(updated and revised this 5/26/25)
I’ve been trying for a few years now to come up with a tribute to Adams. This isn’t quite what I had in mind, but it’s a start. In my mind, this is a work in progress (a multiple-year project), but I’m posting it anyway. Next year’s version will be better—or at least more complete.
Some time in 7th or 8th grade (I believe), I was at a friend’s house and his brother let us try his copy of the text-based Hitchhiker’s Guide game, and we were no good at it at all. Really, it was embarrassing. However, his brother had a copy of the first novel, and we all figured that the novel held the keys we needed for success with the game (alas, it did not help us one whit). My friends all decided that I’d be the one to read the book and come back in a few days as an expert.
I fell in love with the book almost instantly, and I quickly forgot about the game. Adams’ irreverent style rocked my world—could people actually get away with saying some of these things? His skewed take on the world, his style, his humor…and a depressed robot, too! It was truly love at first read. As I recall, I started re-reading it as soon as I finished it—the only time in my life I’ve done that sort of thing.
Also, I finally understood that song, “Marvin, I Love You,” that I kept hearing on Dr. Demento.
It was one of those experiences that, looking back, I can say shaped my reading and thinking for the rest of my life (make of that what you will). Were my life the subject of a Doctor Who or Legends of Tomorrow episode, it’d be one of those immutable fixed points. I got my hands on the next three books as quickly as I could (the idea of a four-volume trilogy was one of the funniest ideas I’d encountered up to that point), and devoured them. I do know that I didn’t understand all of the humor, several of the references shot past me at the speed of light, and I couldn’t appreciate everything that was being satirized. But what I did understand, I thought was brilliant. Not only did I find it funny, the series taught me about comedy—how to construct a joke, how to twist it in ways a reader wouldn’t always expect, and when not to twist but to go for the obviously funny idea. The trilogy also helped me to learn to see the absurdity in life.
Years later, when the final volume (by Adams) was released, I’d already cemented what I thought about the books from these frequent re-reads. I’m not sure that Mostly Harmless changed things much (except for making me think for the first time that maybe I didn’t want him to write more in this series). His non-Hitchhiker’s work illustrated that he was capable of making you see things in a new light–either with a smile or a sense of regret—even when he wasn’t writing the trilogy, even when he was writing non-fiction. It was never the setting or the genre—it was Adams.
But here on Towel Day—as with most of the time I talk about Adams (but I need to change that), it comes down to where I started—the Trilogy. I read the books (particularly the first) so many times that I can quote significant portions of them, and frequently do so without noticing that I’m doing that. I have (at this time) two literary-inspired tattoos, one of which is the planet logo* featured on the original US covers. In essence, I’m saying that Adams and the series that made him famous have had an outsized influence on my life and are probably my biggest enduring fandom. If carrying around a (massively useful) piece of cloth for a day in some small way honors his memory? Sure, I’m in.
So, Happy Towel Day, You Hoopy Froods.
* I didn’t know it at the time, but Adams didn’t like that guy. Whoops.
I topped it by 1, but Goodreads won’t give me the silly graphic for 2024 for some reason. So you’re going to have to take my word for it.
