By: Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett

Paperback

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According to "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter," "Witch" (the world's only "completely" accurate book of prophecies, written in 1655, before she exploded), the world will end on a Saturday. Next Saturday, in fact. Just before dinner.

So the armies of Good and Evil are amassing, Atlantis is rising, frogs are falling, tempers are flaring. Everything appears to be going according to Divine Plan. Except a somewhat fussy angel and a fast-living demon--both of whom have lived amongst Earth's mortals since The Beginning and have grown rather fond of the lifestyle--are not actually looking forward to the coming Rapture.

And someone seems to have misplaced the Antichrist . . .

About the Author

Novelist Neil Gaiman has sent a British businessman tumbling into a fantastic underworld and had a devil and angel comically conspiring to thwart the Apocalypse. He found his biggest success, though, in Death, Dreams and Destruction -- and the four other similarly named siblings who controlled the reins of the human race's emotional impulses in his graphic-novel series The Sandman, a wholesale rejuvenation of graphic fiction that had everyone from Tori Amos to Norman Mailer spinning with, yes, Delirium.

In The Press

San Diego Tribune
A steamroller of silliness that mademe giggle out loud.

Orlando Sentinel
Outrageous...read it for a riotous good laugh!

Detroit Free Press
What's so funny about Armageddon? Mor than you'd think...Good Omens has arrived just in time!

Publishers Weekly
This zany tale of the bungling of Armageddon features an angel, a demon, an 11-year-old Antichrist and a doomsaying witch; unmistakably British humor is in abundance. (Mar.)

Booklist
“Wacky and irreverent.”

San Francisco Chronicle
“Reads like the Book of Revelation, rewritten by Monty Python.”

Detroit Free Press
“What’s so funny about Armageddon? More than you’d think . . . GOOD OMENS has arrived just in time.”

Washington Post
“Something like what would have happened if Thomas Pynchon, Tom Robbins and Don DeLillo had collaborated.”

New Orleans Times-Picayune
“Fiendishly funny.”

Rave Reviews
“From beginning to end, GOOD OMENS is side-splittingly funny . . . a ripping good time.”

New York Review of Science Fiction
“I whooped . . . I laughed . . . I was in near hysterics.:

Palm Beach Post
“It could be called The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Armargeddon.”

Rocky Mountain News
“If you’ve never read [GOOD OMENS], don’t miss it now. Grade: A.”

Locus
“Hilarious!”

San Diego Union-Tribune
“[L]ittle asides, quirky observations, simple puns and parody eventually add up to snorts, chortles and outright laughs.”

Orlando Sentinel
“Outrageous . . . read it for a riotous good laugh!”

Sunday Express (London)
“Huge fun.”

New York Times
“A direct descendant of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

Library Journal
The birth of the Antichrist in a London hospital begins the countdown to Armageddon. As the forces of both Heaven and Hell anticipate the coming battle to decide the world's fate, a desperate few--including an angel with a taste for rare books, a demon in mirrorshades, the descendant of the world's most accurate prophetess, a part-time witchfinder, four young children, and a dog--race against time to prevent it. Irreverently funny and unexpectedly wise, this collaboration between comics writer Gaiman and Discworld series author Pratchett fuses fantasy and comedy into an untrammeled romp through the latter days. Highly recommended for fantasy and general fiction collections.

School Library Journal
YA-- The end of the world is nigh! At least according to the prophecies of Agnes Nutter, a witch whose predictions are usually accurate but seldom heeded. Eleven years before the deadly Last Saturday Night, the ancient rivals of good and evil personified by the angelic Aziraphale (otherwise living as a London book dealer) and the demonic devil and former serpent Crowley clash in substituting the Antichrist during the birth of a baby. But the babies are switched as an unexpected third child enters the picture. The confusion picks up pace as witch hunters Sgt. Shadwell and Newton Pulsifer pursue modern Nutter follower Anathema Device. Along the way, countless puns, humorous footnotes, and satirical illusions enliven the story. A book that's sure to appeal to devoted fans of Douglas Adams.-- Diana C. Hirsch, Prince George's County Memorial Library System, MD

Other Reviews
"From beginning to end, GOOD OMENS is side-splittingly funny . . . a ripping good time."--Rave Reviews

Chapter One

Current theories on the creation of the Universe state that, if it was created at all and didn't just start, as it were, unoffi cially, it came into being between ten and twenty thousand million years ago. By the same token the earth itself is generally supposed to be about four and a half thousand million years old.

These dates are incorrect.

Medieval Jewish scholars put the date of the Creation at 3760 B.C. Greek Orthodox theologians put Creation as far back as 5508 B.C.

These suggestions are also incorrect.

Archbishop James Usher (1580-1656) published Annales Veteris et Novi Testamenti in 1654, which suggested that the Heaven and the Earth were created in 4004 B.C. One of his aides took the calculation further, and was able to announce triumphantly that the Earth was created on Sunday the 21st of October, 4004 B.C., at exactly 9:00 A.M., because God liked to get work done early in the morning while he was feeling fresh.

This too was incorrect. By almost a quarter of an hour.

The whole business with the fossilized dinosaur skeletons was a joke the paleontologistshaven't seen yet.

This proves two things:

Firstly, that God moves in extremely mysterious, not to say, circuitous ways. God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players,* to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infi nite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.

Secondly, the Earth's a Libra.

The astrological prediction for Libra in the "Your Stars Today"

column of the Tadfi eld Advertiser, on the day this history begins, read as follows:

Libra. September 24-October 23.

You may be feeling run down and always in the same old daily round. Home and family matters are highlighted and are hanging fi re. Avoid unnecessary risks. A friend is important to you. Shelve major decisions until the way ahead seems clear. You may be vulnerable to a stomach upset today, so avoid salads. Help could come from an unexpected quarter.

This was perfectly correct on every count except for the bit about the salads.

It wasn't a dark and stormy night.

It should have been, but that's the weather for you. For every mad scientist who's had a convenient thunderstorm just on the night his Great Work is fi nished and lying on the slab, there have been dozens who've sat around aimlessly under the peaceful stars while Igor clocks up the overtime.

But don't let the fog (with rain later, temperatures dropping to around forty-fi ve degrees) give anyone a false sense of security. Just because it's a mild night doesn't mean that dark forces aren't abroad. They're abroad all the time. They're everywhere.

They always are. That's the whole point.

Two of them lurked in the ruined graveyard. Two shadowy figures, one hunched and squat, the other lean and menacing, both of them Olympic-grade lurkers. If Bruce Springsteen had ever recorded "Born to Lurk," these two would have been on the album cover. They had been lurking in the fog for an hour now, but they had been pacing themselves and could lurk for the rest of the night if necessary, with still enough sullen menace left for a final burst of lurking around dawn.

Finally, after another twenty minutes, one of them said: "Bugger this for a lark. He should of been here hours ago."

The speaker's name was Hastur. He was a Duke of Hell.

Many Phenomena -- wars, plagues, sudden audits -- have been advanced as evidence for the hidden hand of Satan in the affairs of Man, but whenever students of demonology get together the M25 London orbital motorway is generally agreed to be among the top contenders for Exhibit A.

Where they go wrong, of course, is in assuming that the wretched road is evil simply because of the incredible carnage and frustration it engenders every day.

In fact, very few people on the face of the planet know that the very shape of the M25 forms the sigil odegra in the language of the Black Priesthood of Ancient Mu, and means "Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds." The thousands of motorists who daily fume their way around its serpentine lengths have the same effect as water on a prayer wheel, grinding out an endless fog of low-grade evil to pollute the metaphysical atmosphere for scores of miles around.

It was one of Crowley's better achievements. It had taken years to achieve, and had involved three computer hacks, two break-ins, one minor bribery and, on one wet night when all else had failed, two hours in a squelchy fi eld shifting the marker pegs a few but occultly incredibly signifi cant meters. When Crowley had watched the fi rst thirty-mile-long tailback he'd experienced the lovely warm feeling of a bad job well done.

It had earned him a commendation.

Crowley was currently doing 110 mph somewhere east of Slough. Nothing about him looked particularly demonic, at least by classical standards. No horns, no wings. Admittedly he was listening to a Best of Queen tape, but no conclusions should be drawn from this because all tapes left in a car for more than about a fortnight metamorphose into Best of Queen albums. No particularly demonic thoughts were going through his head. In fact, he was currently wondering vaguely who Moey and Chandon were.

Crowley had dark hair and good cheekbones and he was wearing snakeskin shoes, or at least presumably he was wearing shoes, and he could do really weird things with his tongue. And, whenever he forgot himself, he had a tendency to hiss.

He also didn't blink much.

The car he was driving was a 1926 black Bentley, one owner from new, and that owner had been Crowley. He'd looked after it.

Continues...

ISBN: 9780060853983
ISBN-10: 0060853980
Series: Discworld
Audience: Teenager / Young Adult
Format: Paperback
Language: English
Number Of Pages: 412
Published: 28th November 2006
Dimensions (cm): 17.0 x 10.9  x 3.0
Weight (kg): 0.213