My rating: 3 of 5 stars
Since I don’t pay attention very well, when I saw Dodger in the book store, I assumed it was another Discworld novel. My problem is I came to the Discworld late, and so I read several of the books back-to-back and got used to all the fun. When I caught up, I had to wait a year for the next book, and then another year, and so on. Not fair! Now, every time I see Terry’s name on something, I start to drool.
But Dodger is not a Discworld novel, alas. Oh well. Still a fine book. Hard core Pratchett fans will like it, since Terry knows how to write, plain and simple, handling a wide array of characters and situations with practiced aplomb. You’re on the streets of London with Dodger and Charlie, you’re down in the sewers, you’re there in the barber shop with Sweeney Todd. Pratchett’s Whitechapel is dirty and gritty, but well-loved by its denizens and fun to run around in.
Hardcore Discworld fans will miss the silliness, a little bit, but will identify in Dodger a kind of Vimes-like sensibility, and in his keeper, Solomon, a tiny slice of Granny Weatherwax. That may be purposeful, may be the legacy of having written about them so often, or it might be just me reading into things. There’s no magic in London, although Dodger’s nearly a wizard when it comes to owning his patch and making a reputation for himself.
And as for those who love Dickens, well, I’m not sure what to say. This is no Dickensian novel, to be sure, and takes several liberties with Charlie himself as well as whatever background one might have gleaned about The Artful. Nevertheless, there’s a verisimilitude that Pratchett paints his London with, and that, if for no other reason, makes this a nice little pause in your Late Nineteenth Century English Literature studies.