets Pratchett apart from his truly awful imitators.

So is The Last Continent a must-read? Absolutely. It provides the answers to such baffling mysteries as how Vegemite** was invented, who first crafted the distinctive Australian headgear and why the duckbilled platypus. Oh yes, and what the real story behind Australia’s unofficial anthem is. You’ll also find out who first tried surfing, how one of the two great Australian desserts got invented and why there are so many species of beetles***.

As ever, Pratchett’s latest is funny and wise and I enjoyed it even better the second time, when I recognised a few more references and found the wonderful pun. Unfortunately, most South Africans will have to wait a while longer to explore The Last Continent, if the major local booksellers adhere to their usual speed. For those who cannot bear the anticipation, I’d recommend Amazon or begging a more fortunate friend who’s travelling to Britain. No worries, mate!