[In the following review, Douglas contends that The Last Continent is not Pratchett's most compelling work, but like all of the Discworld novels, it is enjoyable.]

British author Terry Pratchett is sometimes referred to as “prolific,” a term used almost reproachfully. Not only is he prolific, but he also writes books which for lack of a better description are classed as fantasy. “Surely,” the Serious Reader sniffs, “you're joking.”

No, mate, I'm not. Welcome to the 22nd novel in Pratchett's Discworld series, The Last Continent. A disclaimer on the book's jacket says that the continent in the title, Fourecks (XXXX) is “Not Australia. Honest.” Right, pull the other one, it's got bells on. Pratchett, clearly an admirer of all things Australian, unleashes his perennial anti-hero, the inept wizard Rincewind, on a remarkably similar continent. His arrival has somehow altered events in the past, and now, at the insistence of a magically morphing kangaroo, he must go on a quest to bring the “Wet” back to the parched continent. Oh, and along the way he needs to put other things right by becoming the archetypal Hero of Aussie legend and song: “Champion shearer, road warrior, bush ranger, sheep-stealer, horse rider …”

Rincewind will have none of this, and reacts in the way that always serves him best: He runs away. In his flight from enforced heroism, he encounters a dwarf charioteer named Mad, a horse named Snowy, a barman named Crocodile, Petunia the Desert Princess, and … oh, you get the picture. Just about every icon from popular Australian culture is trotted out, but it's done with such freshness and geniality that only a real stick-in-the-mud would object.

Pratchett has a keen ear for linguistic absurdity, and he gets great mileage from Australian slang and place names. After leaving the dusty little town of “Dijabringabeeralong” on the way to “Bugarup,” Rincewind encounters a group of Ecksians who competitively dredge up one colorful expression after another, reciting a litany of hilarious made-up Aussie expressions: “Isn't that ‘snagged as a wombat's tonker’?” “No, no, no, that's when you chuck a twister, isn't it?”

While it's not necessary for the American reader to get all the Australian references, it helps to know, for example, the story behind the unofficial national anthem, “Waltzing Matilda,” and who Banjo Paterson was. But many of the scenes, such as the one when a giant unsheathes a huge knife and says, “You call that a knife? This is what I call a knife!” will be instantly familiar. What Pratchett seems to be doing, frequently, is commenting on the essential absurdity of life. He places his characters, who behave in a very 20th-century, everyday way, in the unlikeliest situations, juxtaposing the probable and improbable to provide a view from a new, usually humorous perspective. Truth, Pratchett seems to be saying, is often stranger than fiction. Rincewind is aghast, for example, when he's served a meat pie covered in green pea puree and then topped with tomato sauce. But of course Pie Floaters are an authentic Australian dish.

A second plot line in The Last Continent involves the escapades of certain members of the Unseen University: the Bursar, the Dean, the Senior Wrangler, Mrs. Whitlow, Ponder Stibbons, and the Archchancellor. The last is making a complete nuisance of himself, having picked up a few half-baked ideas from a book entitled “How to Dynamically Manage People for Dynamic Results in a Caring Empowering Way in Quite a Short Time Dynamically.” While it helps to have a bit of Discworld background, the reader unfamiliar with the earlier books will still get the general drift. The Faculty behave like, well, faculty, bickering and backbiting. They set out to find Rincewind, who is on Fourecks, but in doing so end up on a mysterious island after crawling through a window in the study of the Egregious (rhymes with Regius) Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography.

The island the Faculty are stranded on is populated by only one of each species, though there are, for some reason, an extraordinary number of beetles about. It turns out the island and all its singular creatures are the work of the God of Evolution, only he hasn't quite worked all the details out yet. Furthermore, he seems to have a credibility problem. “Begone from This Place Or I Will Smite Thee!” he declares, but the Faculty are completely unimpressed. In fact, it's up to Ponder Stibbons to explain the theory of evolution to him, while Mrs. Whitlow is the only one uninhibited enough to take him aside and explain the improbable mechanics of sexual reproduction to the incredulous God.

There are very clever, often laugh-out-loud-funny references to everything from Richard Dawkins's The Selfish Gene to the Butterfly Effect. At times the reader feels a game of literary “Pictionary” is taking place. Here's the God of Evolution, and he's tinkering with, what, the bill of a bird? Could it be … ? Yes! The Beak of the Finch! Behind all the wordplay and sly gags, though, lie philosophical questions: Why are common sense and analytical thinking so often apparently at odds, and what happens when a premise is carried to its logical extreme?

Another theme that runs throughout the book is the serendipity of invention and the pervasiveness of the Law of Unintended Consequences. As he stumbles around Fourecks, Rincewind winds up inventing a dessert called Peach Nellie, thongs, a distinctive type of hat, and Vegemite. Meanwhile, the Faculty, by committee, create the duck-billed platypus. It's like a fantasy version of James Burke's “Connections.”

Although the two separate plot lines are maintained with amusing contrasts, when the time comes to bring the two plots together, the wizards and Rincewind meet and resolve their problems rather abruptly. The impression created is similar to that disappointing announcement of game show hosts everywhere: “Oh, but I see our time is up!” In a mere 20 pages or so all the loose ends are neatly tied together, and then the Wizards sail off into the sunset.

Suffice it to say that while this may not be Pratchett's best Discworld novel, it's still an enjoyable one. What, one wonders, will he tackle next? Among other things, he's spoofed religion (Small Gods), feminism (Equal Rites), Hollywood (Moving Pictures), death (in an entire series of books), opera (Maskerade), racism (Jingo), Christmas (Hogfather), ancient Egypt (Pyramids), and most of the hoary, shopworn devices of fantasy. Still, no worries; there are plenty of themes left.

It would be nice, however, if Pratchett's books were released sooner in the United States. The Last Continent made its debut in Britain in May 1998 but didn't appear in the United States until this year. Meantime, Pratchett's 23rd Discworld book, Carpe Jugulum, appeared in Britain in November 1998 but has yet to make it to the States. Not only that, but Pratchett fans in search of early Discworld novels will have to order the books from the U.K. Odd that the God of Marketing hasn't rushed to fill that particular, um, niche.