jawnbc | A loving indictment of humanity

By the time I scratched my way out of high school I was over geekdom. Many in the posse with which I loosely affiliated myself were über-geeks. They went on to become physicians or veterinarians or start tech businesses or be lab scientists. They played Dungeons & Dragons. They watched Star Trek. It was all I could stand and I couldn’t stand no more.

So I resolved to be the anti-geek. I partied, and shagged, and was insolent and worked at McDo’s and felt marginally better about myself. The gang went off to elite, prestigious Ivy League or engineering/science institutes; I went to State. I majored in pub, minored in activism, and graduated Rather Quite Jaded.

A few weeks later, the gang invited me out for drinks. Turns out they were all going to Europe backpacking the following week. I wasn’t offended, being the prodigal geek who’d drifted away from them all. Oh, and it wasn’t a sexuality thing: they all knew I was queer and it was not an issue. I probably phreaked them when I suggested I meet them in Amsterdan on 02 July (1986), on the steps of Vondelpark Youth Hostel at 15h00. I showed up, they showed up, and different iterations of us bummed around Western Europe, avoiding Chernobyl radiation, spiked Italian vino, terrorists that killed Americans in wheelchairs. In short, we had fun. And no, I’m not really in touch with them anymore.

But they all kept nattering on about Douglas Adams’ HItchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series of books. At some point I’d tired of reading Let’s Go Europe! whilst crapping, so the next anglo bookseller we found, I grabbed the first book in the series. It must be said that I hate science fiction. Really, really hate it. And fantasy. Hate. Loathe, Despise. Ew. Ick. Fook awf. I never liked Tolkien (though I did like the movies). Don’t get me started on Star Trek, Bablyon 20, Battlestar Gumbertico--any of it. So I started this book under complete duress, with few options available.

Oh. And it was cheap, about $5.00, for the first book. Oh, and it was Brussels, maybe. I got into the first book (one of five in the trilogy), and finished the original series of 3 before returning home.

I loved these books because they really constitute a very clever, witty and loving indictment of humanity. Adams uses the conventions of English to outline how arbitrary, illogical and silly many of our machinations might seem to aliens--be they from another culture or another planet. Those who need to maintain a rather grandiose view of homo sapiens will most likely find the books tedious, or perhaps objectionable. Sport, sex, educatiion, science, culture, commerce, ethnocentrism, blood feuds, hegemony, crusades, theism, vegetarianism, militarism--they’re all taken on, taken apart, parsed, punned. From Meeting the Meat to obsequious elevators to sperm donors, yeah even love is taken on. And taken apart. And celebrated.

The sum total of it all? People are wacky, but people who take being alive too solemnly are the wackiest of all. Lighten up, get over it, whatever. Do your best, be a nice person, don’t be a doormat, keep an open mind. We’ve got brains, so we best try to use them--but use our hearts as well. And at least as often.

I can’t do the books justice really. They work because Douglas Adams wasn’t merely a very funny (and clever) man. Douglas Adams was a great writer, a great storyteller, who imbued his characters with authenticity. The books remained about the characters more than the planets and spaceships and stars. Arthur Dent seems inept but has great heart. Trisha McMillan is brilliant and passionate--and as a woman who possessed and celebrated her own sexuality (still a novelty in 1970s England). And every “advanced” race encountered had its own foibles, both grand and small. We’re not the apogee of creation, nor do we need to be. After my first read, I remember feeling profoundly hopeful about the world; I was not a lighthearted 22 year old: this was a big shift. Subsequent reads have yielded more optimism. Dunno about anyone else, but I need to live an optimistic life--the alternative is heartache. At best. No thanks.

Douglas Adams died a couple of years ago, just shy of his 50th birthday--too fookin’ soon. If you want a fun, engaging, insightful read, start with “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” and go from there. My favourite is the fifth book in the trilogy, “Mostly Harmless,” but go for the full meal deal. I’ve not loved his other books (the Dirk Gently series) nearly as much, but his essays are also often very, very good.

Subtly passionate. Yes, perhaps that’s what I’ve been trying to say. The books were subtly passionate.