In Making Money, confidence-trickster-turned-Postmaster-General Moist von Lipwig is named to the position of Master of the Royal Mint by Lord Vetinari of Ankh-Morpork, and much comic mayhem ensues. At least, that’s the idea. And indeed, there’s a fair measure of comedy; but I’m afraid I found this to be Pratchett’s least book in years.

Pratchett’s one of our favorites; when a new Pratchett comes out, I always read it aloud to Jane over a period of a week or two. In this way we can savor both the comic writing, and also the vagaries of the plot as it comes slowly to fruition. Terry Pratchett is typically the master of both: he knows how to write in a funny way, and he knows how to design plots for maximum effect with excellent comic timing. (Anyone who’s read Thud! will know exactly what I mean by the latter when I say, “Where’s my cow?”) In Making Money, alas, only the former is present. There are lots of funny lines, situations, gags, and so forth; had I not been reading it aloud I’ve have been forced to read so much of it aloud that I might as well have just read it aloud to begin with. But the plot is, frankly, a disaster, especially compared with Thud! or the preceding book about Moist von Lipwig, Going Postal.

As a confidence man, Moist is adept at improvising in tough situations. He doesn’t get to do nearly enough of that here, and when he does his improvisations often don’t make much sense. He spends too much of his time passively reacting to what’s going on, if that’s possible. There’s a lengthy subplot involving some ancient golems found by Moist’s girlfriend that is almost entirely unconvincing. Important plot points seemed forced; nothing quite works. It’s as though the Laws of Narrative Causality made sure that the broad outlines of the tale went properly even though the small details weren’t quite all in place. Lots of interesting things were pulled in and made a big deal of—I’m thinking of the Men of the Sheds, who work in the Royal Mint, in particular—and then almost dropped, with no real payoff.

On the one hand, it was fun to read anyway, and I don’t regret spending the money to buy it in hardback. But Pratchett is capable of much better work than this, and so on the other hand it’s a real disappointment. Oh, well.