Unseen Academicals and the meaning of sport



There's nothing like a hardback book to make you wonder: "what's the point of hardback books?". They're more awkward to use and less portable than paperbacks, they take up more than their fair share of space, and they're expensive. They're grandiose relics, like stately homes in a world designed for suburban semis, except you don't even get a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake when you stump up for a hardback book.

They'd be harmless, though, if it wasn't for the hardback-exclusivity of new books. This actually depresses total book sales, at least from me, because the media review books as soon as they come out, but if a review actually convinces me to buy, I then have to wait up to a year for it to come out in paperback, by which time I've forgotten all about it. And unless it makes the Waterstones 3-for-2, I'm unlikely to chance across it again. Nice work, publishers!

The one advantage to hardbacks is that they are impressive. They have a pleasing heft, and like that other refugee from the past, the vinyl record, they display their covers as nature intended. This is what will ensure their survival, long after cheap paperbacks have been crushed by the coming onslaught of the e-reader. Even after all everyday reading goes electronic, hardbacks will still be needed to grace coffee tables, to be given as Christmas gifts, or to be artfully arranged on the newly-liberated bookshelves. They have a bright future as an ornament, just like old-fashioned ploughing equipment still hangs on the walls of country pubs.

Still, for now buying new is the only reason to go hardback. If there's one author that deserves this extravagance, it's Terry Pratchett. If you're a Pratchett fan, you'll probably know where the title of this blog was stolen from, so it won't come as any surprise that I'm a fan too. If you're not a Pratchett fan yet, I'll let Wikipedia fill you in. Be sure to come back here in 36 books' time (I recommend starting with Mort).

For all the publisher-bashing above, I'm very grateful to them for consistently bringing out new Discworld novels just in time for my birthday. The latest is Unseen Academicals, in which football comes to the city of Ankh-Morpork. Except it's not really new. As of this book there's always been a traditional form of the game played called "foot-the-ball", and it's now extremely popular to the point where the crowds are getting out of control. To my knowledge there's never been any reference to a sporting culture in the city before, so it's a jarring revelation. This is an occupational hazard in any long-running series, but I think it could have been handled more sensitively, perhaps by making foot-the-ball an annual event, as medieval football games often were in our world.

The action centres on the Unseen University. For the first time we get a feel for how it functions behind the scenes, with rich detail provided in the form of candle dribblers and the Night Kitchen. In these fields work Trev, Glenda, Juliet and Mr Nutt, who go on to play the central roles in the story. All four are interesting characters and increasingly so as they get involved in the game and, not unrelatedly, the fashion industry. Mr Nutt in particular is fascinating. One of the major appeals of the Discworld setting is the opportunity it gives to explore human prejudice much more thoroughly than could be achieved in a wholly realistic novel. Mr Nutt's development is a brilliant example of this.

The wizards of UU play a large part too. In recent times the faculty has approached a comfortable steady state, much like some of the other long-running character groups (the City Watch and the witches). Things are shaken up in Unseen Academicals. The Dean has left for a rival university and Dr Hix, an entertainingly rule-bound version of the dark wizard archetype, has joined. The rivalry with the former Dean synchronises with themes of competition running through the book and gives Archchancellor Ridcully a much-needed enemy to thwart.

The stakes, however, never seem high enough to give the game's preparations sufficient urgency. The social and financial worries that drive the story are minor compared to other books, especially the very early ones where planetary destruction was regularly threatened. It's great that modern day Ankh-Morpork is a complex, subtle environment, but this time around I did long for an incursion from the Dungeon Dimensions.

The handling of the new version of football is also a little off-putting. Too often it descends into explicit parody, harking back to the "Discworld Does X" style last seen in Moving Pictures and Soul Music. Unlike those, however, the philosophical depth typical of the later books is present again, and many aspects of the human condition are brilliantly illuminated through the lens of the game. Pratchett also presents an eloquent defence of football itself, both the visceral thrill of watching it in a crowd and the tactical intricacies of playing it. Some passages are clearly aimed at the stereotypical sport-averse fantasy reader, such as when the obvious similarities to board games are pointed out explicitly.

Whether Unseen Academicals convinces the sport-phobic is an open question. But it should at least put to rest the doddery old argument that sport is meaningless, that football is just 22 people kicking a ball around in field. By that token life is meaningless too: it's just 10^79 atoms bumping into each other in a universe, after all. We have to invest meaning in things ourselves, and it's no less real a concept for that. The hardback format gives Pratchett a chance to point this out, prominently, on the back cover:

The thing about football - the important thing about football - is that it is not just about football.


PS: I was lucky enough to visit Portland, Oregon while I was reading Unseen Academicals. If you're ever there, keep a look out for a wall featuring Pratchett's autograph:


More on this place in the next post.


Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett
First published 2009

Comments

  1. In fairness, I don't like watching other people play board games, either.

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  2. That's because you've either (1) not picked a side or (2) not drunk enough alcohol.

    The comparison in the book was only to playing but I don't see why in principle it shouldn't extend to watching as well. Snooker and poker are just as sedentary and yet do well on TV. And I quite enjoyed the brief chess craze on Channel 4 when plucky Brit Nigel Short was around. Any game is watchable providing there's an underdog to cheer on.

    Except American football of course.

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  3. I don't think (2) is particularly likely in my case.

    Without reading the book (which I am unlikely to do, being one of those people who can't really see the attraction of Pratchett, despite my former room-mates best attempts to convert me with a City Watch novel), I can't be sure of how well the comparison works, but as someone deeply sports averse, I would suggest it's the differences that we focus on, rather than the similarities. Mainly the differences that involve exhaustion, pain and mud. After all, enjoying Modern Warfare 2 should not be considered evidence of wanting to engage in firefights with terrorists.

    However, I must confess that I do really like watching snooker. I also, like you, enjoyed watching Short play Kasparov back in the '90s. Part of what determines our preference, I suspect, is the particular skills one finds worthy of attention. People can show me examples of exemplary skill by a footballer, and whilst I can recognise it as being several light-years away from anything I could ever achieve, I am only technically impressed, and not especially interested. Watching the sort of skill a snooker player or chess player makes use of, in contrast, makes for good viewing (in truth it probably helps that my idea of a good game to watch is one does not require that I pay total attention to it).

    In this sense, I think that whilst it would be easy to say we watch the games we enjoy playing, it would be fairer to suggest that the skills we are interested in watching are the same ones we are interested in developing, which in my case strategic thinking and accuracy, both unemcumbered by what my opponent is doing whilst I'm busy thinking.

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  4. I think you're right that focusing on the physicality is what puts people off. That's the starting point for Pratchett's argument: once you get past the physical nature of the game, the strategic thinking required is very similar. Although the specific comparison is to a fictional Discworld board game called "Thud", so how well this holds up with a real game is debatable.

    You've got me with turn-based rules being a clear dividing line. I'm not sure how important this really is though. Would you prefer "Trench Warfare" to Modern Warfare 2, where you and the enemy patiently take turns to shell each other?

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  5. I've played Thud. It's... interesting.

    I actually discussed this post with my father last night, since he's a big football fan and simply despises board games. One of the points discussed regards whether there is that much strategic thinking is involved in the middle of a football game as oppose tactical thinking. You can certainly argue there is some strategy in there too, but I'd say there is less there than in, say, test match cricket (which, as I may have mentioned, I've actually found myself becoming interested in). As I understand it (which, of course, is not very well at all) there's a lot of strategy in the actual running of a football team, and the approach to a given season/tournament, but within the game itself it's harder to discern. Certainly it gets lost for me amidst the chaos. It's possible that given enough time I could work more of it out, but it doesn't seem a particularly compelling way to spend time on the off chance I have that Eureka moment.

    It's worth noting that I do have a deep and abiding love of turn based 'puter war games, from Rebelstar II through to Batallion Wars. And, of course, video games of almost all types are as far removed from physicality as turn based games/sports are (if indeed any turn based activity can qualify as a sport in the first place), even for the vast majority of games employing the Wiimote or similar. Whilst my opponents actions may directly influence my own in real-time, those actions are being filtered through an electronic system. That means they feed into my thought process rather than making revert to lizard-brain attempts to ensure no-one hits me with anything in the head.

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  6. I agree that test match cricket is the ultimate strategic sport, but then it does have the advantage of lasting up to five days. There's less opportunity to change strategy during a football match, but there will always be a strategy for the game (separate from the season etc.).

    I take your point about electronic systems, but I think there are only no lizards involved because the system is not sufficiently immersive. If you had some kind of souped-up VR interface, they would probably start to trigger the same reactions as sport. The Wiimote already does this to a small extent, e.g. Wii tennis is a little bit like playing real tennis (though not much).

    Going back to the idea that you watch what you'd like to develop the skills for, it occured to me that it's possible to enjoy watching a sport without having any desire to play it. For example, I hated playing rugby at school and this put me off watching it for many years, but after grudgingly learning the rules for the world cup a few years ago I had to admit that it can be fairly enjoyable to watch. Possibly out of sheer relief that I'm not the one on the field getting pummeled.

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  7. Fair enough; I guess it's just my inability to see it that's the problem, that or the specific kind of strategic thought being employed doesn't interest me.

    I agree entirely that it should be possible to create a VR system realistic enough to make me not want to play it, but that's simply because one could reach a level of tech whereby the mind can be fooled into thinking that one's own body can be effected. The Wiimote might change how we control the game, but it makes no difference regarding how we experience the game's input. That, I would argue, is the key element.

    I'm sure it's possible to enjoy watching a game you don't want to play, though I'm not sure I've ever gotten to that point. The closest exception would seem to be cricket, since as I've mentioned I enjoy test matches and I certainly don't want to risk a cork ball impacting against my person at 100 mph.

    However, two things occur to me. Firstly, while I might not want to play cricket, I might well want to be a cricket captain and call all the shots (admittedly I presume the two can't be separated in real life, but that doesn't matter from the perspective of watching the game). Secondly, I probably, would like to play cricket, if only I were allowed to do so inside some kind of armoured shell that renders me incapable of harm.

    Given your comments above, I wonder whether the same is true with you and rugby. If you could play it as some kind of indestructible robot (which had your own strength, speed and agility, and could even replicate the effects of injuries just without any discomfort), would you think you'd like to give rugby a go?

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  8. "Firstly, while I might not want to play cricket, I might well want to be a cricket captain and call all the shots (admittedly I presume the two can't be separated in real life"

    Well, Vaughan got very close to that ideal.

    "If you could play it as some kind of indestructible robot (which had your own strength, speed and agility, and could even replicate the effects of injuries just without any discomfort), would you think you'd like to give rugby a go?"

    I would, though if I had an indestructible robot at my command I'd probably have other priorities.

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  9. Pfft, even an indestructible robot has to take some me time every now and again. Live a little, RoboTomsk!

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  10. An interesting thing to think about. I'd say within a game of football (at least once you reach a certain level of competition and I'm thinking the higher levels of organised non-league here) there is a number of strategic elements to each game.
    Opponents are scouted and plans divised of how best to play/counter them.

    Do you push the wing backs on? Play with a deep defensive line? Play through the middle or exploit the flanks? Do you play a neat passing game or go route one?

    Any and all of these elements can be changed during the game depending on the unfolding action, although understandly individual players also play a massive part - if one doesn't stick to the plan it can all come apart or it may even prove a game winning moment as a center back burts into midfield and tips the subsequent phase of play in his team's favour.

    I love my season tickets seats at Sunderland because there are high enough so you can observe the edd and flow of the formations and player positioning (and close enough to admire the individual skill).

    As far as watching it I take the view that football is the best drama that isn't written by someone. Each match an episode and each season a series (or er a season if you're looking american TV). It's a big unpredictable story wrapped up with undeniable elements of almost tribal community bonding

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  11. Those seats sound great, except for the Sunderland bit. Though I see Leicester have gone back to their tried and tested strategy of dominating the game for 90 minutes then conceding in injury time.

    Incidentally I'm starting to wonder if it makes sense to draw a semantic line between strategy and tactics in a sporting context. You could equally argue that all of the plans you talk about are tactics, and the strategy is (to quote Kevin Keegan) to score more goals than the opposition. Though maybe that's why he kept getting sacked...

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  12. I disagree with the comment that was made that the argument in the book was only focusing upon the meaning invested in playing a sport - masses of the book is spent on emphasising how the crowd is integral to the sport, and in fact elevates it beyond simple exercise to something more; Glenda's speech to the wizards regarding being part of something greater than oneself kind of exemplifies that.

    Also, with regards to Thud, as Squid points out, it is not just a fictional game, and hasn't been for about 5 years, so I think the comparison used in the novel is perfectly valid.

    Squid, I don't think you'd like this book either, though not really because it's about football; simply because its one of Pratchett's poorer efforts, primarily because of its lack of focus, and attempts to pack in too many characters and ideas without fully realising a lot of them.

    I can't remember how much you enjoyed Guards, Guards, but I still think you should give some of the others a chance. Men-At-Arms would be a good follow-on point, and is a step up in plot, style, and substance (although I personally loved GG). Even if you don't find them particularly funny, the richness of the characters and setting, as well as, in the later books, the philosophical and sociological themes tackled means that they are far more than just failed comedies.

    I think you would like Small Gods too; very much an angry humanist take on one of your favourite stomping grounds, religious organisation.

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  13. Jamie - not sure which comment you're referring to but I completely agree that the crowd experience is a dominant theme.

    I also think Squid would enjoy Small Gods, although it's not a good hook into the series as it's a one-off and arguably the least Discworldy of all the Discworld series. But maybe that makes it all the more appealing.

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  14. You said 'The comparison in the book was only to playing but I don't see why in principle it shouldn't extend to watching as well.' But I'm glad you agree with me...

    You have a point regarding Small Gods, although there are many other more Discworldy books that I think he could appreciate just as much (Lords and Ladies, Feet of Clay, The Truth, Thief of Time, Fifth Elephant, Night Watch, Thud!; hell, the Watch books specifically just get better and better).

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  15. Sorry, I should have been clearer: I meant the comparison between football and board games was only with respect to playing them. There weren't any comparisons between watching football and watching board games in the book (as far as I can recall).

    That's a good list, though I'm not sure about The Fifth Elephant. The Watch books do get better and better to begin with as they chart Vimes's rise to power, but I think they reached a plateau around Jingo. After then, Pratchett was faced with the problem of a Watch who were no longer the underdogs. A bit like with the witches series, they'd got too powerful for the stories to manage effectively. Fifth Elephant was a bit of a dud for this reason, as it felt to me like he was groping around for what to do next (similarly Carpe Jugulum for the witches). Having said that Night Watch was an excellent solution, i.e. sending him back to a time when they weren't in control, and possibly my favourite Watch book. Thud was also pretty good, using a severe external threat to put Vimes on the back foot. But I still think the steady state I mentioned in the review is an obstacle to writing more Watch books.

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  16. Au contraire, I think Fifth Elephant, Night Watch and Thud! are easily in the very top tier of Discworld novels. The political elements of the plot of T5E were a new aspect to the Guards books that I thought worked brilliantly, and putting the archetypal cynical copper in the role of reluctant diplomat was a masterstroke (that was, I suppose, signposted in Jingo, but properly realised in T5E), and dealt very well with the underdog issue by recontextualising the whole thing. And simultaneously another facet was added to the ever-modernising Ankh-Morpork with the establishment of the clacks system, which I feel was crucial to the progress of the series as a whole.

    You are right that the steady state you have mentioned is a barrier to very many more quality Watch books, but considering we've had 7 at such a high batting average, I'm not unduly worried. In fact, I would say that Jingo was probably my least favourite and felt the most forced and absurd (although some of the absurdities were admittedly brilliant - the trio of the Patrician, Nobby and Colon was inspired).

    I would agree with you with regards to Carpe Jugulum, as Granny had got too powerful for the series' own good by that point. But clearly Pratchett realised this and hence has shifted his focus onto the Tiffany Aching books, concentrating on a new Granny in potentia. And once again, these have worked extremely well.

    I think that all I really want from Sir Terry now is the third part of the Lipwig trilogy, and a quality finale to Tiffany's story. Of course, I hope he remains productive for many years to come, but I would be quite happy if he never wrote another Guards book, much as I love them.

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  17. Here's an interesting piece from the author:

    Guardian book club: Terry Pratchett on Unseen Academicals

    I think the "topic" problem still dogs the book to some extent - that was what I was trying to get at with the "Discworld Does X" remark.

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