I can't tell you which Pratchett books appeal to me more - the giggle-a-minute early ones full of crazy jokes about exploding swamp dragons and running gags, or the later ones with brilliant plot twists and the satirical bent of bullying society towards change by making fun of it. Reaper Man is halfway in between.

A lot of in-jokes started in this book - The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents, for example. The Dean's bizarre machismo. Werewolves with a sense of humour. Mistaking "bonsai" for banzai. The Bursar's insanity, even. Possibly.

    It was another dawn. Cyril the cockerel stirred on his perch.
    The chalked words glowed in the half light.
    He concentrated.
    He took a deep breath.
    "Dock-a-loodle-fod!"
    Now that the memory problem was solved, there was only the dyslexia to worry about.

Death has run into existential difficulties again ( ... he does this a lot. In fact, the first three Reaper books have this as their major plot device). No wait... this time, the auditors pop up for the first time,

    Eventually she said: "It's good. You've got the swing and everything."
    THANK YOU, MISS FLITWORTH.
    "But why one blade of grass at a time?"
    Bill Door regarded the neat row of stalks for some while.
    THERE IS ANOTHER WAY?
    "You can do lots in one go, you know."
    NO. NO. ONE BLADE AT A TIME. ONE TIME, ONE BLADE.
    "You won't cut many that way," said Miss Flitworth.
    EVERY LAST ONE, MISS FLITWORTH.
    "Yes?"
    TRUST ME ON THIS.

    "We've never had a zombie here."
    "He's a zombie?"
    "I think so - "
    "Does that mean he'll be playing kettle drums and doing that bimbo dancing all night then?"
    "Is that what they do?"
    "Old Windle? Doesn't sound like his cup of tea. He never liked dancing much when he was alive - "
    "Anyway, you can't trust those voodoo gods. Never trust a god who grins all the time and wears a top hat, that's my motto."
    "I'm blowed if I'm going to give up my bedroom to a zombie after waiting years for it - "
    "Is it? That's a funny motto."

On the fabled hidden continent of XXXX, somewhere near the rim, there is a lost colony of wizards who wear corks around their pointy hats and live on nothing but prawns. There, the light is still wild and fresh as it rolls in from space, and they surf on the boiling interface between night and day.