Lares and Pennates

One of my favorite columnists warns his readers when he's going to be talking about his cats. I feel like I should have a similar warning for my posts on analysis of trashy literature.

There's only so much "turn rock over, check for snails, turn log over, check for snails" that the brain can do without offering up a couple of revelations.

About a fantasy novel I read ten years ago. Shut up.

In Small Gods, Lu Tze says he changed the history of Omnia from some horrific perpetual holy war to the land of earnest, questioning, pamphlet distributing theists we know and love. I always figured that the sabotage of the Turtle (steam tank!) was his contribution.

So I was turning over rocks, and I realized- Om falls on a pile of compost! Because of the compost, the Great God Om (holy horns) was trapped in the disturbingly pragmatic body of a tortoise. Which means that originally, the library was lost, Didactylos was probably executed, and Brutha became just another fire and war prophet. And then died. And the Ephebe attacked with steam tanks, and rebels rose against the church, and Om died.

So yeah, that's a pretty useful pile of compost.