Life, the Universe, and Everything

Douglas Adams

Lallafa had lived in the forests on the Long Lands of Effa. He lived there, and he wrote his poems there. He wrote them on pages made of dried habra leaves, without the benefit of education or correcting fluid. He wrote about the light in the forest, and what he thought about that. He wrote about the darkness in the forest, and what he thought about that. He wrote about the girl who had left him and precisely what he thought about that.

I had written a long and interesting discourse on the fundamental truth that lies behind Douglas Adams' great literary failure, but since it would ruin these otherwise wonderful novels for you, I am not going to lay it out here. Just take my word for it that the whole Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series is a childish joke and nothing more (well, I guess it's told with a quaint English accent which actually makes it pretty damn good).