Dear Jonathan Jones

It has come to my attention that you have recently written an article stating that the works of the late Sir Terry Pratchett hold limited artistic merit, under the frankly ridiculous title of ‘Get real. Terry Pratchett is not a literary genius’. It seems you and I happen to have different definitions of what defines a literary genius. Shall I start with mine?

(Incidentally, I have been told that in your article, you state that you have never read any of his works, and don’t plan to. Now, in the interest of fairness, I’ll write this response without having read any of yours.)

First of all, the second part of that: genius. ‘Exceptional intellectual or creative power or other natural ability.’ [1] Well, right off the bat, Pratchett wrote over seventy books in his lifetime. Seventy. In sixty-six years. Even if he’d been writing since the moment he was born, that’s just over a book a year. Now, I don’t know about you, but that sure as hell sounds like exceptional creative power to me. And as for intellectual? Well, across his seventy-plus works, Pratchett has covered issues such as war, religion, poverty and racism, in a sensitive yet humorous manner. The man has consistently pointed out the ridiculousness of so many terrible things, yet without at any point speaking down to his audience. His work is relevant to our lives today, yet at the same time presenting an escape from the world we live in, as good writing should.

Secondly, the first part. Literary. Well, literature, innit? ‘Written works, especially those considered of superior or lasting artistic merit.’ [2] So, hang on, you’re saying that something never read has no artistic merit? That’s like saying you don’t like cheese, having never eaten cheese. How the hell are you supposed to know?

To be frank, Jonathan (may I call you Jonathan?), I feel that a lot of this trite you seem to be spouting comes from the ill-informed notion that literature should not be successful – that is to say, it should be something saved for academics, rather than mass media. Which is, pardon my Klatchian, a load of bollocks.

Austen. Dickens. Shakespeare. The masters, the literary canon, writers for mass consumption. The comparison’s not so difficult to make; particularly when you keep in mind the fact that they too had critics like you, who claimed that their works were not real literature, gracious me no, not that sort of thing. Funny how things change, isn’t it?

Look, John, I’m not trying to change your mind about the whole thing. You’re entitled to your own opinion, and I respect that. But if you really want to pass judgment on things you’ve not actually experienced, or even researched, perhaps you should consider a career in politics instead.

May I also congratulate you on writing an article without actually reading any of its subject matter – as writing this letter has proven to me that doing so is trickier than it seems!

Fabricati Diem, Pvnc

Stevie Bennett