Going Postal by Terry Pratchett.
I've just finished Pratchett's 33rd Discworld book. I don't intend to go into the plot here, suffice to say it is imaginative and funny, You laugh at his created world, and realize he's poking fun at the real one. A homage to Douglas Adams.
There are many published writers in the world, and many prose styles. Some are as fussy as a Rococo ceiling. Some are practically illiterate. Some are clever. Some are bad craftsmen and can't get everything to hold up. Some are real artists, creating prose of breathtaking beauty that makes you pause and rewind. Some are so intellectual as to be unintelligible.
Pratchett's prose is the best kind. It is so good you hardly notice it, it has no pretensions or flourishes, he uses the best words to get the idea across, complexity is unravelled the strange seems natural, everything makes perfect sense. His characters are based on shrewd observations of the human race, but he is confident enough to leave plenty of room for you to fill in the gaps. So the character becomes your creation as well as his, grown out of your experience of the story and the world it is set in.
So all is good and smooth, pages turn without you noticing, nothing jars you out of the moment. He is loved by school kids, students and graduates – especially graduates – here at last they can read just for pleasure, he gets in under the radar before you can analyse what's happening.
One day I'll read them all.