Sometimes a book comes along which can only be described as a treat. A great big massive one where every page is colourful, lovingly designed and a surefire instant hit of dopamine. A pack of large friendly letters, as Douglas Adams might have put it.
In 42: The Wildly Improbable Ideas of Douglas Adams, Kevin Jon Davies has assembled a treasure trove of Adams’ life, using reams of his old documents and various paraphernalia to build a picture of the man, and most importantly, his inventions. This isn’t a straightforward biography, but rather a technicolour tour of a most remarkable brain.
On a personal level, Douglas Adams is the first author I think I really loved. I read, listened and watched every version of Hitchhikers’ and Dirk Gently I could find (yes, even the maddening text adventure game). I aped his writing style as a teenager, though it wasn’t very successful - like many other imitators, I probably could have done with the pinpoint accurate translation of the Babel Fish when it came to his talent.
The thing I have him to thank most of all for though is the way he introduced me to the power of an idea, a theory, the wonder of speculation. Before this I’d always thought of the sci-fi I loved as spaceships, aliens and time travel. Adams has all of that, sure, but his is special because they’re based in a universe of infinite possibilities and improbabilities. There’s gags marrying space engineering with restaurant bills, vegetarian philosophy with riotous body horror, questions of faith with confused robots. Suddenly many of the classic ideas of sci-fi looked a bit boring - why weren’t they as funny or clever as this?
This book goes some way to answering why Douglas’ humour was a singularity in our universe. Its early pages show he was in fact very human, not appearing out of thin air like his later mercurial rise might suggest. Snippets of his university revues, notes and early scripts show a talented writer who loved Python but was still a bit rough around the edges, occasionally funny but sometimes pretty typical of Oxbridge.
Still there’s a hint of excitement every time you read a joke that really hits, or an early prototype of a quote that would become a classic. Seeing the origin of the “space is big” speech from Hitchhiker’s inside a uni revue script is a real kick knowing just what it would become. Similarly, the first ever line of an idea for Hitchhiker’s is staggering in how starkly simple it is: “Man goes to friend; reveals that he is in fact an alien (they have known each other many years), he must now leave the Earth which is threatened with extinction and offers to take his friend with him.”
His creative process once he hits success is laid out brutally too, with pages of notes showing a man often deeply frustrated with the whole fuss of writing the actual ideas, scribbling or tapping streams of consciousness when things didn’t come together. Maybe my favourite one of these is at a point of frustration writing an entry in the Hitchhikers’ series:
Arthur Dent is a burk. He does not interest me.
Ford Prefect is a burk. He does not interest me.
Zaphod Beeblebrox is a burk. He does not interest me.
Marvin is a burk. He does not interest me.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is a burk. It does not interest me.
Deleted passages, letters of frustration and rough outlines show a man bristling with endless ideas, often frustrated with his attempts to fit them all into a narrative he was satisfied with. Of course, the final works speak for themselves, but there’s something reassuring to know that it didn’t all come like some magical apparition to him, but through the laborious work of taking his natural gift for incredible, initially unconnected concepts and building them into something intelligible and coherent.
While I’ve known Adams primarily through his most famous works, the book offers an insight into just how widely he spread himself across mediums and genres, with contributions to theme park rides, to computer gaming, and some remarkably prescient essays on the future of technology, where he somehow predicts the kindle pretty much spot-on a decade early. There’s a degree of sadness when reading these passages too, because it gives the impression of a creative who was finally seeing the arrival of technology that could match his ideas, tragically passing just before the multimedia age he’d been waiting for arrived.
And though the book spends less time on biography than it does the mechanics of his creativity, the snippets of Adams we see are moving and telling. Each bit of personal writing - whether it be a love letter, a note giving advice to a mate (who just so happens to be in Pink Floyd), or a diary entry has traces of the narrative voice so easily recognisable in his prose.
So - whilst I’m still some way off from knowing what the question of Life, the Universe and Everything is, I think I’ve come a bit closer to understanding exactly why there’s nothing else out there that gives me a kick quite like the writing of Douglas Adams; lots of people can string a good sentence together, or even a few nifty thoughts, but few can string countless brilliant ideas in such quick, hilarious succession.
And as an added bonus, it’s made me realise I’ve got some new Adams media to discover - his wildlife series, Last Chance to See has just arrived on my iPhone - now if I could somehow get all his archive on my phone too, I could really turn it into a device to match the Guide…