7a Discworld Dads
It’s time for another octo-listicle, just in time for (Australian) father’s day! Who’s the best dad in the Discworld? Can villains be great dads? Who’s your favourite (other than Pterry himself, of course)? These are in chronological (published) order based on first appearances…
1. Death
“I WASN'T CUT OUT TO BE A FATHER, AND CERTAINLY NOT A GRANDAD. I HAVEN'T GOT THE RIGHT KIND OF KNEES.” Mort (1987)
While grandfather is the familial role most explored when it comes to Death of the Discworld, I think it’s worth turning the hourglass back to Mort. The important thing about Death as a father is that he’s terribly, terribly bad at it. His relationship with adopted daughter Ysabell is distant and weird. She is a nightmare teenager because she is a bored immortal, starved of attention, character growth or any connection to humanity beyond romance novels and Albert’s fry-ups.
Death then commits the worst sin of a father of daughters: taking on a substitute son, training him in the family business and generally building a far more substantial (though equally problematic) relationship with this potential future son-in-law than with his perfectly available daughter.[1]
When the going gets tough, Death becomes the worst kind of paternal cliche, raging at Ysabell and Mort for failing to live up to his expectations for them, however unreasonable (and unspoken) those expectations were.
And yet.
Death is not human.
While Sam Vimes[2] is perhaps the last person we might have expected to become a hands-on, does-his-share-of-the-emotional-labour dad, Death is literally not equipped to fill that role. The fact that he tried at all is a sign of how extraordinary he is.
After their marriage, Mort and Ysabell distance themselves (and in particular, their child Susan) from Death and his world. Later, after tragedy strikes, a desolate Death compensates for his failings as a father in the time-honoured tradition of greater effort and slightly improved results with the next generation.
Grade: 4/7a bony knees
2. Verence I, King of Lancre (deceased)
At the head of the table was an empty chair containing, he had been assured, the ghost of his real father. It would have been nice to report that he had experienced anything more, when being introduced to it, than an icy sensation and a buzzing in the ears. Wyrd Sisters (1988)
When it comes to old school paternal tropes, you don’t have to look any further than this guy. Verence I spends even less time parenting than Hamlet’s dad, the literary figure on which he is based, thanks to being assassinated before his son is old enough to walk.[3]
For Verence I, being a father is tied into his legacy as king — it is a means to acquire heirs, rather than an act of love. He literally becomes a ghost because he is concerned his baby son Tomjon will not become the next king of Lancre, and only releases his last grip on the mortal coil once he has been convinced that another of his “sons”[4] will inherit his throne.
It doesn’t help Verence’s paternal experience that Tomjon has a deep and loving relationship with his adopted father Vitoller, and has grown into a splendid young man with no interest in or aptitude for ruling a tiny mountainous kingdom.
Verence I is a good egg and a splendid fictional character. I enjoy every moment he’s on the page. When it comes to Dad Skills, however, it’s not even that he comes up short: he just never tries that hard.
Grade: 2/7a Pointy Hats
3. Ipslore the Red
“And what would humans be without love?”
RARE, said Death. Sourcery (1988)
The role of dying parents in magical stories is often to pass on some kind of significant gift or truth or destiny to their child… and then to peacefully expire.
Not so Ipslore the Red, a wizard so dedicated to being a father that he did it eight times.[5] His baby son Coin, as the eighth son of an eighth son of an eighth son, is destined to be a Sourceror of unspeakable power. When Ipslore realises his own death is imminent, he plays a Get Out Of Death Free card, possessing his staff so he can guide his son through life.
This might seem like a loving gesture of a well-meaning helicopter parent, but no. Ipslore is hellbent on unleashing his son’s power on an unfair world, and punishing the wizards of the university who exiled him for breaking their rule of celibacy.[6]
There’s also a distinct and deeply unpleasant tone in some of the conversations we overhear between Coin and his father. You know what happens to boys who are bad is a repeated threat, which comes up every time Coin resists the urge to commit violence, or cruelty
Would Coin have become such a terrifying villain without his father’s toxic life coaching? Perhaps, perhaps not. But it is only after Coin resists his father’s urging to murder Rincewind, rejects the staff, and Death finally comes for Ipslore, that the boy (and the world) can be saved.
Grade: 1/7a Wizard Staffs
4. King Teppicymon XXVII
“His father spent a lot of time worrying about the kingdom and occasionally declaring that he was a seagull, though this was probably from general forgetfulness.” Pyramids (1989)
Teppicymon is another in the ‘bemused monarch’ vein of Discworld dads. Pteppic’s childhood is best characterised as a world of benign neglect punctuated by eccentric tutors.
In their rather awkward farewell scene, when King Teppicymon eventually sends Pteppic off to a foreign boarding school, we learn that they have barely shared any previous father-son interactions. Dios the high priest stood in for Pteppic’s father in the important conversations about hygiene and puberty, while Teppicymon’s idea of suitable gifts for his son are vague and impersonal:
“With love, but also with his normal approach to things, his father had presented him with a cork, half a tin of saddle-soap, a small bronze coin of uncertain denomination, and an extremely elderly sardine.”
It is the education, rather than the saddle-soap, which is the most important gift. The perspective Pteppic gains from living in Ankh-Morpork is exactly what he needs to survive the strange pressures of the never-changing Old Kingdom, not to mention the machinations of Dios that follow his father’s death.
It is later revealed that, in a further act of discreet rebellion against the status quo, Teppicymon has been secretly parenting his daughter Ptraci with more kindness and attention than he ever gave his son. Naturally, it never occurred to him until after he was dead that giving her favoured status as his handmaiden would mean she was in the front line to be buried alive in his pyramid.
He meant well, but…
Grade: 4/7a Sacrificial Chickens
5. King/Mine Supervisor Ironfounder, AKA Carrot’s dad
“But you’re my kind!” said Carrot desperately.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” said his father. “In another manner of speaking, which is a rather more precise and accurate manner of speaking, no.” Guards! Guards! (1989)
There are so many supporting role dads scattered throughout the text of the Discworld series — ordinary chaps busily trying to do the best for their kids whether it’s Lezek trudging his useless son Mort to the apprentice fair, Vitoller running up wild debts to build a theatre in honour of his outrageously talented adopted son Tomjon, or the ambitious Ptaclusp whose genius for pyramid-building sends his family business into a quantum state (turning his younger son Ptaclusp IIb so 2D that he can’t even bend).
One of my favourite examples of the earnest Discworld Dad is the dwarf king who takes in young Carrot as a baby and then, twenty years later, has to break it awkwardly to the six foot human that he a) is adopted b) is not a dwarf and c) needs to leave home immediately for his own best interest.
The dwarf king’s parenting style may be gruff and resolute (and a little unfair in how Carrot’s “inappropriate” attachment to Minty the dwarf is handled), but the scene vibrates with layers of emotion and good intentions. More to the point, the king ensures Carrot has a safe, suitable job secured in the Ankh-Morpork Watch before pushing him out of the mine. Solid parenting, that king!
Grade: 7/7a pickaxes
6. Count De Magpyr
“Vampires aren’t very family orientated. Father says that’s natural. Humans are raising their successors, you see, but we live for a very long time so a vampire is raising competitors…” Carpe Jugulum (1998)
The Count de Magpyr is determined to break the cycle of stupidity that makes vampires so very stake-able. One of the revolutionary social changes he has enacted along the way is in building a nuclear family. The Count may talk a big game about freeing vampires (or as he rebrands them, “vampyres”) as a species, but in practice he only cares about his wife and their two children.
The Count is terrifying in the field, hypnotising humans or threatening Granny Weatherwax, but his relationship with the eye-rolling Vlad and Lacrimosa is reminiscent of a daggy soap opera dad urging his adult children to become their best selves. His commitment to family self improvement means prepping his children endlessly with flash cards of sacred icons, micro-dosing them with garlic, and pressuring them to sip red wine alongside their usual blood.
While the Count thinks he wants the best for his children, he still insists on preserving his leadership role as head of the family, and regularly dismisses their contribution. Lacrimosa’s frustrations bubble over when she calls out the fact that she is over two hundred years old, but can still be sent to her room. She and Vlad will be left at the kids table forever, prevented from being treated as adults or equals.
Ultimately, all of the work the Count has done to expand their horizons has only made his family more vulnerable — and when the chips are down, it’s every vampyre for himself.
Grade: 6/7a dribbly candles in the first half of the book, descending rapidly to a 3 before the end.
7. Twoflower
'I was, er, I was sorry to hear that your wife, er—'
'Things happen in war. I have two dutiful daughters.' Rincewind opened his mouth to say something but Twoflower's bright, brittle smile froze the words in his throat. Interesting Times (1994)
When they are reunited in Interesting Times, Rincewind is startled to learn that his old friend/nemesis Twoflower is the widowed father to two adult daughters: Lotus Blossom and Pretty Butterfly. Twoflower insists he regularly mentioned his family when they hung out together. This is clearly a retcon on the author’s part, but it is both funny and believable that Rincewind tuned out any information about Twoflower’s domestic life back home.[7]
Twoflower’s parenthood brings up more questions than answers. How old were the girls when Twoflower tripped the light fantastic across the world in what turned out to be the most dangerous journey anyone in the Disc has ever experienced?
We know that his wife died 6 years before Interesting Times, but not how old his daughters were when Twoflower originally left home with his life’s savings to fulfil his dream of exploring the world; a choice that is far less sympathetic if he left a wife at home with two children and no idea when he might return (or if there would be any gold left).
Twoflower and his daughters clearly love each other, and yet the few scenes where they appear together are tight with tension. Having now accidentally inspired a revolution with his careless words about his adventures in Ankh-Morpork, Twoflower has been imprisoned for a long time while his daughters (deprived once again of time with their father) fight his battles for him.
Even Twoflower’s moment of great bravery at the end of the novel, duelling Lord Hong to avenge his dead wife, feels like a choice born of his own selfish grief, without consideration of how his potential death might affect his daughters.
Lovely chap, but clearly his wife was the one doing the emotional heavy lifting in their household.
Grade: 5.5/7a tiny luggages
7a. Sam Vimes
Every day, Commander Sam Vimes of the City Watch would be home at six o’clock sharp to read to Young Sam, who was one year old. Six o’clock, no matter what… or who… or why… because some things are important.” Where’s My Cow (2005)
I’m biased with this one, because Where’s My Cow is one of the most beautiful examples of non-toxic masculinity I’ve ever found on the printed page, and there was a time when my husband read this book to our toddler son every single night, so I’m personally invested in how adorable it is.
It was the same book, every day. The pages of said book were rounded and soft where Young Sam had chewed them, but to one person in this nursery this was the book of books, the greatest story ever told. Vimes didn't need to read it any more. He knew it by heart. Thud (2005)
There’s something delightful about how committed Vimes is to being a good father, a role that is far outside his comfort zone. He has dedicated serious consideration to what he needs to do to show up for his son despite his intensive and obsessive relationship with his job. This contrasts dramatically with his neglect of his wife Sybil in the early years of their marriage.
“And Sam Vimes thought: Why is Young Sam's nursery full of farmyard animals anyway? Why are his books full of moo-cows and baa-lambs? He is growing up in the city. He will only see them on a plate! They go sizzle!” Where’s My Cow
Where’s My Cow (the version that was published as a separate picture book, based on Sam’s imaginary “street version” rather than the official version he reads to Young Sam in Thud!) may take the format of cozy children’s storytelling, but the tale and its illustrations reflect the truth of the city they live in instead of a pastoral idyll. Vimes’ world is often dark, smelly and unpleasant. By bringing a G-rated version of this world into his son’s bedtime story, he is sharing something honest and important about himself.
“So he said to young Sam: "if you lose your cow you should report this to the Watch under Demonic & Farmyard Animals (Lost) Act of 1804. They will swing into action with keenness and speed. Your cow will be found. If it has been impersonating other animals, it may be arrested.” Where’s My Cow
After reading the joyful picture book version, it’s a little disappointing to see how these scenes appear in the original novel. The Sam Vimes in Thud, who is committed to turning up at 6pm every night, reading the book religiously, and getting good at doing the noises, is a solid dad. However, he does allow Sybil’s disapproval to hold him back from having a little impulsive fun with his son.
The Sam Vimes of Where’s My Cow, on the other hand, helped along by the gorgeous and hilarious illustrations by Melvyn Grant, is creative, playful and searingly honest about who he is, building a relationship with his baby son that we can believe will eventuate (though we never got to see how it turned out) into solid mutual respect.
Truly the best of Discworld dads.
Grade: 7a/7a bedtime stories
Tansy Rayner Roberts is a Doctor of Classics, a Doctor Who podcaster, and an author of many science fiction and fantasy books, as well as the essay collection Pratchett’s Women. You can find her at tansyrr.com.
Notes
[1] See also: the first Ant-Man movie.
[2] We’ll get to him later
[3] Not technically his fault, but still true.
[4] Discreet cough. (And see this essay.)
[5] Ipslore blames Death for the loss of his wife to a heart attack upon the birth of her eighth child, without in any way considering his own culpability.
[6] A rule, we are told, designed to prevent this kind of situation… though there’s more to it than that! See: Celibacy & the Single Wizzard.
[7] Like when adults talk in a Charlie Brown cartoon. Wah wahhh.