Introduction
Aeons ago, when the internet existed mostly for blogging, I wrote a series of snarky, feminist posts about female characters in Terry Pratchett’s popular fantasy series, the Discworld. Those posts picked up more eyeballs than anything else I ever typed online, and I don’t think it’s just because the first one had ‘Boobs’ in the title.
Pratchett’s Women (2014), the collection of those essays, is still my biggest seller, picking up new readers all the time. For years, people have been asking for a sequel. Where is Pratchett’s Men? (I don’t think they mean it in the same way people ask about why we don’t have an International Men’s Day… cough, November 19th.)
It’s a reasonable question. If you’re going to have a lot of thinky thoughts about the role of gender in fantasy fiction, as played out in one of the most important and thought-provoking bodies of work fiction in our genre, you can’t actually leave the men out. (Can you? You probably can. But I’m not gonna.)
Pratchett’s male characters are fascinating. The Discworld series started out parodying the best-known tropes of the genre, asking questions like What Even Is A Hero from page one… of course its men are just as complex, crunchy and thought-provoking as its women. Consider the celibate wizards, the police detective and the personification of death who both struggle with fatherhood and intimacy, the crushing patriarchy of dwarven culture, the elderly barbarian hero who doesn’t know how to stop being a legend in his own lifetime… even Monstrous Regiment, a novel famous for being almost entirely peopled with women, has plenty to say about what it means to be a man.
So, here we are. Pratchett’s Men is both the title and theme of my ongoing column here at Speculative Insight. Every two months, I’m going to pop back up, talking about blokes in these books.
You can’t, of course, talk about men and masculinity without considering other gender paradigms. Just as Pratchett’s Women referred to male characters and issues where they were relevant to the women, this column will definitely be discussing women, non-binary and trans issues alongside those to do with masculinity. But… I am trying to rein in my own tendency to talk mostly about female issues! I’ve already written a whole book of essays about how it’s so much easier to break a glass ceiling if you have a broomstick in one hand and a dragon in the other, after all. Now it’s time to talk about what the men of the Discworld are doing while the women march to war and plait ribbons into their beards.
To make things an extra challenge (why not!) I thought I’d begin with the Discworld books where men rarely get much attention at all… That’s right, it’s time to talk about male characters in the Witch books!
Let’s poke them with sticks, with or without bells tied on the end. It’s going to be fun.
Men Who Love Like Respect Witches I: Male Validation of Women’s Magic in Equal Rites
One of the joys of the Witch books by Terry Pratchett is that women are the protagonists — and the most significant characters — in a series of popular fantasy novels written by a man. This shouldn’t be a rarity in our modern world — it’s far less rare now, in 2024, than it was in the late 20th century when the first two dozen Discworld books were written. It is, however, still worthy of note, if only because of the enduring popularity and iconic status of these books in the history of fantasy fiction.
While the relationships between women (especially when those women are witches) are integral to the Witch books, there is also a pattern of male characters serving as sidekicks and support acts to female characters, from the Ramtops to the Chalk.
The early Discworld novels are full of great examples of male sidekicks, usually as part of a male-male duo: Rincewind and Twoflower, Death and Albert, Victor and Gaspode, Gaspode and Laddie… even Sergeant Colon and Nobby (though it’s hard to tell at times which of those two is the sidekick).
But one of my favourite tropes is the male sidekick paired with a female protagonist. (Bonus points when there’s no romance involved!) In the 1980s, no matter what popular culture you were consuming, it was incredibly rare to find stories where men assisted the narrative of powerful women… and honestly it still feels a little subversive when I stumble across it these days. In the early Witch books, this dynamic is particularly notable because these stories are grounded in a recurring theme of appreciating tradition and old-fashioned values: the Witches are constantly looking back to how things have always been done, while also being sneakily progressive – and making sure no one expects them to follow any unnecessary social restrictions that are otherwise fine for everyone else.
Whether it’s a wizard getting hot and bothered about his un-torrid history with Granny Weatherwax, a gentle jester with a mighty destiny, a transformed frog, a scattering of placid and practical sons, or a cat willing to wear black leather for a good cause… the Lancre witches are surrounded by a solid supporting cast of men who help to propel their stories forward, without taking (too much) glory for themselves.
Over the next few months I’ll look at some examples of Male Supporting Characters from the early Witch novels, beginning with Equal Rites (1987).
GRANNY WEATHERWAX AND ARCHCHANCELLOR CUTANGLE
“Wizards! They talked too much and pinned spells down in books like butterflies but, worst of all, they thought theirs was the only magic worth practicing.”
Granny was absolutely certain of one thing. Women had never been wizards, and they weren’t about to start now.
This third Discworld novel introduces Eskarina Smith, a girl destined to be a wizard despite a society that rejects such a concept. The book also introduces Granny Weatherwax, one of the most iconic and integral Discworld characters. While Granny is set up as Esk’s mentor (the kind of mentor one usually outgrows in the first act) she regularly slides into the role of protagonist (only to back away quickly clutching a large bag of second-hand clothing).
Granny forms part of several entertaining double acts throughout the novel, culminating in key scenes where she confronts and subverts Archchancellor Cutangle. Their comic pairing, consisting of Granny showing a very successful wizard how wrong he is about the world, is an entertaining formula which Pratchett would return to again and again. Pointing Granny Weatherwax at a pompous man secure in his own power, and watching her expertly and casually skewer him, is certainly my idea of a good time as a reader.
‘Where does it say it?’ said Granny triumphantly. ‘Where does it say women can’t be wizards?’
The following thoughts sped through Cutangle’s mind:
…It doesn’t say it anywhere, it says it everywhere.
…But young Simon seemed to say that everywhere is so much like nowhere that you can’t really tell the difference.
…Do I want to be remembered as the first Archchancellor to allow women into the University? Still… I’d be remembered, that’s for sure.
Cutangle represents the male authority that Granny defies in bringing Esk to Unseen University. After they take part in a magical duel, Cutangle falls quickly into the role of Granny’s sidekick: always out of breath and at least half a step behind her.
By the end of the story, Cutangle’s eyes have been opened to the importance of the “female perspective of magic” and he is so impressed that he offers Granny a Chair, later negotiated into an occasional remote teaching role. This feels like a triumphant and significant development, despite being dropped in later novels. Sadly, Cutangle is not remembered as the first Archchancellor to allow women into the university, because he himself is not remembered or referred to again. Neither his allowing Esk to become a wizarding student nor his offering a teaching position to Granny are decisions that cause significant ripples to the Discworld; every group of wizards we see in future books are all male. [i] Cutangle’s most important legacy, in fact, is as the template for a more significant sidekick who will join Granny on some of her future adventures: that of Mustrum Ridcully.
ESK AND SIMON
Esk is aided by many quirky characters along her journey, but apart from Granny herself, it’s Simon who stands out as her most significant sidekick, even if he doesn’t actively help her on her quest… instead, his support is largely passive in that he answers her questions with respect, thinks seriously about everything she says to him, and never tells her to go away.
Simon is on the path for exactly the sort of grand magical destiny that Esk, as the novel’s protagonist, might have been expected to achieve (against all the odds!). This boy apprentice is undoubtedly clever, talented and deserves a place at Unseen University, but his gender puts him on track to achieve this goal almost by default. The only thing he is lacking, we are told at the beginning, is a staff, and his lack is a mere technicality which will be rectified.
Simon’s stutter and allergies, which affect his ability to perform and communicate magic, do not serve as a barrier to entry. Neither does the fact that most wizards can’t understand his ideas. His teacher Treatle and the rest of the wizards from the university don’t have much to teach someone of Simon’s unusual abilities, but they still fall over themselves to include him, while Esk (who started out life with a staff, the one element we are told is most essential for a wizard) is mocked for requesting a basic wizarding education.
Of the two children, you might expect Esk, whose power is given nowhere safe to go, to be the one who almost ends up destroying the world; but it is Simon, due to a naive understanding of his own untapped power and his singular lack of competent mentorship, who falls under the influence of the Dungeon Dimensions and unwittingly creates a Big Bad monstrous foe to be fought.[ii]
When Esk comes to rescue Simon in that other magical space, it is finally she who takes the lead, and he who falls into the sidekick position, following the guidance of this nine year old girl who has a greater understanding of magic (and anti-magic) than he can immediately grasp.
Given Simon has already been established as having a deeper and more intelligent understanding of magic than all the other wizards in the Discworld, his acceptance of Esk’s theory in how to fight the Things feels like a greater validation than the belated official nod from Archchancellor Cutangle and Unseen University.
Once the day has been saved, the novel concludes with the idea that Esk and Simon are now equal partners in wizardry:
“Esk and Simon went on to develop a whole new type of magic that no one could exactly understand but which nevertheless everyone considered very worthwhile and somehow comforting.”
However, this new type of magic is never mentioned again in Unseen University novels, and when Esk finally returns to the narrative of the Discworld, it is implied she spent her career in Simon’s shadow.[iii] Simon’s sidekick status, along with Esk’s protagonist status, did not last long.
IS EQUAL RITES EVEN A DISCWORLD NOVEL?
While Equal Rites is an excellent read in its own right, it does feel unmoored, floating independently of the rest of the Discworld series. Granny Weatherwax is marvellous, but Wyrd Sisters (1988) serves as just as strong an introduction for her character. The destruction of so much of the Unseen University (and its wizards!) in Sourcery (1988) followed by the more long-term reinvention of the University community in Moving Pictures (1990) renders this book as the one you don’t have to read in order to understand what’s going on.
The distinct difference between wizard and witch magic is a theme Pratchett would return to over and over again, though the later Discworld novels mostly reinforce that binary rather than challenging it.[iv] Other storylines featuring the reinvention of magic spring up over the course of the Discworld novels, including the creation of Hex, a wizarding tool equivalent to computer technology… but they are not sequels to this book, and do not build upon the relationships introduced here.
One legacy of Equal Rites is carried forward, however, in the series-within-a-series usually referred to as the Witch books. There are so many satisfying examples of male sidekicks and support acts uplifting the narratives of Granny Weatherwax and her fellow Lancre witches in those future books that we will be spoilt for choice.
Next time, we’ll talk about the kings, blacksmiths, jesters, players and dukes in Wyrd Sisters.
Notes
[i] When we finally see Eskarina Smith again in I Shall Wear Midnight (2010) and The Shepherd’s Crown (2015) she is described as “a woman who had once been a wizard,” and shown to be using a kind of magic that combines witchcraft and wizardry, literally hiding from the Unseen University and its traditions. If a glass ceiling was broken in Equal Rites, it was immediately swept up and hidden in a cupboard.
[ii] Simon suffers as much from poor mentorship as Esk thrives under Granny’s practical mentorship, even though Granny understands almost as little about Esk’s magic as the wizards understand about Simon’s.
[iii] In the Tiffany Aching novels, when Esk returns as a mysterious magical mentor, she is rumoured to have dedicated her life to nursing and supporting Simon while he did all his genius groundbreaking magical work...and that this is how she herself learned magic.
[iv] This is the point at which this columnist went off on a tangent with an entirely different essay about the return of Esk, and how Tiffany Aching defies the gendered conventions of magic in The Shepherd’s Crown, but THAT IS NOT TODAY’S TOPIC, TANSY.
Tansy Rayner Roberts is a Doctor of Classics, a Doctor Who podcaster, and an author of many science fiction and fantasy books, as well as the essay collection Pratchett’s Women. You can find her at tansyrr.com.