Life, The Universe and Everything - Douglas Adams

I think I've figured out this whole love-meh relationship I have with the Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy series. There is no doubt in my mind that Douglas Adams is (was) a brilliant man who is (was) capable of putting clever, witty, and thought-provoking ideas down on paper. Where I think he loses me is in telling me a story.

Aside from the comedic one-or-two-shot characters, (and the better-in-small-doses Zaphod Beetlebrox) the series' cast is essentially interchangeable, with little other than small speech-pattern quirks differentiating them. And that's fine, as long as the focus of the book is firmly planted on those equally-balanced-between-logic-and-absurdity moments that Adams writes so well, but there's this pestering insistence on telling a story. And, to do so, he needs to have his characters doing stuff. When they're doing stuff, Adams stops talking, and starts narrating, which, as I mentioned, is where he loses me.

As a "for instance" for people who have read the book, here's what I'm talking about. Near the very beginning of the novel, Arthur Dent encounters an immortal being who, inspired by a desire to insult every living creature in the galaxy, shows up, cusses him out, and disappears on a spaceship. Both in concept and in execution, this passage is hy-larious.

Another great example of justified absurdity comes when Adams introduces the idea of flight. The trick, he writes, is to become distracted by something while falling and, simply forget to hit the ground. While mentioned as a passing joke, the idea maintains integrity. Then, protagonist Arthur Dent goes and does it. A lot. And suddenly, that great tidbit becomes tainted, as it were, by its transformation into a plot device.

I know I'm always breaking these books down into portions of greatness, and it's probably a stupid thing to do, but in the case of Life, The Universe and Everything, it's notable that more than the previous two books, the quality is of a more consistent level, particularly in the first 4/5ths of the novel. That last (give or take) 20% is devoted to that rushed narrative necessity known as a climax, and it's really a shame. Instead of just talking about concepts and funny hypotheticals, Adams forces his characters to interact with, and live within them, somehow making them seem less plausible for it.

I don't think that a novel is the best way to celebrate Douglas Adams' genius. Instead, I'm just going to pick out the best ideas and pretend that he and I made them up, just bouncing ideas off of each other at the pub.

Now I feel better.