If you've never read Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, the book or the trilogy, there's little I can do but recommend the most successful paper-bound marriage of boundlessly original science fiction and good-natured sociopolitical satire. Well-read Pejman Yousefzadeh only recently enlightened himself with the best literature the English have offered us in thirty years. Verdict? He enjoyed it. It comes as no surprise; even though my buddy Ed once turned the book down for his sober, dystopian William Gibson library, Hitchhiker's appeals to just about anyone with - as Webster's says it - a keen sense of the ludicrous. As Pejman can attest, Douglas Adams' masterpiece has been wholly embraced by pop and kitsch. Deep roots have been tapped and examples are literally everywhere, from the namesake of Altavista's internet translator, Babelfish, to a man's name as listed in my White Pages:
The President of the Galaxy with a Cleveland address? About a decade ago, the information was passed along to me from the rumor mill. I immediately ran to the nearest phone book, whipped it open to the Bs - and son of a gun, there he was. On the side chance that this may not be the man who masterminded the Heart of Gold's heist, I've never called the number.
The book is right here - simply trade a night showing at the movies and you can invest in a story that reinvented fantasy burlesque. For all its logic-bending frivolity, Hitchhiker's is a carefully written, heartfelt commentary on the human condition. Douglas Adams, no Voltaire, always extends a favor or two to his characters. We'll never know, but I suspect the late author carried a certain fondness for his fellow hairless ape. As you read, just remember: Don't Panic!