The Wee Free Men

Review by Booklist Review

Gr. 6^-10. Pratchett turns the bogeymen of fairy tales and nightmares into reality in the latest book in his popular, comedic Discworld series. Young Tiffany Aching, incipient witch armed with a large iron frying pan, goes after the Elf Queen, who has taken Tiffany's little brother into Fairyland and who plans to use humans' dreams to conquer their world. Tiffany's companions on her quest are a talking toad, who used to be a human, and a band of fierce Wee Free Men, who are six inches tall, talk with a Scottish brogue, and are famous for "stealin' an' drinkin' an' fightin'!" The action is both manic and a little scary as the queen confronts her pursuers with a headless horseman, dreams that trap dreamers inside them, and more. In the end, Tiffany must face the Queen alone while attempting to sort out reality from nightmare. Both the humor and the danger will appeal to fans of Discworld; they will also draw readers who like J. K. Rowling's Harry, Hermione, and Ron. --Sally Estes

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

This tale set in Discworld stars a plucky young witch-in-training who, according to PW's starred review, "will win over not only readers but the title characters, (somewhat) lovable imps who exude a certain charm despite their innate and unrepentant kleptomania." Ages 12-up. (June) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 5-7-Tiffany, an extremely competent nine-year-old, takes care of her irritating brother, makes good cheese on her father's farm, and knows how to keep secrets. When monsters from Fairyland invade her world and her brother disappears, Tiffany, armed only with her courage, clear-sightedness, a manual of sheep diseases, and an iron frying pan, goes off to find him. Her search leads her to a showdown with the Fairy Queen. It is clear from the beginning that Tiffany is a witch, and a mighty powerful one. The book is full of witty dialogue and a wacky cast of characters, including a toad (formerly a lawyer). Much of the humor is supplied by the alcohol-swilling, sheep-stealing pictsies, the Wee Free Men of the title, who are six-inches high and speak in a broad Scottish brogue. (The fact that readers will not understand some of the dialect won't matter, as Tiffany doesn't understand either, and it is all part of the joke.) These terrors of the fairy world are Tiffany's allies, and she becomes their temporary leader as they help her search for the Fairy Queen. Once the story moves into Fairyland it becomes more complex, with different levels of dream states (or, rather, nightmares) and reality interweaving. Tiffany's witchcraft eschews the flamboyant tricks of wizards; it is quiet, inconspicuous magic, grounded in the earth and tempered with compassion, wisdom, and justice for common folk. Not as outrageous and perhaps not as inventive as The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents (HarperCollins, 2001), The Wee Free Men has a deeper, more human interest and is likely to have wider appeal. All in all, this is a funny and thought-provoking fantasy, with powerfully visual scenes and characters that remain with readers. A glorious read.-Sue Giffard, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, New York City (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Horn Book Review

(Middle School) Tiffany Aching is a very practical-minded girl, and when nightmarish monsters from the fairy world begin showing up at her home on the Chalk, Tiffany doesn't wait for help to arrive, but instead sets out to stop them herself. The Chalk had formerly been under the protection of Granny Aching, who knew more about sheep than anyone living; now that Granny is gone, Tiffany has inherited both the Chalk and, it seems, Granny's witchcraft. In addition to exporting monsters, the fairy world's Queen is also kidnapping people into her realm--the Baron's son Roland, for one, and Tiffany's little brother Wentworth. Being the sort of person she is, Tiffany takes this quite personally and determines to bring Wentworth back. She is joined in her endeavor by a troupe of tiny, red-bearded, blue-tattooed men called the Nac Mac Feegle, or Wee Free Men, whose thick Scottish speech, berserker attitudes, and lack of social graces lend the book much of its comic charm. (One of the book's funniest set-pieces is the awkward scene in which nine-year-old Tiffany, as the new kelda, or leader, of the Nac Mac Feegle, is expected to select a husband from among the six-inch-high men.) Pratchett's touch is light but assured as he steers the tale easily between magical adventure and the just-as-interesting ordinary life on the Chalk, with comedic interludes, hair-raising danger, and flashbacks to Granny Aching's shepherding wisdom mingling in perfect proportions. The Wee Free Men, nearly indestructible and a bit daft, make a delightful foil to Tiffany's unsurprised steadiness. The slow but tantalizing pacing is superb, the matter-of-fact tone spot on--just the package to appeal to those who admire not just a brave heart but a quick comeback as well. (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

There will be upheavals in the human and fantasy worlds of elves and witches, with drastic consequences, and Tiffany, with only a frying pan for a weapon, is caught in the middle. In an effort to rescue her spoiled, candy-loving baby brother whom the Elf Queen has stolen with the temptation of endless sweets, Tiffany enlists the aid of the Wee Free Men. The baby's rescue is accomplished with unrelenting drama, large servings of Pratchett's ironic humor, and a unique cast of characters. This includes an imperfect heroine who has inherited "First Sight and Second Thoughts" and who feels guilty because she did not truly love her whiney brother. The Wee Free Men are six-inch-tall blue men with a robust enthusiasm for stealing, fighting, and drinking. Set in a chillingly unrecognizable "fairyland," this ingenious mÉlange of fantasy, action, humor, and sly bits of social commentary contains complex underlying themes of the nature of love, reality, and dreams. The Carnegie Medal-winner's fans will not be disappointed. (Fantasy. 12+) Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Chapter 1 A Clang Well Done Some things start before other things. It was a summer shower but didn't appear to know it, and it was pouring rain as fast as a winter storm. Miss Perspicacia Tick sat in what little shelter a raggedy hedge could give her and explored the universe. She didn't notice the rain. Witches dried out quickly. The exploring of the universe was being done with a couple of twigs tied together with string, a stone with a hole in it, an egg, one of Miss Tick's stockings which also had a hole in it, a pin, a piece of paper and a tiny stub of pencil. Unlike wizards, witches learn to make do with a little. The items had been tied and twisted together to make a . . . device. It moved oddly when she prodded it. One of the sticks seemed to pass right through the egg, for example, and came out the other side without leaving a mark. 'Yes,' she said quietly, as rain poured off the rim of her hat. 'There it is. A definite ripple in the walls of the world. Very worrying. There's probably another world making contact. That's never good. I ought to go there. But . . . according to my left elbow, there's a witch there already . . .' 'She'll sort it out, then,' said a small and, for now, mysterious voice from somewhere near her feet. 'No, it can't be right. That's chalk country over that way,' said Miss Tick. 'You can't grow a good witch on chalk. The stuff's barely harder than clay. You need good hard rock to grow a witch, believe me.' Miss Tick shook her head, sending raindrops flying. 'But my elbows are generally very reliable.' 'Why talk about it? Let's go and see,' said the voice. 'We're not doing very well around here, are we?' That was true. The lowlands weren't good to witches. Miss Tick was making pennies by doing bits of medicine and misfortune-telling, and slept in barns most nights. She'd twice been thrown in ponds. 'I can't barge in,' she said. 'Not on another witch's territory. That never, ever works. But . . .' she paused, 'witches don't just turn up out of nowhere. Let's have a look . . .' She pulled a cracked saucer out of her pocket, and tipped into it the rainwater that had collected on her hat. Then she took a bottle of ink out of another pocket and poured in just enough to turn the water black. She cupped it in her hands to keep the raindrops out, and listened to her eyes. Tiffany Aching was lying on her stomach by the river, tickling trout. She liked to hear them laugh. It came up in bubbles. A little way away, where the river bank became a sort of pebble beach, her brother Wentworth was messing around with a stick, and almost certainly making himself sticky. Anything could make Wentworth sticky. Washed and dried and left in the middle of a clean floor for five minutes, Wentworth would be sticky. It didn't seem to come from anywhere. He just got sticky. But he was an easy child to mind, provided you stopped him eating frogs. There was a small part of Tiffany's brain that wasn't too certain about the name Tiffany. She was nine years old and felt that Tiffany was going to be a hard name to live up to. Besides, she'd decided only last week that she wanted to be a witch when she grew up, and she was certain Tiffany just wouldn't work. People would laugh. Another and larger part of Tiffany's brain was thinking of the word 'susurrus'. It was a word that not many people have thought about, ever. As her fingers rubbed the trout under its chin she rolled the word round and round in her head. Susurrus . . . according to her grandmother's dictionary, it meant 'a low soft sound, as of whispering or muttering'. Tiffany liked the taste of the word. It made her think of mysterious people in long cloaks whispering important secrets behind a door: susurrususssurrusss . . . She'd read the dictionary all the way through. No one told her you weren't supposed to. As she thought this, she realized that the happy trout had swum away. But something else was in the water, only a few inches from her face. It was a round basket, no bigger than half a coconut shell, coated with something to block up the holes and make it float. A little man, only six inches high, was standing up in it. He had a mass of untidy red hair, into which a few feathers, beads and bits of cloth had been woven. He had a red beard, which was pretty much as bad as the hair. The rest of him that wasn't covered with blue tattoos was covered with a tiny kilt. And he was waving a fist at her, and shouting: 'Crivens! Gang awa' oot o' here, ye daft wee hinny! 'Ware the green heid!' And with that he pulled at a piece of string that was hanging over the side of his boat and a second red-headed man surfaced, gulping air. 'Nae time for fishin'!' said the first man, hauling him aboard. 'The green heid's coming!' 'Crivens!' said the swimmer, water pouring off him. 'Let's offski!' And with that he grabbed one very small oar and, with rapid back and forth movements, made the basket speed away. 'Excuse me!' Tiffany shouted. 'Are you fairies?' But there was no answer. The little round boat had disappeared in the reeds. Probably not, Tiffany decided. Then, to her dark delight, there was a susurrus. There was no wind, but the leaves on the alder bushes by the river bank began to shake and rustle. So did the reeds. They didn't bend, they just blurred. Everything blurred, as if something had picked up the world and was shaking it. The air fizzed. People whispered behind closed doors . . . The water began to bubble, just under the bank. It wasn't very deep here - it would only have reached Tiffany's knees if she'd paddled - but it was suddenly darker and greener and, somehow, much deeper . . . She took a couple of steps backwards just before long skinny arms fountained out of the water and clawed madly at the bank where she had been. For a moment she saw a thin face with long sharp teeth, huge round eyes and dripping green hair like waterweed, and then the thing plunged back into the depths. By the time the water closed over it Tiffany was already running along the bank to the little beach where Wentworth was making frog pies. She snatched up the child just as a stream of bubbles came around the curve in the bank. Once again the water boiled, the green-haired creature shot up, and the long arms clawed at the mud. Then it screamed, and dropped back into the water. 'I wanna go-a toy-lut !' screamed Wentworth. Tiffany ignored him. She was watching the river with a thoughtful expression. I'm not scared at all, she thought. How strange. I ought to be scared, but I'm just angry. I mean, I can feel the scared, like a red-hot ball, but the angry isn't letting it out . . . 'Wenny wanna wanna wanna go-a toy-lut !' Wentworth shrieked. 'Go on, then,' said Tiffany, absent-mindedly. The ripples were still sloshing against the bank. There was no point in telling anyone about this. Everyone would just say 'What an imagination the child has' if they were feeling in a good mood, or 'Don't tell stories!' if they weren't. She was still very angry. How dare a monster turn up in the river? Especially one so . . . so . . . ridiculous! Who did it think she was? Excerpted from The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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