The novels of Terry Pratchett are full of small gods. So is our family life – meet our own small pantheon.
I did Latin to matric, and one of the concepts that stuck was that of the lares et penates – deities who guard the household, in my imperfect memory. They were also something to do with the hearth, my brain tells me, digging through the years to find buried learning.
I think of them whenever we make a fire in our fireplace, which is a kind of shrine after all. I muse that there should be reverence for the small things that make our lives possible and comfortable.
I also wonder from time to time if these minor Roman deities could be part of the inspiration for the small gods who appear across the range of Terry Pratchett’s novels. This theme in the Discworld series rests on the maxim that the existence (or not) and size (big or small) of a god or goddess is dependent on the strength of human belief in them.
So, in the toweringly good novel Small Gods, the god Om, once powerful and vengeful, now has only one true believer and is reduced to appearing on earth in the form of a small and very testy tortoise.
And in Hogfather, Pratchett’s Christmas novel, the Hogfather (the Discworld version of Santa Claus), disappears, causing a surfeit of belief to be swishing around. That belief has to go somewhere and it does – into the creation of small gods. The Unseen University (where the wizards hang out) becomes beset by small household deities: the Verruca Gnome for instance.
Bilious, the Oh God of Hangovers, also pops into a dazed and sickly existence.
Since there are two avid Terry Pratchett fans in our house, the gods and goddesses of the Discworld are very much alive in our family mythology. We are particularly fond of Anoia. She appears like this in Wintersmith:
“Anoia, Goddess of Things That Get Stuck in Drawers,” said the woman. “Pleased to meet you.” She took another puff at the flaming cigarette, and there were more sparks. Some of them dropped on the floor but didn’t seem to do any damage. “There’s a goddess just for that?” said Tiffany. “Well, I find lost corkscrews and things that roll under furniture,” said Anoia offhandedly. “Sometimes things that get lost under sofa cushions, too. They want me to do stuck zippers, and I’m thinking about that. But mostly I manifest whensoever people rattle stuck drawers and call upon the gods.” She puffed on her cigarette. “Got any tea?”
Anoia is pictured as a thin woman, wrapped in a sheet. The flaming cigarette may be a holdover from her previous position as a volcano goddess.
(How can we not love these books, dear reader?)
The general fondness we have for small gods and goddesses has rubbed off on our son Jack, and over the years, driving around in the car (which as all parents know is one of the best places to talk to children and teens), we have invented a few new additions to the pantheon.
Here are our own small gods and goddesses:
The god of parking
He is a tall, thin, languid Congolese man, with a gorgeous French accent (bearing a resemblance to the man who used to rule the parking area outside a local supermarket). You think of him as you approach any place where you suspect you might not find a parking space. The question of belief is complex in this particular case. It is an established fact in our family that Bob will always find a parking space right outside the place he wants to be, and he does this because he simply believes that he will find parking. We think that the inverse of belief works for the god of parking: it’s not so much faith in him as it is complete faith that you don’t need him.
The god of traffic
A small, tubby, angry man with red cheeks (bearing a distinct resemblance to the irascible Cape Times revise sub who once threw a dictionary across the room because someone asked someone else how to spell a word, his point being that you ALWAYS LOOK IT UP). The god of traffic is much needed in Cape Town and not particularly useful. But we pray to him anyway, mostly asking him to keep the robot green.
The goddess of the internet
She is embodied by the character Cordelia Chase in Buffy the Vampire Slayer: very beautiful, very superficial and yet very intelligent. She’s mean girl (see the video below). But she can always be counted on in a crisis. Hidden depths, she has. The hope is that in her reign in the internet she will bring good results, fast, when dealing with things ether-ish. (She’s a new addition to our lares et penates, so some fleshing out is required.)
The goddess of the sea
One day, Jack and I were sitting on a wall at Muizenberg beach, eating ice cream. Out of the water emerged a golden-skinned woman in a sparkly blue one-piece cutaway swimming costume. She glowed. I said to Jack: Look, it’s the goddess of the sea. He agreed. I looked away from her and at him. When we turned back, she was gone. Jack is dubious, but I like to think that we saw a real goddess that day.
And when I’m in the water, on my bodyboard, and the sun comes up over the mountains, I greet the sun: “Good morning, Mr Sun,” I say. In our house, we don’t have much time for big, flaming, imposing deities (we feel they could do with a bit more time as tortoises). But it does no harm to be polite.
To the goddess of the sea, however, I say a quiet thank you for all she does. These small gods, the lares and penates, are the right place to put our reverence, I think. Paying attention to the small things is where meaning starts. And yes, that means learning what you can from that moment with the annoying drawer.
Other things I have written
Life’s compasses: What I learned from Terry Pratchett – Part two of a small series on the things that are my compasses through life. This week: the books of Terry Pratchett.
Small joys and enduring pleasures – From appreciating life’s small pleasures to life-long relationships with books and music… time to reflect on what keeps us going.
Musings on the meaning of work – When did the work done in the home become less important than work done elsewhere? And why are the people who do that work so under-valued?
Learning to fail on a bodyboard – I view life as a learning journey. What I’ve discovered lately is that it’s possible to be terrible at something and still be learning…
What I have learned while wearing a wetsuit – You can never be too old or too unglamorous to have fun. And you can shed your dignity in favour of spending time with your child.
Main picture: My own. Muizenberg beach before a winter sunrise.
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