The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe - Douglas Adams

The more I read about Douglas Adams, his environmental work and national respect, the more I like him, and the worse I feel about what I thought of this novel. As with The Hitch-hiker's Guide To the Galaxy, the sequel finds itself in a fit of misadventures, featuring the quirky crew of the spaceship The Heart Of Gold.

Even with just a year in between books, Adams seems to lose his knack for the ability to write a joke. Maybe it continues to be the impossibility of transferring vocal inflection into the written word, but most of the comedy lands a fair few light years away from its mark. Then again, this theory is dependent on the assumption that the original radio plays were hilarious. I understand that they're supposed to be, but not having heard them, it may turn out that they're just as flat as their novelizations.

Perhaps the problem actually lies in the split narratives that follow Arthur Dent and Zaphod Beeblebrox to different parts of the galaxy. Even as a whiny, flustered, no-one-wants-to-admit-that-he's-the-everyman everyman, Dent allows us to speculate and process what our reaction to the circumstances in the novel would be. Although, due to familiarity with the science fiction genre, we are willing to accept the incredible and the strange for what they are, Arthur Dent shows us how we would likely actually react. Beeblebrox, on the other hand, is a hip cat who knows the freakishness of the rest of the galaxy like the back of one of his heads. Following him around as he makes and resolves his own conflicts is like having Danny Zuko from Grease give you a tour of the Wonka Factory. He's so wrapped up in saying things like "I'm so hip, my thighs can't tan" (that one's actually mine, feel free to use it) that we explore the bizarreness of Adams' world with a selfish indifference. We resent Beelebrox's familiarity with his surroundings, his unflappable demeanour, and his assumption of the narrative line.

Then there's the spontaneous plot twists. Adams may or may not have been throwing word magnets at the fridge when it is unprecedentedly and spontaneously announced that ghosts are real. There has been no prior discussion of the afterlife, but suddenly, at a moment of sheer peril, out pops this phasma ex machina who saves the day. Then, naturally, we never talk about it again.

It isn't until much much later, when the crew meets up with The Man Who Rules The Universe, as well as humanity's real ancestors, that things start to get back on track. When he focuses on absurd speculative comedy, Adams is able to concoct clever and memorable species and dialogue. The problem is that it takes so very long to get there that the book, try as it may, can't crawl out of the hole it's dug for itself.