At present, I’m re-reading the Skulduggery Pleasant series of books, by Derek Landy. It’s partly in preparation for the final book, but also procrastination as well; the book is downstairs, on my shelf, ready to be read. I’m putting it off, basically.
I read the first novel back in… uh, 2006 or 2007. It was shortly after the first book came out. (There was an advert in a Doctor Who Adventures magazine actually, and that prompted me to read it, which is quite funny to me.)
I loved the book, and still do to this day. I was vaguely worried about re-reading it now, almost ten years later, I’d be looking over it with a far more critical eye, and take issue with all sorts of little things that would ruin my enjoyment of it.
But. thankfully, that proved not to be the case. They were still just as witty, and smart, and downright brilliant as I remembered. Compelling characters, genius plots, and a wonderful style of prose.
Right now, I’m about 200 pages into Death Bringer, which is the sixth book. One of my favourites, in fact, if ever I had to pick out particular ones. There’s another two books to go after this, and then…. The Dying of the Light.
I’ve been delaying it as much as I can. I’m reading all of the short stories between books (The Lost Art of World Domination is a gift, frankly) and I’m going to read Tanith Low in The Maleficent Seven when I get around to it. But there’s only so long I can put it off for.
Skulduggery Pleasant is coming to an end. Drawing to a close. There’s a finite amount of time left. Soon it won’t be an ongoing story, but something that’s been… historized, as it were.
And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
These books have been a pretty massive part of my life for years. About eight, in fact. I’ve written letters to Derek Landy, got responses, met him (wonderful fellow), entered competitions to create a character, spent hours of my life playing games on the official website, reading blog posts about it… In fact, some of my closest friends to this day I developed connections with through those books. Skulduggery Pleasant is something that, to say the least, occupies a rather special place in my heart.
And now, very soon, it’s going to end.
That is frankly bizarre. The only interest I’ve sustained for that long is, I’d say, Doctor Who, but I don’t have to worry about Doctor Who coming to an end in the same way.
Something that has been a big part of my life is going to be over. No more. Not ongoing. Done. Finished. It’ll be an ex-story.
Ironically, I can’t really figure out how to vocalise what that would feel like, how to articulate or express the way this would effect me. That sounds melodramatic, and it sort of is really. But screw it, I don’t care. This is a chapter of my life closing, and it is really weird. It’s strange to think that I have the end to that chapter sat downstairs, on a shelf, ready to be opened…
… ready to end.
But not yet. Not just yet.
After all, as the poem goes, rage, rage, against the dying of the light.