A few years back a laid-up friend was professing boredom with every book on the shelf, and disinterest in the pile of galleys sent his way for review. “I need something that will tell me the truth without trying to convince me to advocate for their favorite part of it.”
Noting his crank, I suggested he needed to laugh. “I have just the thing for you!” This being back when bookstores were plentiful and easy to get to, I was able to gift him that very afternoon with “The Truth,” by way of Terry Pratchett and his vividly-imagined Discworld. “Ankh-Morpork may be fictional, but I do believe I have lived there,” I told him. “As a journalist, this might inspire you.”
He loved it, devouring the book in a day, and begging for other titles that might keep him ensconced in Pratchett’s marvelously wrought, satirical world.
In “The Truth,” William de Worde manages to reluctantly invent journalism after he is mowed down by some industrious dwarfs looking to turn lead into gold with a runaway printing press. The story is a hoot, but it also strikes important notes about the craft, duty and profitability of journalism and how corruption can be built into the system, but also risen above.
A few excerpts:
“Put a title like ‘Letters’ on the top and put them in,” said William. “Except the one about the dwarfs. That sounds like Mr. Windling. It sounds like my father, too, except that at least he can spell ‘undesirable’ and wouldn’t use crayon.”
“Why not that letter?”
“Because it’s offensive.”
“Some people think it’s true, though,” said Sacharissa. “There’s been a lot of trouble.”
“Yes, but we shouldn’t print it.”
William called Goodmountain (the dwarf printer-admin) over and showed him the letter. The dwarf read it. “Put it in,” he suggested. “It’ll fill a few inches.”
“But people will object,” said William.
“Good. Put their letters in, too.”
Eager to interview Sam Vines, the irascible Commander of the Watch, William tries logic: “You should talk to me so that I can write it down, sir. All neat and correct. The actual words you say, right down there on the paper. And you know who I am, and if I get them wrong, you know where to find me.”
“So, you’re telling me that if I do what you want, you’ll do what you want?”
“I’m saying, sir, that a lie can run round the world before the truth has got its boots on.”
“Ha! Did you just make that up?”
“No, sir. But you know it’s true.”
Vimes sucked on his cigar. “And you’ll let me see what you’ve written?”
“Of course. I’ll make sure you get one of the first papers off the press, sir.”
“I meant before it gets published, and you know it.”
“To tell you the truth, no. I don’t think I should do that, sir.”
“I am the commander of the Watch, lad.”
“Yes, sir. And I’m not. I think that’s my point, really…”
After debating further, Vimes decides he doesn’t trust the press, asking, “Who are you responsible to? I have to answer for what I do, although right now I’m damned if I know who to. But you? It seems to me you can do what the hell you like.”
“I suppose I’m answerable to the truth, sir.”
“Oh, really? How, exactly?”
“Sorry?”
“If you tell lies, does the Truth come and smack you in the face? I’m impressed. Ordinary everyday people like me are responsible to other people. … But you, you are answerable to the Truth. Amazing. What’s its address? Does it read the paper?”
“The Truth” is (as are all the Discworld books) strangely relevant to the times, and a good way to freshen one’s perspective on reality while taking a break from it.