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The best stories engage as they entertain, make us feel fortunate to have found the realities they contain. If the story is good enough, it can actually change the reader, leaving him or her somehow greater after reading the story than they were before. When the creator of such a story dies, those who visited that reality feel the loss even if they never had occasion to meet the author. This is how I felt, along with millions of others, at the passing of Douglas Adams.
I first read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in my freshman year of high school. It immediately struck me as hilarious, imaginative, and entertaining. As the story continued through what ended up being five volumes in the “trilogy”, something else became clear—Adams was insightful as well as entertaining. Cloaked in a completely enthralling story, he asked a number of questions that challenged our view of the universe and ourselves. And he did so without being transparent or unnecessarily heavy-handed.
But for me, it was always the story that drew me in. I admit, I carried a towel in my backpack for a while in college. I tossed out phrases from the books at random times, making a few friends as a result even as I alienated large groups of people in one fell swoop. Even now, I find myself thinking in Hitchhikers-isms from time to time, and one of the highest statements of praise in my mind is to think of someone as “a frood who really knows where his [or her] towel is.”
Before Adams’ death, it had been a number of years since I read any of the Hitchhiker’s series. I picked up the complete volume from the library about a week ago, though, and I find myself grateful once more to him for creating such an entertaining, interesting place to visit. Thanks, Douglas. I have no doubt your towel was ready when you began this newest journey.
22 July 2001