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The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: The Illustrated Edition

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The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: The Illustrated Edition Kindle Edition

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Book 1 of 6: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

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“Extremely funny . . . inspired lunacy . . . [and] over much too soon.”—The Washington Post Book World

Seconds before the Earth is demolished to make way for a galactic freeway, Arthur Dent is plucked off the planet by his friend Ford Prefect, a researcher for the revised edition of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy who, for the last fifteen years, has been posing as an out-of-work actor.

Together this dynamic pair begin a journey through space aided by quotes from The Hitchhiker’s Guide (“A towel is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have”) and a galaxy-full of fellow travelers: Zaphod Beeblebrox—the two-headed, three-armed ex-hippie and totally out-to-lunch president of the galaxy; Trillian, Zaphod’s girlfriend (formally Tricia McMillan), whom Arthur tried to pick up at a cocktail party once upon a time zone; Marvin, a paranoid, brilliant, and chronically depressed robot; Veet Voojagig, a former graduate student who is obsessed with the disappearance of all the ballpoint pens he bought over the years.

Where are these pens? Why are we born? Why do we die? Why do we spend so much time between wearing digital watches? For all the answers stick your thumb to the stars. And don't forget to bring a towel!

Praise for The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

“A whimsical oddyssey . . . Characters frolic through the galaxy with infectious joy.”—Publishers Weekly

“Irresistable!”—The Boston Globe

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Book 1 of 6

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
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208 pages
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Del Rey
Publication date

December 18, 2007
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9780307417138
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If they don’t keep on exercising their lips, he thought, their brains start working.
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A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have.
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The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.
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Editorial Reviews

Review

“Lively, sharply satirical, brilliantly written . . . ranks with the best set pieces in Mark Twain.”—The Atlantic

“Irresistible!”—The Boston Globe

“With droll wit, a keen eye for detail and heavy doses of insight . . . Adams makes us laugh until we cry.”—The San Diego Union-Tribune

“One of the greatest achievements in comedy. A work of staggering genius.”—David Walliams

“Really entertaining and fun.”—Michael Palin

“Fizzing with ideas . . . brilliant.”—Charlie Brooker

“Weird and wonderful.”—Eoin Colfer

“It changed my whole life. It’s literally out of this world.”—Tom Baker

About the Author

The late Douglas Adams was the bestselling author of satirical fiction such as The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

The house stood on a slight rise just on the edge of the village. It stood on its own and looked out over a broad spread of West Country farmland. Not a remarkable house by any means—it was about thirty years old, squattish, squarish, made of brick, and had four windows set in the front of a size and proportion which more or less exactly failed to please the eye.

The only person for whom the house was in any way special was Arthur Dent, and that was only because it happened to be the one he lived in. He had lived in it for about three years, ever since he had moved out of London because it made him nervous and irritable. He was about thirty as well, tall, dark-haired and never quite at ease with himself. The thing that used to worry him most was the fact that people always used to ask him what he was looking so worried about. He worked in local radio which he always used to tell his friends was a lot more interesting than they probably thought. It was, too—most of his friends worked in advertising.

On Wednesday night it had rained very heavily, the lane was wet and muddy, but the Thursday morning sun was bright and clear as it shone on Arthur Dent’s house for what was to be the last time.

It hadn’t properly registered yet with Arthur that the council wanted to knock it down and build a bypass instead.

At eight o’clock on Thursday morning Arthur didn’t feel very good. He woke up blearily, got up, wandered blearily round his room, opened a window, saw a bulldozer, found his slippers, and stomped off to the bathroom to wash.

Toothpaste on the brush—so. Scrub.

Shaving mirror—pointing at the ceiling. He adjusted it. For a moment it reflected a second bulldozer through the bathroom window. Properly adjusted, it reflected Arthur Dent’s bristles. He shaved them off, washed, dried and stomped off to the kitchen to find something pleasant to put in his mouth.

Kettle, plug, fridge, milk, coffee. Yawn.

The word bulldozer wandered through his mind for a moment in search of something to connect with.

The bulldozer outside the kitchen window was quite a big one.

He stared at it.

'Yellow,' he thought, and stomped off back to his bedroom to get dressed.

Passing the bathroom he stopped to drink a large glass of water, and another. He began to suspect that he was hung over. Why was he hung over? Had he been drinking the night before? He supposed that he must have been. He caught a glint in the shaving mirror. “Yellow,” he thought, and stomped on to the bedroom.

He stood and thought. The pub, he thought. Oh dear, the pub. He vaguely remembered being angry, angry about something that seemed important. He’d been telling people about it, telling people about it at great length, he rather suspected: his clearest visual recollection was of glazed looks on other people’s faces. Something about a new bypass he’d just found out about. It had been in the pipeline for months only no one seemed to have known about it. Ridiculous. He took a swig of water. It would sort itself out, he’ d decided, no one wanted a bypass, the council didn’t have a leg to stand on. It would sort itself out.

God, what a terrible hangover it had earned him though. He looked at himself in the wardrobe mirror. He stuck out his tongue. 'Yellow,' he thought. The word yellow wandered through his mind in search of something to connect with.

Fifteen seconds later he was out of the house and lying in front of a big yellow bulldozer that was advancing up his garden path.

Mr. L. Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he was a carbon-based bipedal life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby and worked for the local council. Curiously enough, though he didn’t know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generations and racial mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the only vestiges left in Mr. L. Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats.

He was by no means a great warrior; in fact he was a nervous, worried man. Today he was particularly nervous and worried because something had gone seriously wrong with his job, which was to see that Arthur Dent’s house got cleared out of the way before the day was out.

“Come off it, Mr. Dent,” he said, “you can’t win, you know. You can’t lie in front of the bulldozer indefinitely.” He tried to make his eyes blaze fiercely but they just wouldn’t do it.

Arthur lay in the mud and squelched at him.

“I’m game,” he said, “we’ll see who rusts first.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept it,” said Mr. Prosser, gripping his fur hat and rolling it round the top of his head; “this bypass has got to be built and it’s going to be built!”

“First I’ve heard of it,” said Arthur, “why’s it got to be built?”

Mr. Prosser shook his finger at him for a bit, then stopped and put it away again.

“What do you mean, why’s it got to be built?” he said. “It’s a bypass. You’ve got to build bypasses.”

Bypasses are devices that allow some people to dash from point A to point B very fast while other people dash from point B to point A very fast. People living at point C, being a point directly in between, are often given to wonder what’s so great about point A that so many people from point B are so keen to get there, and what’s so great about point B that so many people from point A are so keen to get there. They often wish that people would just once and for all work out where the hell they wanted to be.

Mr. Prosser wanted to be at point D. Point D wasn’t anywhere in particular, it was just any convenient point a very long way from points A, B and C. He would have a nice little cottage at point D, with axes over the door, and spend a pleasant amount of time at point E, which would be the nearest pub to point D. His wife of course wanted climbing roses, but he wanted axes. He didn’t know why—he just liked axes. He flushed hotly under the derisive grins of the bulldozer drivers.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but it was equally uncomfortable on each. Obviously somebody had been appallingly incompetent and he hoped to God it wasn’t him.

Mr. Prosser said, “You were quite entitled to make any suggestions or protests at the appropriate time, you know.”

“Appropriate time?” hooted Arthur. “Appropriate time? The first I knew about it was when a workman arrived at my home yesterday. I asked him if he’d come to clean the windows and he said no, he’d come to demolish the house. He didn’t tell me straight away of course. Oh no. First he wiped a couple of windows and charged me a fiver. Then he told me.”

“But Mr. Dent, the plans have been available in the local planning office for the last nine months.”

“Oh yes, well, as soon as I heard I went straight round to see them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn’t exactly gone out of your way to call attention to them, had you? I mean, like actually telling anybody or anything.”

“But the plans were on display . . .”

“On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar to find them.”

“That’s the display department.”

“With a flashlight.”

“Ah, well, the lights had probably gone.”

“So had the stairs.”

“But look, you found the notice, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Arthur, “yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying ‘Beware of the Leopard.’”

A cloud passed overhead. It cast a shadow over Arthur Dent as he lay propped up on his elbow in the cold mud. It cast a shadow over Arthur Dent’s house. Mr. Prosser frowned at it.

“It’s not as if it’ s a particularly nice house,” he said.

“I’m sorry, but I happen to like it.”

“You’ ll like the bypass.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Arthur Dent. “Shut up and go away, and take your bloody bypass with you. You haven’t got a leg to stand on and you know it.”

Mr. Prosser’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times while his mind was for a moment filled with inexplicable but terribly attractive visions of Arthur Dent’ s house being consumed with fire and Arthur himself running screaming from the blazing ruin with at least three hefty spears protruding from his back. Mr. Prosser was often bothered with visions like these and they made him feel very nervous. He stuttered for a moment and then pulled himself together.

“Mr. Dent,” he said.

“Hello? Yes?” said Arthur.

“Some factual information for you. Have you any idea how much damage that bulldozer would suffer if I just let it roll straight over you?”

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B000XUBC2C
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Del Rey; Reissue edition (December 18, 2007)
Publication date ‏ : ‎ December 18, 2007
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 47438 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 208 pages
Page numbers source ISBN ‏ : ‎ 0593359445

Best Sellers Rank: #7,179 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #13 in Time Travel Science Fiction (Kindle Store)
- #26 in Men's Adventure Fiction (Books)
- #46 in General Humorous Fiction

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Douglas Adams (1952-2001) was the much-loved author of the Hitchhiker's Guides, all of which have sold more than 15 million copies worldwide.

Photo by michael hughes from berlin, germany (douglas adams Uploaded by Diaa_abdelmoneim) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.

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Robert Downs

Definite Glitches In Our Universe

Reviewed in the United States on June 8, 2013

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I once believed I was an alien life form, albeit I was in third grade at the time, and thus subject to the ramifications of peer pressure, which sometimes contradicts common sense. Having watched enough cartoons, along with enough animated movies and not so animated ones, I even resorted to the beep-beep noise used by The Road Runner and unintelligent Martians. It was not one of my prouder moments, but looking back on it now, probably showed my ability to suspend disbelief, and helped sprout the seeds of my imagination. Since then, I've developed the spine of a porcupine, I can spit nails, and I have the hard exterior shell of a Plexiglas spacecraft, so I guess the cycle is complete and all is right with the cosmos.

But there are definite glitches in our universe, as evidenced in THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY. First, we have the demolishment of the Earth for a galactic freeway or hyperspace bypass. We find out our intelligence level has been exceeded by mice and dolphins, and that dolphins tried to warn us multiple times of our impending doom, but gave up when their form of communication was not acknowledged and accepted our offerings of fish instead. Ford Prefect is alive and well, is not to be confused with the failed Ford model, and in multiple cases, his intelligence exceeds that of the protagonist, Arthur Dent. The plot becomes a bit discombobulated and farfetched at times and sometimes powered by the Infinite Improbability Drive, but that only adds to the wackiness and pleasure of the overall experience.

Even towels are magically transformed to "the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have." And you just might need one to stifle your laughter, grins, and outright guffaws at some of the hilarious discussions presented in this fun, quirky read. Where, in the end, "I came for a week and got stuck for fifteen years."

"Resistance is useless!" So you should just sit back and enjoy yourself, albeit from another planet like Mars or Pluto, and where the future is not mired by a hyperspace bypass. Of course, there's always the possibility that introverts may rule this particular universe, and this brings me to one of my favorite lines of this tale: "If they don't keep on exercising their lips, he thought, their brains start working." So, in that regard, I will continue to exercise my brain through the absence of moving my lips, except when I have something intelligent, relevant, or interesting to say, or when I occasionally forget that my mouth is moving.

If you have a wickedly morbid, sarcastic sense of humor, this book is definitely for you. Since I laugh so often I sometimes don't even know why I'm laughing, I rather enjoyed this read. And you can too, for the measly sum of less than thirty Altairian dollars a day. "So long and thanks for all the fish."

Robert Downs
Author of Falling Immortality: Casey Holden, Private Investigator

5 people found this helpful

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Charles Scott

A light-hearted, adventure story about an imaginative fellow who goes on a long trip with friends.

Reviewed in the United States on August 1, 2019

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The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, published in 1979 is a thrilling work of science-fiction and highly entertaining to read. It is a well-written book, with a surplus of thought-provoking ideas. The prose conceals flashes of brilliance and unearths pearls of wisdom. The characters are themselves illuminating, with respect to their sharp perceptions, astute assessments of the situation, quick reactions, and outright candor. You get the impression that the story could very easily have been about a likable group of college students who plan to go on a road trip for spring break, so that they can experience all that life has to offer, let off a little steam, and reduce some stress before final exams.
But, alas, the book is more complicated than that. It is more like, what if you know for certain that identifiable flying objects piloted by alien beings are in close proximity, and you have the coded electronic transporter boarding pass device, granting you unlimited access to go anywhere in the universe, right there in your hot little hand.
You find that this quite interesting group of individuals demonstrates great camaraderie and superlative rapport in their timely interactions. They provide keen insight, regarding their interpretations of recent events and take on a variety of pertinent subjects. Such as: "what should we do next in order to survive imminent disaster?"
Basically, they learn to get along exceedingly well together as they travel through the galaxy in a space ship they've somehow managed to commandeer and fly out to distant points as yet unknown. The space ship, incidentally, as it turns out, incorporates the latest and greatest technology ever seen anywhere.
Again, the book is cleverly written, of a deeply philosophical nature, and incredibly fun to read. I'd recommend it to anyone. "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe" is the next title in the book series.
R. Royce saw the note attached to the refrigerator with a small magnetic ornament in the shape of a wild-flower. It read, "We decided to let you sleep in. Be back in a jiffy with your truck of chinchillas."
"Good morning, Royce," said Cornelius Korn. "Are you ready to travel?"
"Where is everyone?" asked Royce.
"They went to gas up the vehicles for the trip to Minnesota. As you know we need to deliver four truck-loads of the cute, cuddly critters to the new chinchilla ranch up near the Canadian border," explained Korn.
"I thought we were still in the early planning stages for that assignment," said Royce. "How'd you get the ball rolling so fast?"
"In case you weren't aware, the democratic process can work miracles in times of great need. The majority voted we go now," said Korn. "Plus, we have just received a sizable cash advance on our proceeds, the amount we get upon final delivery."
"Apparently, you didn't need my vote," said Royce. "Doesn't matter. I'm all for the plan."
"The Montana rancher sold us all of his chinchillas, but he's holding on to the minks and sables," said Korn.
"Makes perfect sense to me," said Royce. You can make very expensive, complete fur coats out of mink or sable. They manufacture the chinchilla fur hides into fashionable leather coat collars, hats, gloves, and accessories. It involves different manufacturing processes entirely."
"Some people keep them as pets, as well," added Korn. "They're docile, playful, and curious. Intelligent creatures."
"You say that we're delivering paired couples of chinchillas to the rancher in Minnesota?" asked Royce. "And we get a share of the profits for the first litters?"
"That's right," said Korn. "$20 bonus, for each baby chinchilla born upon or after arrival at the destination. $80 each, for the red-haired, striped, or spotted blondes. That's because they're rarer breeds and much in demand."
"I can see how this venture might prove profitable," said Royce. "What do the girls have to say about our travel prospects?
"Mostly, they want to experience fine dining along the way, stay in scenic hotels, and go to the International Mall in Minneapolis," said Korn. "Who can argue with their logic?"
"Not me," said Royce. "Here they are now. Let's get this show on the road. Shall we?"
"We're all fueled up and ready to roll," said Raquel Remington. "I've been thinking about those chinchillas. Maybe we should do some additional research."
"I agree," said Alexis Sue Shell. "There may be a big demand for chinchilla oil in the field of medicine."
"Or, for the wild, musky chinchilla scent, in the perfumery industry," continued Raquel.
"We'll definitely have to look into the matter and make discrete inquiries accordingly," said Korn, nonchalantly. Which probably meant that he had other sticks in the fire, as well. For all they knew, he might already have sold some of the cute, furry creatures to NASA for their Mission to Mars program. His next detour: The Biology Unit, Life Support Section, Advanced Obscure Scientific Research Corporation, a subsidiary of NASA. It was inevitable, and so conveniently nearby the chinchilla ranch.

52 people found this helpful

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Mike

A true classic

Reviewed in Canada on March 4, 2024

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One of my favourite books of all time. So funny! And the movie (with Mos Def!) is also pretty good!

One person found this helpful

Darlan

Muito bom o livro

Reviewed in Brazil on September 14, 2021

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Sem dúvida nenhuma é um ícone geek. Achei o livro bastante interessante e original. Para os leitores não muito hábeis com o inglês pode ser bem difícil de ler pois, não há uma estória contínua para ajudar no entendimento dos termos. Tem algumas tiradas engraçadas, mas não leia esperando morrer de rir. Mas em resumo aconselho a leitura por ser um clássico.

3 people found this helpful

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Tommaso Dini

Tutto ok

Reviewed in Italy on April 2, 2024

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Tutto ok

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Kindle Customer

Philosophical book disguised as a fiction

Reviewed in India on December 29, 2023

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The story very elegantly shifts between characters making it an easy read.
The realisation of knowing the right questions to ask is a profound one

yarp

great writing, pretty bad edition.

Reviewed in Sweden on October 6, 2023

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First I think someone should correct the review below saying the book was separated, incase someone gets confused. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was of course a single volume to which there are four sequals with different titles, and of course there are editions which collect all five under the title of the first.
The review doesn't seem to mention that the one he bought claimed to be a collected edition, but that research he suggests should lead most people to expect that if it is not mentioned to contain give books then you are getting the first book in a single volume (not "separated", but not collected with the others).
I don't say any of this in mean spirit, just incase anyone misunderstands that review to assume the FIRST book was divided in five here.

Anyway. the story is great :) excellent. possibly "essential" reading, and it seems to be all here. I bought the Mass Market Paperback editions of the original trilogy (OF THREE) published by Del Ray and, as I should have expected, they aren't so great. very thin covers, very narrow borders which make it a little uncomfortable to read and mean that where you have to open it so wide the spine probably won't last many readings as the books themselves seem to be made pretty cheaply.
it's not terrible and not bad for half the price of the standard (much nicer) paperbacks, but if you want editions that will last to be read many times, I'd go for the pricier editions. I'm only deducting a single star as they're not terrible and of course the contents of the book are 5 star without question!

If like me you are only interested in the first three books, then Gollancz has some nice (and not too chunky) hardback editions for around the same price as the current main paperbacks as part of their excellent SF Masterworks collection, and it seems they have just released a new edition of this first book in their latest style with new art, so I am assuming the other two will follow in the not-too-distant future. I'm going to return these flimsy paperbacks and collect these new Gollancz editions as they come out (but they are very unlikely to have either 'So Long and Thanks for All the Fish' or 'Mostly Harmless' in that same line, so if you're a collector type who wants them all uniform, best go for the nice paperback box set :) )

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