Life, the Universe and Everything, by Douglas Adams
About this workSummary, languages, provenance, and download
What you will learnThe main threads to follow while reading
Follow the new plot without reducing the novel to the answer 42; notice how digressions alter the meaning of events.
In a few words (short summary)The book’s argument, structure, and limits
The third novel sends Arthur Dent back into a cosmic adventure in which the answer 42 still fails to resolve the original problem.
The third book resumes Arthur Dent’s story after his time on prehistoric Earth and widens it to a new threat to the Galaxy. Adams keeps the Guide’s comic logic, placing decisive events alongside wildly incongruous details.
This entry covers the anthology’s third novel in chapter order, distinct from the books on either side of it.
Four-page AI synthesisA complete reading to browse without leaving the page
A way out of prehistory, a threat at Lord’s
Arthur Dent has spent five years on prehistoric Earth. His cave stands where Islington will one day be, but no bus is due for two million years. Ford Prefect left four years earlier. Arthur talks to trees to keep hold of language, fails at gardening and wakes each morning with the shock of remembering where he is. One visitor briefly raised his hopes of rescue: an alien landed, insulted him and flew away. The encounter shows how isolated Arthur has become, and how little the wider Universe appears to care about his predicament.
That visitor is Wowbagger, made immortal by accident. Having exhausted the pleasures of living indefinitely, he has assigned himself an endless job: insult every inhabitant of the Universe personally and in alphabetical order. His itinerary turns the large question of what gives an unending life purpose into a filing problem. Arthur, facing a smaller but acute version of purposelessness, decides one morning that going mad might help him bear his solitude. Ford returns just as he announces the decision. Their reunion brings relief, along with Ford’s familiar ability to irritate him almost immediately.
Ford has detected a disturbance in space-time. It appears as a Chesterfield sofa drifting across a field. The two men chase it, jump aboard and land in the middle of the pitch at Lord’s during the closing stages of an England–Australia cricket match. Arthur briefly enjoys tea, mown grass and the familiar details of his former life. Then Ford points to the date on a newspaper: Earth is due to be demolished in two days. Arthur’s return home gives him no lasting shelter, and even the ordinary objects he carries seem to have changed during the journey.
At the ground, Ford spots a ship that the crowd overlooks because it is covered by a Somebody Else’s Problem field. Slartibartfast emerges and demands the urn containing the Ashes, insisting that it matters to the Galaxy’s safety. White robots then attack Lord’s, mimicking cricket strokes while hitting explosive balls. Arthur and Ford escape with Slartibartfast in a ship shaped partly like a small Italian restaurant. A sporting relic, a wandering sofa and a galactic attack now belong to the same story. The characters have scarcely had time to ask how they connect.
Krikkit: from an empty sky to a galactic war
Slartibartfast’s ship runs on Bistromathics, calculations drawn from the unreliable numbers on restaurant bills: who ordered what, how many people ate and what each person is prepared to pay. The joke also powers travel through space and time. In a room of Informational Illusions, Arthur and Ford enter a presentation of the ancient Krikkit Wars. A lavish documentary introduces the Wikkit Gate, made of steel, wood and Perspex pillars supporting gold and silver bails. The grand music and salesmanship make the account hard to take at face value, even as its underlying events become urgent.
Krikkit lies inside a dust cloud that conceals every star from its inhabitants. They have never asked whether they are alone in the Universe because they do not know there is a Universe to be alone in. A crashed alien ship gives them the means to build a ship of their own, with a speed Ford finds impossible to credit. Its pilots cross the cloud and see the stars for the first time. Their response to this discovery is to decide that everything beyond Krikkit must go. The blank sky has shaped what they can imagine; seeing past it does not immediately enlarge their sympathies.
Their decision becomes a war fought by huge fleets and lethal white robots. Krikkit forces strike many worlds at once, seize resources for further construction and destroy the worlds they have raided. The account insists on an unsettling combination: the people can be pleasant in ordinary life while supporting the obliteration of every other life form. Their domestic songs and their military purpose occupy the same history. The destruction is too large to be treated as a harmless misunderstanding, yet the speed with which an enclosed world acquires vast technology and a single murderous purpose remains conspicuously strange.
After the Galaxy wins, Judge Pag orders Krikkit and its sun sealed inside an envelope of Slo-Time. They are to emerge only after the rest of the Universe has ended, receiving the solitude they sought. A lock on an orbiting asteroid controls the enclosure, and the Wikkit Gate serves as its key. A surviving Krikkit warship tries to seize that key. Ship and key are scattered through space-time rather than lost forever. Slartibartfast traces several of the pieces as they reappear. The white robots are collecting them, and the historical account has become an immediate race to keep the planet locked.
The scattered key and the people caught in its path
The search for the key sends the story across several places and lives. On a marsh world, the Krikkit robots take an artificial leg from Marvin, who has spent more than a million and a half years walking in a tiny circle. Aboard the Heart of Gold, they seize the gold bail embedded in its Improbability Drive. Zaphod Beeblebrox confronts them and is shot. Parts of an ancient symbol have resurfaced as a prosthesis, a ship component and other objects with quite different uses. That disguise makes the pieces difficult to identify and the lock difficult to defend.
Slartibartfast traces the silver bail to a party that has lasted four generations. Its flying building raids the planet below for supplies and has helped ruin the land. Trillian is there after teleporting away from Zaphod without setting a destination. Arthur encounters her among the guests and meets Thor as well. The robots arrive before Slartibartfast’s group can secure the bail. They take the award containing it and badly damage the party. Arthur challenges Thor, then uses the moment when Thor steps outside to escape with the others. The pursuit of a small metal piece passes through a social event that has itself become a sustained form of destruction.
Arthur’s route to the party has already been interrupted by Agrajag, who lures him into a Cathedral of Hate. Agrajag says he has been reincarnated repeatedly as creatures that died through encounters with Arthur, including the rabbit whose skin became Arthur’s bag and a bowl of falling petunias. Arthur denies persecuting him intentionally. In trying to restrain Agrajag, he nevertheless causes his death again. Arthur flees an ensuing landslide and, distracted while falling, begins to fly as the Guide earlier described. Flight offers him a rare sense of delight, although trying to think too hard about how he does it makes him fall.
Trillian, meanwhile, studies another history in the Room of Informational Illusions. Hactar, a computer once ordered to build a weapon that could destroy the Universe, had put a flaw in the bomb to prevent its use. Its makers pulverized it. The supplied passages set this account beside the history of Krikkit without yet establishing the connection between them. They also show the damage done by time travel: objects return in unexpected places, a poet’s work acquires a disputed origin and a cathedral disappears from history altogether. Following the key means working with traces whose origins and routes through time cannot be taken for granted.
The lock opens, but the outcome is still out of view
The group reaches the lock’s asteroid too late to stop the robots inserting the assembled key. The asteroid passes through the dust cloud, the Slo-Time enclosure opens and the robots destroy the lock. The immediate means of sealing Krikkit again is gone. Ford and Trillian find Zaphod alive, though injured: the robots had carried him away and repeatedly knocked him unconscious. After the lock’s destruction, he once more has the gold bail. It and the wooden pillar survived intact. Slartibartfast’s attempt to keep the planet enclosed has failed, but opening the enclosure does not yet establish what every newly released Krikkiter will choose to do.
On Krikkit, the visitors find a divide between pastoral ground below and war zones suspended high in the sky. When inhabitants surround them, the encounter does not become the expected execution. These Krikkiters worry about universal destruction, the balance of nature and what would happen to their sport. One young man acknowledges that a small bomb might destroy everything, yet struggles to explain why they must use it. Trillian tells him he need not do so and asks to meet those leading the war zones. The conversation gives the planet’s inhabitants thoughts and doubts that the earlier account of their campaign could not contain.
The distinction grows sharper as Zaphod infiltrates a war command centre above the planet. He hears that commanders there are largely untouched by the uncertainty spreading among people on the ground. He also hears that the robots have become listless about the war. The final supplied excerpt begins to describe Marvin connected to the central core of the Krikkit War Computer, then breaks off in the middle of a sentence. The story has brought the bomb, the command structure, the robots and the possibility of refusal into the same place. These passages do not yet show how their confrontation ends.
The evidence supplied here stops before the novel’s ending. It supports the opening of Krikkit and the first visible resistance to its destructive purpose, but gives no basis for stating what happens to the bomb, what Marvin ultimately does or how the planet’s fate is settled. What is already clear is the pressure at the centre of the plot: a world first responds to discovering others by seeking to erase them, while some of its inhabitants begin to question the order they have inherited. Arthur, so often carried into events he barely understands, discovers that even a fall can change direction. The resolution remains beyond the supplied text.
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Life, the Universe and Everything, by Douglas Adams section 1
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Chapter 1
The regular early morning yell of horror was the sound of Arthur Dent waking up and suddenly remembering where he was.
It wasn't just that the cave was cold, it wasn't just that it was damp and smelly. It was the fact that the cave was in the middle of Islington and there wasn't a bus due for two million years.
Time is the worst place, so to speak, to get lost in, as Arthur Dent could testify, having been lost in both time and space a good deal. At least being lost in space kept you busy.
He was stranded in prehistoric Earth as the result of a complex sequence of events which had involved him being alternately blown up and insulted in more bizarre regions of the Galaxy than he ever dreamt existed, and though his life had now turned very, very, very quiet, he was still feeling jumpy.
He hadn't been blown up now for five years.
Since he had hardly seen anyone since he and Ford Prefect had parted company four years previously, he hadn't been insulted in all that time either.
Except just once.
It had happened on a spring evening about two years previously.
He was returning to his cave just a little after dusk when he became aware of lights flashing eerily through the clouds. He turned and stared, with hope suddenly clambering through his heart. Rescue. Escape. The castaway's impossible dream-a ship.
And as he watched, as he stared in wonder and excitement, a long silver ship descended through the warm evening air, quietly, without fuss, its long legs unlocking in a smooth ballet of technology.
It alighted gently on the ground, and what little hum it had generated died away, as if lulled by the evening calm.
A ramp extended itself.
Light streamed out.
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A tall figure appeared silhouetted in the hatchway. It walked down the ramp and stood in front of Arthur.
"You're a jerk, Dent," it said simply.
It was alien, very alien. It had a peculiar alien tallness, a peculiar alien flattened head, peculiar slitty little alien eyes, extravagantly draped golden ropes with a peculiarly alien collar design, and pale grey-green alien skin which had about it that lustrous shine which most grey-green faces can only acquire with plenty of exercise and very expensive soap.
Arthur boggled at it.
It gazed levelly at him.
Arthur's first sensations of hope and trepidation had instantly been overwhelmed by astonishment, and all sorts of thoughts were battling for the use of his vocal chords at this moment.
"Whh...?" he said.
"Bu... hu... uh..." he added.
"Ru... ra... wah... who?" he managed finally to say and lapsed into a frantic kind of silence. He was feeling the effects of having not said anything to anybody for as long as he could remember.
The alien creature frowned briefly and consulted what appeared to be some species of clipboard which he was holding in his thin and spindly alien hand.
"Arthur Dent?" it said.
Arthur nodded helplessly.
"ArthurPhilip Dent?" pursued the alien in a kind of efficient yap.
"Er... er... yes... er... er," confirmed Arthur.
"You're a jerk," repeated the alien, "a complete asshole."
"Er..."
The creature nodded to itself, made a peculiar alien tick on its clipboard and turned briskly back towards the ship.
"Er..." said Arthur desperately, "er..."
"Don't give me that!" snapped the alien. It marched up the ramp, through the hatchway and disappeared into the ship. The ship sealed itself. It started to make a low throbbing hum.
"Er, hey!" shouted Arthur, and started to run helplessly towards it.
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"Wait a minute!" he called. "What is this? What? Wait a minute!"
The ship rose, as if shedding its weight like a cloak to the ground, and hovered briefly. It swept strangely up into the evening sky. It passed up through the clouds, illuminating them briefly, and then was gone, leaving Arthur alone in an immensity of land dancing a helplessly tiny little dance.
"What?" he screamed. "What? What? Hey, what? Come back here and say that!"
He jumped and danced until his legs trembled, and shouted till his lungs rasped. There was no answer from anyone. There was no one to hear him or speak to him.
The alien ship was already thundering towards the upper reaches of the atmosphere, on its way out into the appalling void which separates the very few things there are in the Universe from each other.
Its occupant, the alien with the expensive complexion, leaned back in its single seat. His name was Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged. He was a man with a purpose. Not a very good purpose, as he would have been the first to admit, but it was at least a purpose and it did at least keep him on the move.
Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged was-indeed, is-one of the Universe's very small number of immortal beings.
Those who are born immortal instinctively know how to cope with it, but Wowbagger was not one of them. Indeed he had come to hate them, the load of serene bastards. He had had his immortality thrust upon him by an unfortunate accident with an irrational particle accelerator, a liquid lunch and a pair of rubber bands. The precise details of the accident are not important because no one has ever managed to duplicate the exact circumstances under which it happened, and many people have ended up looking very silly, or dead, or both, trying.
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Wowbagger closed his eyes in a grim and weary expression, put some light jazz on the ship's stereo, and reflected that he could have made it if it hadn't been for Sunday afternoons, he really could have done.
To begin with it was fun, he had a ball, living dangerously, taking risks, cleaning up on high-yield long-term investments, and just generally outliving the hell out of everybody.
In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness which starts to set in at about 2.55, when you know that you've had all the baths you can usefully have that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the papers you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul.
So things began to pall for him. The merry smiles he used to wear at other people's funerals began to fade. He began to despise the Universe in general, and everyone in it in particular.
This was the point at which he conceived his purpose, the thing which would drive him on, and which, as far as he could see, would drive him on forever. It was this.
He would insult the Universe.
That is, he would insult everybody in it. Individually, personally, one by one, and (this was the thing he really decided to grit his teeth over) in alphabetical order.
When people protested to him, as they sometimes had done, that the plan was not merely misGuided but actually impossible because of the number of people being born and dying all the time, he would merely fix them with a steely look and say, "A man can dream can't he?"
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And so he started out. He equipped a spaceship that was built to last with the computer capable of handling all the data processing involved in keeping track of the entire population of the known Universe and working out the horrifically complicated routes involved.
His ship fled through the inner orbits of the Sol star system, preparing to slingshot round the sun and fling itself out into interstellar space.
"Computer," he said.
"Here," yipped the computer.
"Where next?"
"Computing that."
Wowbagger gazed for a moment at the fantastic jewellery of the night, the billions of tiny diamond worlds that dusted the infinite darkness with light. Every one, every single one, was on his itinerary. Most of them he would be going to millions of times over.
He imagined for a moment his itinerary connecting up all the dots in the sky like a child's numbered dots puzzle. He hoped that from some vantage point in the Universe it might be seen to spell a very, very rude word.
The computer beeped tunelessly to indicate that it had finished its calculations.
"Folfanga," it said. It beeped.
"Fourth world of the Folfanga system," it continued. It beeped again.
"Estimated journey time, three weeks," it continued further. It beeped again.
"There to meet with a small slug," it beeped, "of the genus A-Rth-Urp-Hil-Ipdenu."
"I believe," it added, after a slight pause during which it beeped, "that you had decided to call it a brainless prat."
Wowbagger grunted. He watched the majesty of creation outside his window for a moment or two.
"I think I'll take a nap," he said, and then added, "what network areas are we going to be passing through in the next few hours?"
The computer beeped.
"Cosmovid, Thinkpix and Home Brain Box," it said, and beeped.
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"Any movies I haven't seen thirty thousand times already?"
"No."
"Uh."
"There's Angst in Space. You've only seen that thirty-three thousand five hundred and seventeen times."
"Wake me for the second reel."
The computer beeped.
"Sleep well," it said.
The ship fled on through the night.
Meanwhile, on Earth, it began to pour with rain and Arthur Dent sat in his cave and had one of the most truly rotten evenings of his entire life, thinking of things he could have said to the alien and swatting flies, who also had a rotten evening.
The next day he made himself a pouch out of rabbit skin because he thought it would be useful to keep things in.
