Pratchett goes into great detail about Granny in his Discworld fact books, so let’s move on to Nanny Ogg. While Gytha (Nanny) Ogg may act as Granny’s sidekick, she’s not really an Avis to Granny’s Hertz. After all, Nanny helps turn back time in Wyrd Sisters . She also delivers the offspring of the personification of Time and Wen the Eternally Surprised (Thief of Time). Anyone who is always there to help save the world is pretty powerful in our opinion. And she’s as jolly as the Spirit of Christmas Present in Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. In her home, her word is law. Just ask her daughters-in-law.
Tiffany, Magrat Garlick, and Agnes Nitt—young and upcoming witches (well, Magrat is a queen now)—don’t exactly fit the Charmed school of young witches model, although they have the potential for just as much angst. The young witches are constantly engaged in the old-school versus new-school conflict. As you know, Magrat continually butts heads with Granny Weatherwax, who feels that Magrat’s clothes and ideas of how to use magic are weird. Magrat’s sort of a flower child/sucker for supernatural paraphernalia that Granny is quick to dismiss. And Tiffany and Agnes have moments, brought about through Granny’s manipulation, which they live to regret. Yet Granny seems to see vast potential in Tiffany. And no wonder. Tiffany is possibly the most powerful of her peers, who include Petulia Gristle, Annagramma Hawkin, Lucy Warbeck, and Dimity Hubbub.
… Hardworking and Helpful.
Tiffany, the “big wee hag”—a moniker given to her by the Nac Mac Feegles in The Wee Free Men, A Hat Full of Sky, Wintersmith, and a fourth book Pratchett proposed writing, tentatively called I Shall Wear Midnight (as of this printing, that book has not yet been published)—is a hard worker, no question about that. She comes from a farming community of hard workers. She makes cheese, milks cows and goats, delivers babies, and apprentices herself to the witches of the land to do more of the same.
As Pratchett mentioned at a book signing in Naperville, Illinois, in October 2006, Tiffany’s miniseries is based on words and hard work. Tiffany, Granny, Nanny, Petulia Gristle (the pig witch), and others exemplify this.
Okay, milking a cow or making cheese may not seem as impressive as calling down lightning or shooting fireballs at people. But somebody’s gotta do it.
In all of the Lancre witch/Tiffany Aching miniseries, Discworld or some unfortunate individual needs saving from some threat: vampires (Carpe Jugulum) , a “phantom” killer (Maskerade), an evil tyrant (Wyrd Sisters) , a crazed fairy godmother (Witches Abroad), “Them” (Equal Rites) , the Fairy Queen and her elves (Lords and Ladies, The Wee Free Men) , the hiver (A Hat Full of Sky) , or endless winter (Wintersmith) . Then, like true fairy godmothers or like Glinda the Good (the Witch of the North in Oz), Granny, Nanny, Magrat, and Tiffany come to the rescue.
Not all of the Discworld witches are helpful. (Annagramma Hawkin, anyone?) There are more than a few bad apples, à la those in Oz, Earthsea, and other places.
… Followers of Tradition to a Degree.
As we mentioned in chapter 5, Granny and Nanny are firm believers in the rule of three, which was also enforced on the show Charmed. But some witches, like Lily Weatherwax, Granny’s sister, follow tradition to the detriment of others.
Mercedes Lackey calls the storytelling traditions inherent in fairy tales “The Tradition” in her Five Hundred Kingdoms series, which begins with The Fairy Godmother, a story about a Cinderella type (Elena) who seeks to buck tradition and avoid a disastrous marriage by becoming a fairy godmother. (Thinking about Witches Abroad right now?) The Tradition—the magical force that propels heroes and heroines alike down a traditional path laid out in other fairy tales—wars against Elena’s plans. Lily Weatherwax, had she been present, would’ve forced Elena toward her Cinderella destiny, no matter how ugly that destiny seemed. After all, that’s what Lily does in Witches Abroad.
As we said in chapter 1, writers and compilers like the Brothers Grimm, Andrew Lang, Hans Christian Andersen, and others helped shape the tradition by the stories they included in their collections. But Pratchett tweaks tradition to fit his story.
… Odd.
In a series like Discworld, you’ve got to expect a few, well, oddities. How else can you explain a Mrs. Evadne Cake, a medium with precognition she can turn off and on, or a Eumenides Treason (“Myth Treason” to Tiffany) with her Boffo skulls and seeing-eye mouse (Wintersmith )? But every witch has an odd streak in a Pratchett-written series—even Magrat Garlick, who thinks she’s normal, but … isn’t. She’s slightly “Luna Lovegood” (Harry Potter series; note that Magrat came first as a character)—the odd one even in an odd bunch. Or Agnes Nitt, the young witch with the marvelous singing voice and a split personality (Perdita—the thin witch inside the heavier witch). Or what about Granny, who is as ornery at times as Granny from the 1960s TV series The Beverly Hillbillies? Although they’re odd, they’re never boring.
These aren’t your witches striving to blend in to avoid being burned at the stake. (Well, they probably want to avoid that.) Unlike Samantha Stephens, who wanted to get along with nosy Mrs. Kravitz and fit into the neighborhood, Discworld witches revel in their oddities. In fact, witches like Miss Treason deliberately try to fit the notion of the odd witch by going the extra mile—hence the mail-order skulls and stick-on warts. See? Odd.
… Noncacklers (Hopefully).
In Discworld, cackling is a sign of cracking, something akin to going to the Dark Side in the Star Wars series. No witch in her right mind (literally) would cackle. Black Aliss—the greatest witch, in Granny’s opinion—cackled. Although she was the first to turn back time, she wound up over the edge.
Black Aliss, who went the way of the witch from Hansel and Gretel—shut up in an oven by two kids—is an allusion to Black Annis, the witch from the folklore of Leicestershire. A witch with a diet consisting of children is a sure sign of the cackler. That, and building gingerbread houses. Of course, a witch could go for the house-on-chicken-legs model—another sign of the cackler—à la Baba Yaga, the witch in Russian folktales. Mrs. Gogol, the voodoo witch in Witches Abroad, favored a hut on duck feet—a parody of Baba Yaga. That just shows you where Mrs. Gogol stood on the cackling front. (Crossing the border into Cackle Town.)
… Alone by Choice.
Ged’s aunt in A Wizard of Earthsea lived alone—a product of the suspicions of others and the need for privacy when one practiced magic. Granny Weatherwax has her mountain cottage and soup for one. And although Nanny Ogg has a home with hot and cold running sons and daughters-in-laws popping in for visits, basically, it’s just her and her cat, Greebo.
Witches tend to be loners, occasionally getting together with other witches to make up the rule of three or to train someone. Even someone in a family like Tiffany is still alone—that is, forced into a position of authority that makes her feel alone, as we learn in Wintersmith.
As Galadriel explained to Frodo in the film based on The Fellowship of the Ring, “You are a Ring-bearer, Frodo. To bear a Ring of Power is to be alone.”79 Bearing the mantle of power is to be alone.
In Wyrd Sisters, we’re told that witches aren’t managed by someone who considers herself “head witch.” In other words, there is no archchancellor for witches. There’s just an unofficial understanding that Granny Weatherwax is in charge. It’s lonely at the top.
… Usually Not Wizards.
You might think that goes without saying, but in Discworld, there are some exceptions. We talked about Eskarina in other chapters. Mrs. Letice Earwig, Granny Weatherwax’s rival in Wintersmith, uses wizard magic—behavior of which Granny disapproves as she explains in Equal Rites.
Is there a so-called “women’s magic”? As we mentioned in chapter 4, wizards consider witches incapable of high magic and look disparagingly at the “womanly” art of hedge witchery. (They’re only fooling themselves.) So in Discworld, the magic usage seems to be a point of division between the sexes. Yet someone like Idalia from the Obsidian Trilogy (Mercedes Lackey) is called a “mage” (a “wild-mage,” to be exact),
rather than a witch. She performs the same kind of magic that a male mage does and seems to be one of the best in the land. Hermione also performs the same magic that Harry or Ron does. But she’s considered a witch. It’s a matter of semantics.
… Not Religious.
Faith is the hallmark of a religion. If you don’t believe, what’s the point? Pratchett has said in more than one book that the witches aren’t believers in the gods. (See, for example, page 15 of the paperback edition of Witches Abroad.) This is because they can see the gods and elementals at times and aren’t very impressed by what they see, kind of like how we feel whenever we read stories from Greek mythology. For example, Tiffany sees Anoia—the goddess of things that get stuck in drawers—in Wintersmith and is less than awed. And she, of course, is wooed by the Wintersmith, whom she discovers has a major screw loose, but who at least is on the hot side when he takes on human flesh. Still, being a hottie does not automatically gain one worship and respect in the witches’ book.
Witches see Death every now and then, especially since they’re the ones who watch over the dead on the first night after death. Like the wizards, they know when they’re going to die, which takes away some of Death’s mystique.
While the witches’ lack of faith in the gods might seem like a paradox—how can you not believe in something you can see?—it really isn’t, if you think about having faith or trust in someone. You wouldn’t put your trust in someone who has proven to be unfaithful or uncaring. And many of the gods and elementals of Discworld are untrustworthy, petty, vain, and just plain weird. The witches even see Death in “You’re the Man keeping us down” terms.
Since the gods and personifications (more on them in chapter 9) behave so predictably—and illogically—at times, the witches feel they’re the last resort for humanity. Remember in Mort, when Death says, “There’s just me,” in response to Mort’s statement, “There is no justice”?80 That’s how the witches feel 24/7. Consider the fact that Tiffany has to save the people of the Chalk time and time again. And Granny and Nanny are always in the Save the World queue. A woman’s work is never done.
… Shepherdesses.
Although Tiffany’s grandmother (Sarah Aching) was considered a shepherdess by trade, rather than a witch, she not only watched her flock, she shepherded the land as well. Tiffany has inherited the instinct for shepherding—or safeguarding—the land and the lambs, especially the “strays” Wentworth and Roland de Chumsfanleigh (the baron’s son), who are captured by the Fairy Queen in The Wee Free Men.
Granny, Nanny, and others have their own particular flocks—the people in the villages for whom they provide medicine or deliver babies and perform whatever task needs doing. This also includes shepherding their peers. When a witch looks as if she’s ready to cackle, another witch has the obligation to check on her.
Another way a witch acts as a shepherdess is by finding other witches and keeping them from harm. That’s the job of Miss Perspicacia Tick, the witch finder in The Wee Free Men. She’s like a talent agent, in a way. She discovers Tiffany and later introduces her to Miss Level in A Hat Full of Sky. Miss Tick also is the writer of Magavenatio Obtusis (Witch Hunting for Dumb People), a book she slips into the town of Dogbend (page 39 of Wintersmith—the hardcover edition) to prevent the town from harming witches. This brings to mind yet another point. Witches are …
… Teachers of One Another.
There is no Unseen University (see next chapter) for witches. Yes, we know that, in The Wee Free Men, Miss Tick tells Tiffany to open her eyes and see the school for witches. But she is speaking metaphorically, as Tiffany is quick to guess. Life is the great teacher witches depend upon. But mainly there’s the community of witches from which to learn.
Tiffany, Magrat, and Agnes all had the benefit of hanging with Granny and Nanny and learning from them or, in some cases, in spite of them. Tiffany’s first teacher, however, was Miss Tick. In turn, Tiffany helps Annagramma in Wintersmith and encourages other young witches to do so when Annagramma gains Miss Treason’s cottage.
Discworld might not have the shiny linoleum of suburbia embodied in Charmed or Bewitched. But it has what those shows don’t have: a community of magic practitioners whose exploits will entertain you without fear of cancellation.
Wise Women
If you read fantasy or medieval fiction a lot, you’ve probably come across a wise woman or two. By this, we don’t mean strictly female versions of King Solomon, although women bearing this title (wise woman) know a thing or two. We mean witte wieven, as they are called in Dutch folklore or “wise women”—the village herbalists and mystics others sometimes seek for prophecies or fortune telling. They’re the ones to go to for potions or charms. Some might call them witches (specifically white witches) or hags or even the village “wisdom” as Nynaeve is called in Eye of the World by Robert Jordan.
With their knowledge of herbs, midwifery skills, and just plain common sense, Pratchett’s witches seem to follow the wise woman tradition in folklore. They are like the powerful woman Princess Irene calls Grandmother in George MacDonald’s The Princess and the Goblin and The Princess and Curdie and, of course, the wise woman in his novella The Wise Woman—a woman who lived alone and knew just what to do in order to tame a spoiled princess. (We can only imagine what Granny Weatherwax would’ve done with her!)
Being “the wise woman” isn’t without hazards. In Good Omens, a book Pratchett coauthored with Neil Gaiman, a seventeenth-century witch, Agnes Nutter, who makes Nostradamus-like prophecies, is burned at the stake. While we may read the book and laugh, no one was laughing during the Salem witch trials back in 1692, when twenty people were put to death. Consider also the case of Bessie Dunlop, a midwife living in Dalry, Scotland, who was burned at the stake in 1576 after being charged with witchcraft. Although she was a real person, a number of stories associated with her life may be fact or fiction. One story is that, before she died, she was told to denounce her faith in God and admit that she served the devil. She did neither. A wise woman, indeed.
7
We’re Off to See the Wizards
Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there’s a Wizard to manage here … .
—Treebeard in Return of the King (the movie)81
There’s magic … . It don’t take much intelligence, otherwise wizards wouldn’t be able to do it.
—Granny Weatherwax in The Wee Free Men82
WHO’S GOT THE POWER?
When was the first time you saw a magician? When you were a little kid, sitting wide-eyed with wonder while your older brother pulled a quarter out of your ear, thanks to his magic tricks book? When you were an older kid, sitting bored while the Great Lame-O the Magician, who had all the charisma of a soft-boiled egg, failed miserably at performing (and groused about his soul-destroying job)? Or was it just last year in Vegas, watching the latest magic debunker who explained how all the other magicians did their tricks?
Sooner or later, you discover that while Penn and Teller, David Blaine, David Copperfield, Houdini, the wizard in The Wizard of Oz, or Borden and Angier—the rival wizards in Christopher Nolan’s movie, The Prestige—are wizards at the sleight of hand, now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t trick, they aren’t … well … real wizards (Well, Angier had that weird Tesla-designed box … . )—the kind that lob fireballs at people and wear pointed hats.
Maybe you’re thinking about Rincewind right about now … .
Many writers have written about wizards—no doubt inspired by the legends of Merlin (also known as Myrddin) the magician, King Arthur’s teacher-wizard as rendered by Geoffrey of Monmouth and T. H. White (who favored the Merlyn spelling) in The Once and Future King and The Book of Merlyn; or Gandalf the Grey-turned-White wizard of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, J. R. R. Tolkien’s baby. These are your über-wizards: powerful, self-sacrificing, wise, cranky old men—at least in appearance. (Well, they’ve been known to laugh every now and then.) Their powers go far beyond pulling a quarter out of someone’s ear
or making the Statue of Liberty “disappear.” These are the kinds of wizards who put monarchs on thrones and help change the world.
Whether you call them wizards, sorcerers, male Aei Sedai (channelers), spell weavers, chanters, mages, magicians (a vast cut above Lame-O), thaumaturgists, dragon riders, or blacksmiths (see chapter 14) , these power wielders come in all shapes and sizes these days. You could easily name several dozen without breaking a sweat. There are Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, the evil Lord Voldemort, and many others from the Harry Potter series. Pug conDoin (Milamber), Kulgan, Macros the Black, and other magicians populate Raymond Feist’s Riftwar series. Ged/Sparrowhawk, the mage turned archmage; Ogion, his former master; and many others appear in Ursula LeGuin’s Earthsea series. Then there are First Wizard Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander (Zedd) and his grandson Richard Rahl (a war wizard) in Terry Goodkind’s Sword of Truth series; Rand al’Thor (the Dragon Reborn) and others of Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series; the dapper Jonathan Strange and fussy little Mr. Norrell of Susanna Clarke’s novel, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell; Darrow, of Kate Constable’s Chanters of Tremaris trilogy; the elemental wizards of Mercedes Lackey’s Elemental Masters series and Kellen the Knight-Mage of the Obsidian Trilogy (written with James Mallory); Harry Dresden, the wizard detective created by Jim Butcher; dragon-riders Brom and Eragon in Eragon; the fake wizard turned real wizard Schmendrick in The Last Unicorn (Peter S. Beagle)—the list goes on and on and on.
Secrets of the Wee Free Men and Discworld Page 9