"Space is big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind- bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist's, but that's just peanuts to space."
Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Douglas Adams is one of my heroes. Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (a trilogy in four parts + 1) is one of those books that are lying in plain sight on my shelf, dog-eared with soft edges from the many times I’ve revisited its glorious pages. I won’t lie; many people don’t understand my obsession with him. I’ve eagerly shoved the book into the awaiting hands of my friends, my excitement infectious as the text passes from my fingertips, the magic crackling in the air. But it all falls flat when they start to read and I see their enthusiasm replaced by that little frown forming on their foreheads.
It’s with shock and horror, and then some more shock followed by disbelief, that I realize: he’s just too weird for them. Too weird??? Is there such a thing? It’s the randomness that I love most, the absolute absurdity of comparing life to a grapefruit and then moving on as though it’s not even debatable. Good literature isn’t just made of the classics and hard-hitting modern works. It’s about self-expression, finding a style that suits you just right.
His ingenious wit and humour make me envy him. I wish I could write like that: make people smile, laugh, or maybe just choke on their coffee. Even if nobody else gets it, I’d be writing for me.
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