What makes this book particularly special is the way that Wilkins weaves together personal anecdotes, interviews with Pratchett's family and friends, and insights into the creative process that led to some of his most beloved works. Through Wilkins' careful curation of photographs, letters, and other memorabilia, readers gain a sense of Pratchett as both a gifted writer and a complex human being, with all the flaws and foibles that come with that.

Lively and affectionate, this is not a critical biography, but nor is it sycophantic. It shows Pratchett as brilliant and generous, but also cantankerous, with a ruthless sense of the ridiculous. Wilkins recalls wearing a suit to accompany Pratchett to a publishers’ meeting. Sir Terry christened the look “the under-manager” and ribbed Wilkins so mercilessly on the drive up that Wilkins stopped to buy new clothes. Of all the dead authors in the world,’ John said fervently, ‘Terry Pratchett is the most alive.’ It felt entirely true to me at that moment, and it feels entirely true to me now. Terry's life was much like anyone else's, with humble beginnings that drifted into anecdotal rich midlife that didn't so much as crash as it sort of free-wheeled with a few minor stalls. There are no startling revelations or cryptic clues as to how to become as successful as he was. Ordinarily, Terry was a man who worked incredibly hard and whinged sometimes and the holy grail of how to be a writer is simply to write. Before his untimely death, Terry was writing a memoir- the story of a boy who aged six was told by his teacher that he would never amount to anything and spent the rest of his life proving him wrong. For Terry lived a life full of astonishing achievements- becoming one of the UK's bestselling and most beloved writers, winning the prestigious Carnegie Medal and being awarded a knighthood. But Sir Terry unashamedly enjoyed his commercial success. He would answer thanks from fans with, “Thank you for the money,” and when asked by a friend what he would do with the vast tract of land he had just bought, replied: “Walk on each bit of it and say, ‘I own you, I own you, I own you…’”I heard Terry call up: ‘Come on, what have you done with it?’ I went down to him. ‘What have I done with what?’ He was staring directly down at his keyboard. ‘The “S”. You’ve taken the “S”. Where is it?’ I was mystified. I went and stood beside him and looked. The letter S was on the keyboard, in between the letters A and D, as usual. I leaned forward and punched it. He looked at me and held my gaze. There was anxiety in his eyes. How frightening that must have been for him—his known world suddenly and inexplicably not making sense, utterly disorienting signals emanating from his computer keyboard, of all the familiar places.“ Rhianna, Terry and Lyn Pratchett, dressed for a stage adaptation of Maskerade in 1995. Photograph: Penguin I’ve read almost all of his books (no, I still haven’t been able to read the last Discworld book — and after reading about how it was written, in the last months of Terry being Terry, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to do that). I can quote him for hours and hours at length. I’ve seen every screen adaptation of his works. And yet I still didn’t know much about the person my literary hero was until I read this book. At six years old, Terry was told by his headteacher that he would never amount to anything. He spent the rest of his life proving that teacher wrong. At sixty-six, Terry had lived a life full of achievements: becoming one of the UK's bestselling writers, winning the Carnegie Medal and being awarded a knighthood for services to literature. Where is the option to give this book 10 out of 5? Because, damn, it can't be overstated how good this book is.

Terry often talked about “doing” his autobiography. In the years before he was ill, he talked about it almost exclusively to dismiss the idea. He didn’t seem persuaded that there was anything in the story of the journey that took a kid from a council house in Beaconsfield to a knighthood and a mansion near Salisbury by the sheer power of his imagination alone; or in the tale of how a boy with, as Terry put it, “a mouthful of speech impediments” became one of his generation’s most popular communicators; or how someone who left school with five O-levels could also go on to have an honorary professorship at Trinity College Dublin. And besides, there were always other things waiting to be written – bigger stories in which far more outlandish and arresting things were free to happen. Aged nine or 10, his daughter Rhianna drew a picture of a hat and wrote underneath it: “I love my father but he is very busy.” Now, the book Terry sadly couldn't finish has been written by Rob Wilkins, his former assistant, friend and now head of the Pratchett literary estate. Drawing on his own extensive memories, along with those of the author's family, friends and colleagues, Rob unveils the full picture of Terry's life - from childhood to his astonishing writing career, and how he met and coped with what he called the 'Embuggerance' of Alzheimer's disease. Wilkins never says so, but one comes away with the impression that Sir Terry Pratchett was deeply hurt by critical disdain. One remark – that the critic would be “surprised if any women wanted to read these” – stands out for its inaccuracy: Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour was the first to serialise two of his early Discworld novels, The Colour of Magic and Equal Rites.

I loved learning about the author's days in school - thereby getting quite the history lesson, too - and of his struggles before he became an avid reader. Equally, I was delighted to meet all the other family members and discovering quite a number of people who seemed intrinsically familiar ... because they definitely were the inspiration for certain people on Discworld! :D However, his years spent as a journalist of one sort or another and the people he thereby met was quite astonishing as well. Wilkins focuses on Pratchett’s journey to becoming a famous novelist. Stories of his early life revolve around inspirations, influences and hobbies. Later chapters peek behind the curtain at what went on in “the Chapel” (Pratchett’s office) and on tour. Wilkins is as frank as Pratchett was about his fury, decline and death following his diagnosis with Alzheimer’s disease. Have your tissues handy: the book opens with Pratchett’s “so I’m dead” letter to Wilkins. Drawing on his own extensive memories, along with those of Terry’s family, friends, fans and colleagues, Rob recounts Terry’s extraordinary story – from his early childhood to the literary phenomenon that his Discworld series became; and how he met and coped with the challenges that ‘The Embuggerance’ of Alzheimer’s brought with it. My nits here are few. I wish there were more on Pratchett’s collaborations with Neil Gaiman and Stephen Baxter. I’m curious whence Pratchett’s autobiographical notes and soon-to-be published short story collection when his unpublished works were ceremoniously destroyed. And I missed any heroic flaws. Yes, he was a dogged perfectionist, but that’s an answer you give job interviewers when they ask what’s you weak point. Having known and worked alongside Terry as his personal assistant and business manager for over two decades, Rob is in the unique position of being able to offer both a personal and professional insight into the beloved writer’s public and private lives, as well as highlighting the origins and evolution of Terry’s extraordinarily successful creations.