Sunday 30 March 2014

A Byzantine Book Review



One of my major interests is the life and history of something called the ‘later Roman Empire’, but which is more often known as the Byzantine Empire or Greek Empire to western commentators. What fascinates me most is the fog of ignorance that surrounds the whole subject, and this can be seen just by the number of names it has. The Roman Empire did not suddenly disappear in the year 476 of the common era; this is a simple fact, but one which few people seem to know anything about, or are so obstinately set in their ways that they are not willing to admit it. Byzantium is, essentially, the prejudiced term we use to refer to the Greek-centred eastern half of the Roman Empire that remained more or less unharmed by the upheavals of the 4th and 5th centuries, which held together under an Imperial government in Constantinople, survived for a further millennium after the fall of the empire in the west, and whose inhabitants continued to call themselves Romans.
          The eastern half of the empire held together adequately despite the loss of its western half, and half a century after the so-called Fall of Rome the emperor Justinian I enacted a series of wars to reconquer the western provinces; reclaiming North Africa and much of Italy in the process. Afterwards, religious divisions, the rise of Islam and the Arab invasions of the 7th century, all served to lose the empire much of its territory. Despite this, the remnant ‘Byzantine’ Roman Empire continued to survive and prosper throughout the Mediaeval period, eventually playing a major role in the Crusades. It would finally be destroyed by a combination of civil strife, European crusaders, and the rise of the Ottoman Turkish empire in its place.
          Not many people in the west know about this strange and wonderful nation, and so it is not easy to find it in works of fiction. Despite this, a handful of writers have attempted to explore this relatively untouched time and place, and over the past couple of months I have been acquainting myself with a selection of works I've managed to gather. Of the five I present here, I review them in order of the time period in which they are set, so as to give something of a beginner’s history of Byzantium (or the later Roman Empire) alongside.

The Blood of Alexandria by Richard Blake
          Genre: Political Thriller
          Length: Long
The third instalment to a series of thrillers set in the early seventh century, when the conquests of the emperor Justinian are crumbling in the face of the last great war with Persia, just before the Arab conquests. This interesting choice of period for a quasi-successful series of novels gives me hope, for it allows us a rare glimpse of a world after the so-called fall of the West, and in the wake of Justinian when the empire was in many ways still recognizably ‘Roman’, and I’m almost tempted to seek out some of the other books in the series just for that. The main character is an Anglo-Saxon chap called Aelric, from whose first-person narrative we get our fill of foul-language, classism, racism, and frank commentary on the day-to-day events of his life, as he tells us the story of his senior role in the administration of the empire. While trying to push through some land-reforms in the province of Egypt during the devastating war with Persia, Aelric gets swept up in all sorts of conspiracies and theological disputes, while his old enemy, the drug-snorting psychopathic general Priscus, shows up looking for the first chamber-pot of Jesus Christ - a rather confusing plot which I had a hard job trying to make sense of.
          The characters are the major strength here. Aelric is a compelling protagonist, even if a little unpleasant a one, and the other members of the cast are all excellently presented and in clear possession of their own distinct personalities, which even when you’re not quite keeping up with the wider plot, at least they will keep you interested. The clear runaway winner of ‘best-character’ goes to Priscus, a senior military commander in the empire who is so wonderfully evil that he brightens up every scene he features in. He can most accurately be described as a villain, just one who’s on the same side as the hero, and who can help as much as hinder.
          The book is quite good. If you like intrigue, sex and violence, the occasional stomach-churning torture scene, and a glimpse into the little-known world of late provincial Egypt, then I can vouch for this one. But even so, the theological dispute of the era, which forms one of the numerous plot-threads, is no easier to understand when seen through contemporary eyes than it is when we read it in the driest history textbook.

Alchemy of Fire by Gillian Bradshaw
          Genre: Romance
          Length: Average
While I'm normally put off by the Romantic Fiction genre, this one very quickly won me over. This book is set during the time of the later Heraclian dynasty of the seventh century, a dark period in which incessant and terrible war with the Islamic armies of the Arab Caliphate threatened to finally stamp out the empire for good. The southern and western provinces had been lost for the final time, and the war has now reached the gates of Constantinople itself.
            The story concerns a lady called Anna, a former imperial concubine who now runs a perfume shop in the capital city with her daughter Theodosia. She meets a Syrian refugee who has an idea for a new weapon with which to defend the city, an incendiary which floats on water and which could prove lethal to the wooden fleets of the Arabs. The alchemist, Kallinikos, begins to develop this new idea with Anna’s begrudging help, but the interference of his aristocratic boss at the arsenal, and the exposure of Theodosia’s secret royal heritage, begin to work against Anna’s carefully constructed life.
          The book is very good. The story is well managed, and the Byzantine setting is used well. The scene of the races at the Hippodrome and the subsequent traffic jam in the streets is particularly memorable, and the transition between the humble lives of commoners to the intrigue of the Imperial Palace is carried out excellently. In all fairness, I cannot find a single genuine fault with it; the characters are good, the setting is vivid and nicely presented, and the narrative is fluent and engaging. I thoroughly recommend this book.

The Belt of Gold by Cecelia Holland
          Genre: Thriller
          Length: Average
The year is now 802. The Empire is ruled by the devious and powerful empress Irene, who is locked in a long-term political duel against her rival, John Cerulis, a ruthless aristocrat who wants the throne for himself. We follow the path of Theophano, one of the Empress’ spies, who is attempting to track down an important list of names that could undo John Cerulis’ plans. On the way she bumps into a man called Hagan, a Frank from the west who finds himself sucked into the messy world of Constantinople’s politics. Meanwhile, in the capital, two champion charioteers in the Hippodrome are vying for the coveted prize, the Golden Belt, while a zealot and former hermit is slowly making his way to the city, a religious revolution in his wake.
          If my brief premise there outlines anything, it’s that there’s quite a lot going on in this book. Unlike Richard Blake’s Blood of Alexandria, though, it is possible to actually keep up with what’s going on. Cecelia Holland is clearly a good writer, and if you want a gritty novel with plenty of twists and turns, then this is going to be right up your alley. There’s plenty of sex and violence to keep everyone happy, and the characters are suitably developed and all given their fair share of time.
          It’s also good for explaining to the novice reader where and when they are; the beginning of chapter three, just after we’ve entered the city for the first time, briefly and beautifully sums up the complications of Byzantine history in an accessible way, and sets up the character and past of the empress Irene incredibly well. The first two chapters then are more of a prologue, landing the reader in the plot purposefully away from the city, so that characters can be established before we find ourselves in the much more complicated world of the city. However, while Holland is not a bad writer, it does appear that she may not have made too thorough an effort to avoid historical innacuracy. For the character of Nicephoros, a man who in reality had a son and a daughter, no mention is made in the text of this fact, while the novel plays fast and loose with Irene's ultimate fate.
          Aside from this, there is one major problem with the book. It ends far too abruptly. It spends a great deal of time building up to an impressive climax, involving the championship race at the Hippodrome, and the fight for the throne which simultaneously takes place above it, and it’s all quite impressive; but the fallout from that is not treated with as much care as the rest of the plot has been. I knew what the actual results of the climax were going to be, considering the fact that I already know quite a lot about Byzantine history, so I was fully expecting Irene’s shock deposition by her treasurer Nicephoros; but this sudden change from fretting and world-weary bureaucrat to a man aspiring for the throne was not adequately handled by the writer – I was left bewildered, despite the fact that of knowing roughly what was going to happen. The character had been well-developed up to that point, but then at the end we are let down – the change felt unnatural. And there ought to have been more of an epilogue afterwards; we spent the entire novel finding out what was making these people tick, and then we don’t get to see how they feel or what they think when everything is said and done. There’s not enough closure, is what I’m saying. (And also the events which take place in the story are different, and less good, than that presented by the historical sources. A simple glace at the work of Theophanes the Confessor, the major chronicler for this period, would have provided Holland with a better ending)
          In the end, The Belt of Gold was quite good, but proved oddly disappointing.

The Lady for Ransom by Alfred Duggan
          Genre: Fictional Biography?
          Length: Average
Through the 10th century, the Empire went through a profound resurgence which saw it secure its position as one of the wealthiest, most powerful, and most enlightened nations in the world. It can generally be said to have peaked during the reign of Basil II (976 – 1025), the so-called ‘Bulgar Slayer’, but for the rest of the 11th century things entered a bit of a downward spiral. The Empire’s remaining territories in southern Italy were overthrown by the invading Normans – a group who were also conquering England during this period – and in the east a new group of Islamic invaders had shown up; the Turks.
          Alfred Duggan’s book is set during this precarious time, and as a historical account it is absolutely superb. The story centres around a group or Normans, led by a certain Roussel de Balliol and his wife Matilda, who leave Italy to fight as a mercenary company for the Empire. The year is 1071, and after being involved in the disastrous Battle of Manzikert, in which the defeat of the emperor Romanus IV Diogenes by the Turks sees the virtual crippling of the Empire, Roussel and Matilda spend the following years trying to set up their own principality within the crumbling (Byzantine) Roman lands. Amongst the trials they have to face, their main problems are the Turks who are now running rife over the Anatolian territories, and the (Byzantine) Romans who want their taxable domains back.
          Historically, this one is the best by far. Duggan succeeds in putting the reader on ground-level during one of the most crucial periods in Byzantine history, and we simply have to sit back and watch the events as they unfold. Genuine historical figures play leading roles – such as future emperor Alexius Comnenus (Alexios Komnenos) – and the complexity of Byzantine ideology and politics is explained with patience by a narrator, Roussel’s interpreter, who is sympathetic to our lack of understanding of this place, but who does not fall into the trap of dumbing it down. One of the most delicious examples is when our narrator tells us, right at the beginning, that though the people of this land are Greeks, they call themselves Romans, and that for simplicity sake he will always refer to them as Romans. He is as good as his word; and as such Duggan deals head-on with one of the most contentious issues of Byzantine history – their self-identification as Romans.
          The story and characters are not quite as good. Actually, that’s a little bit harsh; I thought the story was quite good, taking the reader though the fallout from Manzikert and charting the career of a mercenary in the employ of the later Roman Empire, but it’s a little haphazard as far as plots go – which may be necessary pitfall of mining a story from historical events. The narrative style also, in taking the form of a personal account, while having advantages of putting the reader in amongst the events and giving the narrator a firm voice, unfortunately puts a slight barrier between us and the world we are meant to be witnessing. Our narrator does not seem like a very good story-teller, all things considered. This also results in the characters feeling a bit two-dimensional sometimes, and the dialogue being rather forced, and the ending of the story feels a bit too abrupt for my liking.
          But these are only minor quibbles; Duggan is an excellent writer, and his portrayal of the later Roman Empire is one of the most vivid I’ve ever encountered. The characters, while a bit distant at times, are all there in the ways it matters.

Anna of Byzantium by Tracy Barrett
          Genre: Young Adult
          Length: Short
Anna Comnena (Komnene) is certainly an interesting historical character. A daughter of Alexius I Comnenus (1081 – 1118 – yes, the same one from Alfred Duggan’s book), who established the dynasty that ruled the Empire at the end of the 11th and for most of the 12th centuries, she is often cited as one of the world’s first female historians. After being caught out during a palace conspiracy, she was exiled to a convent where she spent the rest of her life – though she devoted her efforts to writing a history of her father’s reign. It’s interesting that Barrett thought her a good subject for Young Adult fiction. Not that I disagree; I’m just saying she’s an interesting choice.
          The story is about the childhood and teenage years of Anna, as she spent her life and energies in the palace. Being the eldest child of the emperor, not to mention the most capable, she is deemed the heir apparent – at least, until the birth of her younger brother John (the future John II), who threatens to take what she deems her rightful position as ruler of the empire. As she is tutored by her manipulative and treacherous grandmother Anna Dalassena in the art of court politics, the truth of her father’s rise to power – and how he overthrew the previous Ducid dynasty (which was presented in Alfred Duggan’s book), the family whom Anna Comnena’s mother belonged to – comes to light.
          The strengths of the story can mainly be found in the venomous relationship between the Comnenids and the old Ducas family, in the form of the intense hatred between the grandmother Anna Dalassena and her daughter-in-law, Anna’s mother. The central story, Anna Comnena’s obsession with gaining power, and her inevitable failure to do so, holds the narrative together well enough. Weaknesses involve the actual briefness of the story itself, which does not really give enough time for any of the characters to properly develop – although this is not too much of a major flaw, as the speed with which it can be devoured is probably more of an advantage in the YA field – and, more glaringly, the historical inaccuracies. Although she helpfully provides a brief family tree of the dynasties and a map of the empire at the start of the book, which will doubtless aid the novice in understanding the key relationships of the story, in the text itself are a few critical flaws; namely, the events of Anna’s life are accelerated in order to have the entire story take place in her childhood and early teenage years. The character of Nicephorus Bryennius (whose father, of the same name, played a fairly pivotal role in Duggan’s book), whom the historical Anna Comnena actually married and lived with for many years, is alas relegated to a fairly minor role in the plot. Also, the major events of the reign of Alexius I, most notably the First Crusade and the Norman wars, are also seriously downplayed, mainly taking the form of having Anna’s father disappearing at certain points in the story. I can see why the author made these decisions; to sacrifice a few dry historical facts in favour of a story about a young girl in the corridors of power, but I find it a bit of a shame she opted for this. Worse than this, the references to the empire as the ‘Byzantine Empire’ were an actual anachronism. They never called themselves Byzantines – even by this stage, these people still maintained themselves as the continuators of the Roman Empire.
          In all fairness, while it was a relatively enjoyable story and has strengths in regard to character and pacing, Anna Comnena is worthy of a much better book than this.

Conclusion
It takes a bit of effort, but one can find fictional works set during the time of the later (Byzantine) Roman Empire. The selection here varies enormously in terms of period, genre, character and writing style, yet it is still a little known subject due to the fact that few people even know what it is all about.
          If I had to pick a favourite from this small selection, I would put my vote for Gillian Bradshaw’s Alchemy of Fire, due to being an all-round decent and accessible novel. The story is good, the characters vivid and appealing, and it’s good to see the lives of people other than emperors being explored – although it must be admitted that the Imperial Court does play a significant role in the story. Rather than focusing on the great emperors of the day, Bradshaw instead tells us the fictional tale of a perfumer in Constantinople, and of the humble Syrian refugee who was responsible for creating one of the most advanced weapons of the middle-ages, which would save the Empire from defeat many times over the next millennium. However, for someone who wants to get deeper into the actual history and society of the Empire, then I firmly recommend Alfred Duggan as my second choice – though the story in his sadly is less enthralling, from the reader’s point of view.
          Finally, it must be said that anyone who wants to know more about this rich and gorgeous subject, there are far worse things to do than picking up Judith Herrin’s Byzantium, which is an excellent and easily accessible opening into this little-known world.

Bibliozantium
Barrett, Tracy. Anna of Byzantium. Dell Laurel-Leaf: USA. (2000)
Blake, Richard. The Blood of Alexandria. Hodder and Staughton. (2010)
Bradshaw, Gillian. Alchemy of Fire. Severn House: Bodmin. (2004)
Duggan, Alfred. The Lady for Ransom. Peter Davies Ltd: London. (1974 [First Published 1953])
Herrin, Judith. Byzantium – The Surprising Life of a Medieval Empire. Penguin: St. Ives. (2008 [First Published 2007])
Holland, Cecelia. The Belt of Gold. Alfred A. Knopf, Inc: USA. (1984)

Friday 21 March 2014

The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams



This one-man franchise, The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, began life inside the head of a drunkard by the name of Douglas Adams who, in the late ‘70s, managed to write a fairly successful radio-play with that name. He then turned it into a novel, another series was commissioned, he wrote a sequel, again pilfering parts of his earlier radio-play, a television series appeared in 1981, more sequels and spin-offs came along, until Adams’ untimely death in 2001, and there it would have ended but for a film adaptation a few years later. The original book, then, is a fairly small part of a much larger whole, and was not even the progenitor of the franchise – that was the first radio series, of which the novel is itself an adaptation, albeit from the same person who was behind everything else that bears the name. It’s comic sci-fi, quite wacky, and delving into it has required more in the way of patience from me than mere reading.

          The story is as follows: Arthur Dent is a perfectly ordinary, fairly miserable 1970s Englishman, who wakes up one morning to find a construction crew wanting to knock down his house so that they can build a bypass. Arthur then finds out that his friend, Ford Prefect, is actually an alien who has been marooned on Earth for the past fifteen years, who arrives to warn him of the Earth’s impending doom – Arthur’s home planet, like his house, is scheduled for demolition, the planning department of the organisation responsible having conveniently overlooked telling the inhabitants about it. Ford and Arthur hitch-hike their way off Earth moments before its destruction, opening the way for adventures across the galaxy.
          Forced to jump ship again, Ford and Arthur wind up on the spaceship ‘Heart of Gold’, recently stolen by Ford’s cousin – fugitive Galactic President Zaphod Beeblebrox – and Tricia McMillan (aka Trillian), a human astrophysicist who got off Earth a few months before Arthur, and Marvin the Paranoid Android, a robot whose programming has sadly left him really, really depressed – and willing to explain as much to everybody within earshot at every moment of the day. Zaphod has a dubious goal in mind – to seek out the lost planet Magrathea, and lay his hands on all its fabled wealth. The story is not so much of secondary importance, but of tertiary – trying to keep up with it is ultimately a waste of time, because things just happen one after another. There’s some claptrap about finding out the Question to the Answer to the ultimate question of Life, the Universe and Everything, because it turns out the Earth was actually quite important in that regard.
          The actual Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy which the story is named after, is a convenient little electronic encyclopaedia that Ford Prefect carries around with him, packed with all sorts of useful and well-presented information for the budget-constrained space-traveller. Nowadays it might be likened to a corporate-sponsored Wikipedia on a small-screened tablet device, with none of the other functions or inbuilt usability that has become a staple in the modern world. Anyway, The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – from the story with the same name – is a useful little plot device, allowing the narrator to take the reader away from the immediate circumstances of their location in order to add a bit of development to Adams’ comic sci-fi world, to tell small, tangentially relevant stories and, more importantly, to explain his more bizarre concepts in a faintly detached yet humorous way. It’s at these moments that some of the better examples of the story’s comedy are revealed.

          Adams’ book itself is a rather poor piece of literature. The plot just bumbles along from one place to another, and the characters are two-dimensional and not especially well developed. That said though, it never needed to be great literature – it works where it counts, in the humour. While far from the greatest book ever written, Adams has a generally unwavering grip on comic genius; many of the lines are delivered superbly, and the dialogue works extremely well. Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent bring the first half of the book alive with their bizarre little exchanges; Arthur the bewildered Englishman out of his depth, and Ford the mind-boggling alien whose job it is to explain just how crazy the universe is. In a scene towards the beginning, Ford and Arthur talk over a few pints in the local pub:
          ‘”Ford,” said Arthur, “would you please tell me what the hell is going on?”
          “Drink up,” said Ford, “you’ve got three pints to get through.”
          “Three pints?” said Arthur. “At Lunchtime?”
          The man next to Ford grinned and nodded happily. Ford ignored him. He said, “Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.”
          “Very deep,” said Arthur, “you should send that in to the Reader’s Digest. They’ve got a page for people like you.”
          “Drink up.”
          “Why three pints all of a sudden?”
          “Muscle relaxant, you’ll need it.”
          “Muscle relaxant?”
          “Muscle relaxant.”
          Arthur stared into his beer.
          “Did I do anything wrong today,” he said, “or has the world always been like this and I’ve been too wrapped up in myself to notice?”
          “Alright,” said Ford, “I’ll try to explain. How long have we known each other?”
          “How long?” Arthur thought. “Er, about five years, maybe six,” he said. “Most of it seemed to make some kind of sense at the time.”
          “Alright,” said Ford. “How would you react if I said that I’m not from Guildford after all, but from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse?”
          Arthur shrugged in a so-so sort of way.
          “I don’t know,” he said, taking a pull of beer. “Why – do you think it’s the sort of thing you’re likely to say?”
          Ford gave up. It really wasn’t worth bothering at the moment, what with the world about to end. He just said:
          “Drink up.”
          He added, perfectly factually:
          “The world’s about to end.”
          [...] “This must be Thursday,” said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer, “I never could get the hang of Thursdays.”’
                             [Excerpt, (1979) pp. 22-23]
          The main reason the book works in this way is actually very simple; it was originally a radio-play, and the book is pilfered nearly word-for-word from the script that Adams originally churned out for the radio. It is essentially just witty, fast-paced comic dialogue, broken up by slower periods of brilliantly witty exposition from The Guide itself. The novel succeeds because it adds nothing more, just a few brief lines of description to make it functional in the printed format. There are one or two minor differences between the radio-play and the novel, ever so slight differences in the plot, but overall no dramatic changes have been made – although it must be pointed out that the novel suddenly ends on a bit of an anticlimax, finishing without in any way wrapping up the plot that had been developing for the past hundred-and-fifty pages. Essentially it cuts of mid-way through the Hitch-Hiker canon, before the events of the radio-series end, Adams saving the subject of the last two episodes for the novel’s sequel. This is a bit of a shame, because the sequel is where it all started to go wrong.

          Let me explain. The radio-series was pretty good; if you like the style of comedy it uses, a broad yet witty kind of fast-paced dialogue comedy with a bit of obvious though brilliant satire thrown in, you will doubtless find it more than palatable. The novel adaptation was also pretty good, because it made very little alteration to the original formula. The main weaknesses of the novel only become apparent when Adams tries actually writing; because he seems to forget that the attractions of his work are in the dialogue and the frequent encyclopaedia-exposition of The Guide itself, and instead tries to bring in more sci-fi, more plot, and more character development – three things he is not so good at. The major difference between the radio and the novel is that, aside from finishing earlier, the novel gives Zaphod Beeblebrox more character, and a serious back-story to do with his motives for stealing the Heart of Gold. And by God, every moment of it is shit. Without the comedy, Adams’ writing is nothing more than the most awful science-fiction imaginable; incomprehensible, scatter-brained nonsense, devoid of any amount of writing skill or reason for existing. Fortunately, such examples are few and far between in the first novel, and don’t cause any major difficulty.

          This problem only becomes pronounced when you look at the sequel, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. The events of the last two episodes of the radio-series could not hold up a whole book on their own, and so Adams decided to shoehorn an entirely new section into the narrative – and thus we get an adventure from Zaphod Beeblebrox, going solo on a couple of alien planets, where he confronts the true darkness of the universe. It’s called ‘the Frogstar sequence’, and it’s awful. Remember what I said before, about how the reason for actually getting into this is the comedy? For about seventy pages or so, we get almost no comedy; just Zaphod, bumbling through the hopelessly contrived plot of the worst sci-fi ever written. There were one or two feeble attempts at making laughter during this section, but Adams seems to have lost any wit he once had, and was so busy trying to be moody that any comedy just gets swamped. It’s like a clown comes on stage and pitifully honks his horn twice, before delivering a series of poorly-written angsty poems on how miserable he is.
Only... only when we pick up at the next section pilfered from the original radio-play, when the four main characters are reunited, does the novel gasp into life again. There is a genuine change in tone, once we reach Chapter 14, and I can tell you it’s a relief. The rest of The Restaurant is by no means a perfect book, lacking much of the original wit of the earlier book and sharing itself with Adams’ attempts to be serious and profound, but it’s still heaps better than the first seventy pages.

          The second book ends where the original radio-series finished, with Ford and Arthur stranded two million years in the past on a prehistoric Earth, freshly colonised by a useless lower-middle-class third of the doomed Golgafrincham civilisation. Even here, Adams watered down the comedy of the original in order to try to insert some profundity, and it doesn’t work all so well; but at least it’s an ending. It’s nicely cyclical; the wandering plot-points that have gathered since the Earth was originally destroyed are finally put to rest, and The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is symbolically thrown in a river, giving a conclusion to the whole matter – although again the radio and novel versions disagree on who actually performed this last act; the radio says it was Ford, while the novel says it was Arthur. I’m just glad it ended up in the river, to be honest.

          There the series could have ended – should have ended – but the one-man franchise kept going. The audience naturally wanted more, but Adams never regained the comic-wit that made his original work so memorable. The 1981 TV series, being based on the best points of both radio and novel, was actually a genuinely decent piece of work, starring several of actors from the main roles from the radio version (Arthur Dent, Zaphod, Marvin, and Peter Jones as The Book), and including some of the better reworkings from the novels (thankfully omitting the Frogstar section, whilst keeping some of the ‘Disaster Area’ Rock Band elements). In fact, I might be so bold as to say that the TV adaptation is the ultimate version of the franchise, considering that my only real dislike about it was the alteration of Trillian’s character; you could call her an astrophysicist all you wanted, but a dumb blond squeaky-voiced American puts an unpleasant dampener on that notion.

          Adams kept writing Hitch-Hiker novels, unfortunately. In Life, the Universe and Everything, Arthur and Ford escape from prehistoric Earth back to a more modern time – Ford having rescued his copy of The Guide from the river beforehand, despite the fact it is never really used in the novel again, as another example of Adams killing his own comic genius – just in time to wind up in the middle of a galactic-scale apocalypse. I think I chuckled about three times in the entirety of this 160-page novel, which in a chuckle-to-book-length ratio suggests that this is, not actually, like the original, a comedy. In fact it is depressing, tedious, and rather boring. It’s not comic sci-fi at all, but just a really, really, bad sci-fi. The next book, So Long and Thanks for all the Fish, I couldn’t find a copy of, so I haven’t even read it. Mostly Harmless, the book after that, I tried reading, but couldn’t get through the first few chapters without wanting to commit suicide from exasperation. It seemed better written than the first book, but there’s no comedy in it, and Adams just never seemed to realise that neither his characters nor his garbled setting were interesting enough to sustain novels in their own right. There is nothing good about them. All the later Hitch-Hiker novels are terrible.

          So, I think that about clears up everything except the last chapter in this dismal little series: The Movie! In 2005, a few years after Adams’ death, the long-awaited movie version of the original story was finally released, and it was... well, let’s be honest, it wasn’t great. It seemed to have been made by a bunch of people who, seemingly, had never actually read, watched or listened to any previous incarnation of the franchise, only heard about it from someone. It has absolutely none of the comic wit of any of the other versions – in the originals, Arthur Dent, having stopped the bulldozer from knocking his house down by lying in front of it, is taken away by Ford who convinces the foreman, through an insane twist of logical reasoning that beggars belief, to lie down in Arthur’s place. In the 2005 movie, Ford turns up with a trolley-load of beer and gives it away to the construction crew. 
            WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK???? 
         They neutered a truly great piece of comedy right in front of my eyes, and I loathe hate and despise it for that. Thereon out the rest of the movie fails consistently. Events happen out of place, character motives have been swapped around, and at some point they even forget to follow any of the storyline of the original(s). Basically, it’s a stretch of the imagination to call it an adaptation. Which is a shame, because there were some very good casting decision and design choices made. My suspicion is that the original movie script was repeatedly violated by committees of American investors, who understood nothing of wit, of comedy, or even the fact that they themselves were one of the main targets of fun and ridicule in the original. The one good thing to say about it is that at least, unlike Adams, the film never wanted to be taken too seriously.

          In conclusion, Douglas Adams was a goose who laid just one golden egg, and he sat on it for the rest of his life. He laid other eggs, but they were the regular kind of infertile goose-eggs, and it’s no surprise they made no real impact outside of Adams’ cult. This review has been harsh, I know, but don’t let that obscure the fact that originally, back at the turn of the ‘80s, this one-man franchise was actually a good thing, well worthy of its popularity and praise. If you want to experience The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which I encourage you to do so, then listen to the 1978 radio-series, or watch the 1981 TV series. Maybe even read the 1979 novel, but be aware that the ending is a bit abrupt and anticlimactic. If you want to read the sequel, then you might want to skip the first twelve chapters, because they’re terrible. The movie is not The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, so that can be comfortably forgotten, as can all the later books in the series. Due to the fractious nature of the franchise, I can’t make this conclusion any simpler, and for that I apologise. So I’ll leave you here with a piece of Adams at his best, how he’s remembered, with one of his classic comedic creations, the Vogons: 

          ‘Here is what to do if you want to get a lift from a Vogon: forget it. They are one of the most unpleasant races in the galaxy – not actually evil, but bad tempered, bureaucratic, officious and callous. They wouldn’t even lift a finger to save their own grandmothers from the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal without orders signed in triplicate, sent in, sent back, queried, lost, found, subjected to public inquiry, lost again, and finally buried in soft peat for three months and recycled as firelighters.
          The best way to get a drink out of a Vogon is to stick your fingers down his throat, and the best way to irritate him is to feed his grandmother to the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal.
          On no account allow a Vogon to read poetry at you.’
                             [Excerpt, (1979) P. 45]

Biblioverse
Adams, Douglas. The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Pan Books: Bungay. (1979)
-      The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. Pan Books: Bungay. (1980)
-      Life, the Universe and Everything. Pan Books: Bungay. (1982)
-      So Long and Thanks for all the Fish. Pan Books. (1984)
-      Mostly Harmless. William Heinemann Ltd. (1992)