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| Benjy mouse and Frankie mouse |
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| http://fuckyeahdouglasadams.tumblr.com |
About 15 minutes before the earth goes kaput, Ford Prefect (an alien who got stuck on earth for 15 years disguised as an actor but in truth was a researcher for the eponymous electronic book "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) survives this imminent doom along with Arthur Dent (an ordinary earthling who had a miserable Thursday because his house is about to be bulldozed to make way for a "bypass"). They hitchhiked on a Vogon spacecraft, got busted and was sent for torture by way of Vogon Poetry (known to be the 3rd worst in the universe). They were soon spat out into space to die but was saved by "The Heart of Gold" a second too early before they asphyxiate in deep space. Inside the spacecraft they met Trillian (the second earthling spared from the destruction and was actually some girl Arthur fancied at a party), Marvin (a manically depressed robot) and Zaphod Beeblebrox (a two-headed, three-armed guy, elected president of the Galaxy who was actually on the run with The Heart of Gold and is also Ford Prefect's semi-half-cousin, and the guy who went off with Trillian at the party where Arthur was in). On board the stolen space craft they headed for the mythical "Magrathea" a place where planets are made and was actually in sleep for 5 million years. A series of misadventures took place, odd characters pop out, each turn of events were unpredictable adding up to the thrill and excitement to this interstellar adventure written by Douglas Adams.
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| Zaphod Beeblerox, a two-headed, 3 limbed president of the Universe |
I hold a very old copy of this book whose cover carried a hint of this absurd tale. It was a college friend who told me about it. Apple (that's her) proclaimed it as the funniest book she's ever read, holding out this itty book with scant pages like an educator holding out flashcards to a class of kindies. We were in college and none of her deadpan voice, her nondescript face or her freakishly tall height ( I think she was a six footer doing a bit of modelling on the side) connotes the person I have come to love and adore. We were puffing our nth cigarrette, my mouth was dry and tasted like a horrible compost from sucking in smoke of dead leaves (she has this thing of using them as a bookmark, she'd massage them to a fine roll and flatten its tip before lighting them), it was another afternoon spent talking about books, movies, music, poetry and stuff. She's already talked about Douglas Adams, Micheal Moorcock, Herman Hesse and I was all ears, feeling a bit like an obscure art form to this cool chic who used to hate me ("You walk and talk like someone who swallows shit" the best translation of her words I can come up with) but now ditched her classes (and soon failing them) just to spend time with me. By Apple's recommendation, I searched for this book hoping to enjoy it as much as she did. I fished an old edition sold cheap at SM Booksale. I was oblivious to its humor, lost amidst the nerd talk. What can you make out of a book that tells you that mice are hyperintelligent pandimensional beings (hyperintelligent what?) or that the earth was a product of the mythical "Magrathea", that towels are the "most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have"? and finally The Answer to Life, Universe and Everything is "42"? It was some geek culture I didn't want to be involved in. I'd rather bust my brains out with Marquez or Kundera or a bit of Nietzsche. It all seemed like a joke with a horrible stripe to it. Ha-ha. I read it again after years of neglect.
Yes, I read it again and it was wonderfull.
A Vogon reading a Vogon Poetry as a means of torture
Beautiful illustrations can be found here
http://jonathanburton.net/The-Hitchhiker-s-Guides
Snippets:
"The world is about to end." Arthur gave the rest of the pub another wan smile. The rest of the pub frowned at him. A man waved at him to stop smiling at them and mind his own business.
"This must be Thursday," said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer. "I never could get the hang of Thursdays."
***
"He slumped against the wall again and carried on the tune from where he left off.
"You know," said Arthur, "it's at times like this, when I'm trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelguese, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space, that I really wished I'd listen to what my mother told me when I was young.
"Why, what did she tell you?"
"I don't know, I didn't listen."
"Oh" Ford carried on humming.
"This is terrific," Arthur thought to himself, "Nelson's Column has gone, McDonald's has gone, all that's left is me and the words Mostly Harmless. Any second now all that will be left is Mostly Harmless. And yesterday the planet seemed to be going on so well.
A motor whirred.
A slight hiss built into a deafening roar of rushing air as the outer hatchway opened onto an empty blackness studded with tiny, impossibly bright points of light. Ford and Arthur popped into outer space like corks from a toy gun."
***The mice bristled.
"Well, I mean, yes an idealism, yes the dignity of pure research, yes the pursuit of truth in all its forms, but there comes a point I'm afraid where you begin to suspect that if there's any real truth, its that the entire multidimensional infinity of the Universe is almost certainly being run by a bunch of maniacs. "
