So I finally finished Good Omens. It took me long enough. I don’t usually read this slow, but I’ve had so much going on. I suppose that’s just the way it is sometimes.
This book has been around for some time now. 27 years, to be precise. That’s older than me. This book is old enough that the copy I read has a foreword in which the authors discuss writing the book and something that might count as an afterword that discusses the book’s status as a “cult classic.” From what I can tell, those who know it and love it, know it and love it thoroughly.
Considering, however, that I am now officially an adult and hadn’t even known of the existence of this book despite having heard of the authors and considering this book is older than today’s newest vanguard of adulthood, discussing this book seems to me to contain merit beyond me spewing my opinions at you. Not that spewing my opinions at you isn’t reason enough. Opinion-spewing is fashionable these days.
My favorite part of Good Omens is the humour. Now, if you have read this book or pick it up in the near future, you will say to me, perhaps with a twinge of sarcasm
“That’s very nice, but the whole thing’s a bloody handbook on comedy.”
True, but that’s why it’s so brilliant. The book never stops being funny, which is absolutely incredible. Even comedy movies need to take a break from being funny for a moment, probably because the writers have run out of jokes and think that humour and character development are mutually exclusive. This is the book to prove them wrong (which, of course, makes me wonder where they’ve been all these years because they’ve had 27 years to mend the error of their ways).
Furthermore, the comedy is smart. Sometimes, it’s even borderline satiric. It’s satire that’s having way too much fun. It’s satire that’s challenging ideas and telling you smart things while cracking you up so hard you’ll spill your tea (or coffee or cocoa; whatever you drink while you read, I suggest you set it down first).
Good Omens qualifies, then, as a fun read. You can read it on the train or in a plane or after a particularly stressful day. It’s the type of book you can read before bed. It won’t leave you weeping. It’s lighthearted.
Another bit of the book’s magic is in the seamless blending of fantastical and mundane elements. I have not yet read a Terry Pratchett book, but I do know that this overlapping of worlds is something Neil Gaiman does well and, frankly, often. The idea of taking a traditional story and bringing it to today’s reality and reimagining it within those bounds is very Neil Gaiman.
What are these fantastical elements, you say? What is this story reimagined? That is where you pick up the book and find out for yourself.