Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

“But Crowley remembered what Heaven was like, and it had quite a few things in common with Hell.” 

One of the novel’s running themes is the fine line between good and evil. Crowley, once a denizen of Heaven, is well positioned to make the comparison: “You couldn’t get a decent drink in either of them, for a start” (23). The meaning is clear: strict lines between the two are arbitrary, and the moral canyon is often much narrower than purists would have us believe.

“Oh, he did his best to make their short lives miserable, because that was his job, but nothing he could think up was half as bad as the stuff they thought up themselves.” 

Pratchett and Gaiman take a dim view of humanity. Humans need minimal demonic interference to make Earth a hellscape. War, greed, environmental destruction, and bigotry are all manmade evils. The authors toy with the basic theological question: Is humanity inherently good or evil? Since both Crowley and Aziraphale enjoy life among the humans, the answer seems to be a confounding mix of both goodness and malevolence, suggesting that simple dualities do not apply.

“Crowley took Glasgow, Aziraphale had Edinburgh (neither had any responsibility for Milton Keynes, but both reported it as a success).” 

As agents of Heaven and Hell sworn to influence humanity, Aziraphale and Crowley reach a tacit agreement: to divide the world into their respective territories and honor each other’s boundaries. In a brief footnote “for Americans and other aliens” (44), Milton Keynes is described as a “modern, efficient, and healthy” development about 50 miles northwest of London. According to The Guardian, however, Milton Keynes has been mocked as “soulless” and “a nonplace.” The authors are satirizing that much-debated category of urban planning: the suburb. While people have flocked to the suburbs in droves over the past 70 years, promoting its large homes and open spaces, critics have decried its bland homogeneity and territorialism. Good or evil, the authors seem to say. Take your pick.

“My people are more than happy for it to happen, you know. It’s what it’s all about, you see. The great final test. Flaming swords, the Four Horsemen, seas of blood, the whole tedious business.”

Crowley and Aziraphale discuss the Final Battle. While Crowley argues that it needn’t be inevitable, Aziraphale, the dutiful soldier, shrugs off the claim. Aziraphale doesn’t want Armageddon any more than Crowley, but he is constrained by God’s ineffable plan. As unpleasant as the whole matter is, it’s preordained, so, Aziraphale reasons, we may as well just get on it with it.

“Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean you have to be a fool.” 

As the owner of a bookshop specializing in rare and expensive books, specifically books of prophecy, Aziraphale occasionally entertains offers from people who want to buy his shop, hoping to convert the musty old firetrap into a high-end retail outlet. Aziraphale always nods politely but refuses. He stands as a lone bulwark against the tides of gentrification, a tide the authors imply is destructive to the cultural fabric of any large city.

“Children’s parties were obviously places where any angel with an ounce of common sense should fear to tread.”

Aziraphale, disguised as a magician, performs his third-rate magic act at Warlock’s 11th birthday party. He and Crowley are in attendance to verify the delivery of the hellhound, as long foretold. The children, however, are a tough crowd, jeering and heckling every sleight-of-hand Aziraphale performs. While Warlock is not actually the Antichrist, he may as well be, the authors imply, along with every other 11-year-old in existence.

“All that separated this voice from chartered accountancy was a matter of time.” 

Pratchett and Gaiman’s keen eye for social satire informs not only the grand themes of the novel—free will, good and evil, institutionalized religion—but the minor characters as well. Wensleydale, one of the members of Adam’s inner circle, is a bespectacled, bookish nerd, and this quote provides both humorous insight into his character and a skewering take on an entire profession.

“They’d come up with some stomach-churning idea that no demon could have thought of in a thousand years, some dark and mindless unpleasantness that only a fully functioning human brain could conceive, then shout, ‘The Devil Made Me Do It’ and get the sympathy of the court when the whole point was that the Devil hardly ever made anyone do anything.” 

Once again, Crowley muses on the malignant creativity of humans, who are always devising new ways to kill each other. This time, his ire is focused on Satanists, or, more specifically, posers who call themselves Satanists and then blame their deeds on the Devil. A real Satanist, in Crowley’s estimation, would never do that. The authors also take a subtle jab at the human tendency to deny responsibility for their actions, claiming temporary insanity in defense of a crime, for example.

“‘You see, evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction,’ said the angel.” 

Aziraphale argues that evil cannot succeed because its inherent sinfulness will inevitably backfire. Contained within the angel’s claim is the assumption that goodness will always prevail as the natural course of things. It echoes Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous line, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

“She liked orders. They made the world a simpler place.” 

Mary Hodges, formerly Sister Mary Loquacious of the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl, pines for her former life as a Satanic Nun. Life in the Chattering Order was regimented and regular with little change in the daily routine. Indeed, following orders makes life easier by cutting out the stress and doubt of critical thought. Perhaps, the authors suggest, this is why humanity is so easily led by anyone with a commanding presence.

“‘Current thinking favors them,’ said Aziraphale. ‘They lend weight to moral argument. In the right hands, of course.’”

When Crowley asks about Heaven’s stance on guns, Aziraphale responds that sometimes might makes right. His argument that the end justifies the means begs the question, Who decides whose hands are the right ones? Violence in the name of religion is exactly the claim zealots and fundamentalists have made to justify the Inquisition, the Crusades, the burning of witches, the 9/11 attacks, etc.

“‘Not one of ours,’ said Crowley.

‘Or ours,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Although ours are freedom fighters, of course.’” 

As Aziraphale and Crowley consider the form the Final Battle will take, Aziraphale suggests terrorism, to which Crowley responds that Hell has no such plans. Aziraphale counters that one person’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter, a distinction made with increasing frequency as moral lines blur and claims of historic injustice scream across the headlines.

“‘I don’t reckon it’s allowed, going round setting fire to people,’ said Adam. ‘Otherwise, people’d be doin’ it all the time.’

‘It’s all right if you’re religious,’ said Brian reassuringly.”

When Adam and his friends realize a real witch, Anathema Device, has moved into the neighborhood, they discuss the historical treatment of witches and the ethics of burning them as punishment. Brian makes a distinction between the casual burning of witches and doing it for religious reasons. Once again, the authors point out the hypocrisy of organized religion, as well as the ease with which the younger generation internalizes its twisted logic.

“America was, to them, the place that good people went to when they died. They were prepared to believe that just about anything could happen in America.” 

While Pratchett and Gaiman take their fair share of potshots at the United States, Adam and his friends still believe in America as the land of possibilities where anything can, and does, happen. The mythology of America as a place of limitless opportunity resonates around the globe, informing the worldview of even those too young to understand it. It’s the mythology that has beckoned countless generations of immigrants to America’s shores for centuries.

“It’s a tryin’ life, ye ken, all this lyin’ in the wet bracken spying on their devilish dancin’. It gets into yer bones somethin’ cruel.” 

As Newton Pulsifer departs for Lower Tadfield to investigate strange weather conditions, Sergeant Shadwell ruminates on a life devoted to a singular cause of finding and exposing witches. While he believes in this cause, he is realistic about the toll such a life takes. An old man, he has never known love or companionship because his life was consumed by the Witchfinder Army. The note of regret in his voice is palpable here, presaging his later retirement to a country cottage with Madame Tracy.

“You do know you could find yourself charged with being a dominant species while under the influence of impulse-driven consumerism, don’t you?” 

En route to Lower Tadfield, Newton Pulsifer encounters a UFO, the occupants of which chastise him, and all of humanity, for their poor stewardship of the planet. Coupled with Adam’s environmental epiphanies, the aliens’ assessment of humanity’s legacy on the planet is a resoundingly poor one. Updating the Horseman Pestilence to Pollution is further evidence of Pratchett and Gaiman’s derision. Add climate change to the list—an issue not quite on the radar when the novel was first published—and the inventory of environmental sins grows long indeed.

“‘Between you and me, Agnes was a bit of a difficult character,’ said Anathema, vaguely. ‘She had no middle gears.’”

Newton Pulsifer, whose ancestor led the charge against Agnes Nutter 300 years ago, offers an apology to Anathema Device on behalf of his ancestor’s actions. Anathema counters with a kind of understanding and, in the process, highlights a common character trait many influential people share. Nutter—and perhaps even Shadwell, to some degree—knew only one way to approach life: obsessively, full bore, never looking back. While Agnes’s fast gear attitude resulted in her death at the hands of a raging mob, she left a legacy unequaled among her peers.

“He sometimes suspected they had far more in common with one another than with their respective superiors.” 

Aziraphale weighs whether to provide information to Crowley before his Heavenly superiors. For him, the chain of command feels distant, while his friendship with Crowley is far more immediate. Again, the authors blur the line between good and evil, showing them to be not so much moral absolutes as relative contingencies based on circumstances.

“They wanted just enough Occult to season the simple fare of their lives, and preferably in portions no longer than forty-five minutes, followed by tea and biscuits.” 

Madame Tracy’s clientele, hoping to receive communications from their dearly departed, usually settle for boilerplate predictions and non-specific messages of well-being. Anything more would disrupt the tidy routine of their lives. Madame Tracy’s fraudulent seances give these lonely people what they want: reassurance.

“‘Because,’ she added, ‘if we beat them, we’d have to be our own deadly enemies. It’d be me an’ Adam against Brian an’ Wensley.’ She sat back. ‘Everyone needs a Greasy Johnson,’ she said.” 

Ever the practical one, Pepper argues that getting rid of Greasy Johnson and his friends, a rival gang, wouldn’t necessarily make life any better in the neighborhood. Because of their predilection for competition, the Them would eventually turn on each other to avoid the malaise that would result from Johnson’s absence. Pepper points out a truism of all human beings: Without a rival, someone to measure ourselves against, life becomes dull and stagnant.

“Silence held the bubble of the world in its grip.”

As Adam waits outside the airbase to confront his destiny, the Four Horsepersons approach. All is still, the hosts of Heaven and Hell poised for battle. It’s the proverbial calm before the storm, the tension made even more palpable by the authors’ restrained prose.

“‘Where’d they go?’ said Wensley.

‘WHERE THEY BELONG,’ said Death, still holding Adam’s gaze.

‘WHERE THEY HAVE ALWAYS BEEN. BACK IN THE MINDS OF MAN.’” 

With Adam’s powerful assistance, the Them vanquish Pollution, Famine, and War. When Wensley asks what happened to their corporeal bodies, Death responds that the three haven’t gone anywhere because they have always been. These plagues are not outside forces acting indiscriminately; they are afflictions forever dormant within humanity, ready to be let loose at a moment’s notice.

“I don’t see what’s so triffic about creating people as people and then gettin’ upset ’cos they act like people.”

Adam, engaged in an ethical and spiritual debate with the Metatron, pinpoints one of the essential paradoxes of organized religion: the illogic of penalizing human beings for behaving exactly according to their nature. While the authorities of Heaven and Hell accept this premise without question, its fundamental folly doesn’t escape Adam’s childlike yet ultimately keen awareness.