My sister lent me some books of Pratchett. First I read ”Mort”, in Hungarian, and though I’ve found it great, I was surprised because I couldn’t find that famous humour I’ve heard of… Or I didn’t have an eye for that.
The second book I’ve read was ”The colour of magic”, in English. I was literally suffering while reading, because I still didn’t get ”the feeling”. What, who is this, how come, what is this person doing, where are we in space and time…
But in the middle of the book my attitude changed somehow, I managed to accept the unexpected turns of the book, and I began to enjoy it very, very much…
Now I’m reading ”Moving pictures”, in Hungarian, and I’m crying of laughter. Since I usually read on the subway too, people keep watching me
when this stupid woman tries to make order on her face or wipes her tears
Good that I didn’t give up.