‘Twas the night before Hogswatch and all through the house-wait, what do you mean that’s not how the story goes? Oh, my apologies dear readers, I got too engrossed into my holiday read for the year, Hogfather by Terry Pratchett. I seriously recommend giving it a read, especially since this is probably the first book I’ve ever reread. It has interesting characters, dynamics, ideas, and comedic moments alongside scenes that make you think. A main theme in the book is the idea that humans need to believe in fantasies to be human. The story follows Death restoring the belief in the Hogfather by taking the reins of his sleigh led by his four pigs (Gouger, Rooter, Tusker, and Snouter) and invading the homes of children through the chimney, taking care to leave behind sooty footprints, and drops off gifts that were asked of the Hogfather from the letters sent to him. Taking care to take any edible tributes offered to the Hogfather and leaving behind sooty footprints, he travels home to home, delivering joy to all the good children of the world, all while dressed in a festive red cloak and with a jolly, if a little ominous, “HO. HO. HO.” You may be thinking “Why would the personification of Death work so hard to rebuild faith in some old myth used by parents to motivate their children to behave well and explain the appearance of presents under a tree for some solstice ritual?” Well, you would be on the same wavelength as Susan, Death’s granddaughter and a very normal person since in the Discworld, like in our world, the Hogfather is largely believed to be a lie that children stop believing in as they grow up. Except in the Discworld, belief and superstition has more “tangible” power. Gods and Goddesses have more influence and power the more people believe in them and as time goes on and belief in their existence dwindles, so too does their power, just like in our world, only with a lower likelihood of being smote for forgetting to offer your sacrifices after a good harvest (or a bad one). Death knows that the Hogfather carries a special significance in people’s lives other than just being a symbol for seasonal goodwill and cheer. He is a steppingstone for belief in even more abstract ideals. More human ideals. How is a child supposed to believe in something as intangible as justice if they can’t believe in something as unbelievable as a fairy that exchanges coins for teeth? How are they expected to believe in mercy if they can’t entertain the idea of a rabbit laying eggs with candy inside? How can anyone interpret the appearance of a flaming ball of gas as the Earth rotates as the sun coming up if they never believed in a jolly fat man flying around Earth delivering gifts to all the good little kids. As Death put it “HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.” If we simply went on with our lives believing what we know to be true, then we wouldn’t be people, just another species of animal trying to survive. We have stories though, tales passed down through generations that have developed alongside us. No longer is Santa Claus an old winter god with an odd connection with beans, he’s a symbol of the holiday spirit and increased consumerism. So even if Santa Claus looks like an unsarcastically happy elderly man for someone who resides in one of the coldest places on Earth, a seven-foot-tall skeleton with a pillow stuffing his belly, or your parents who hope to add some magic to your holidays, there is a reason to believe in Santa and other absurd childhood lies. To stay human and to see the sun rise once more. Happy Holidays everyone, and I’ll post again at the years end.
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