Fun, enjoyable read with a fine sense of the ridiculous. That's pretty much it, though - like candy floss, there's not a lot of substance beneath that frothy, delightful exterior.

It seems a little unfair to judge a book by who didn't write it, but whenever I read HGG (I think this is my third or fourth read? not sure) I always end up thinking of Terry Pratchett, and how when he's on top of his game his humour is the ridiculous veneer over a deeply compassionate, humanist approach to storytelling. And then I wonder what HGG would have been like if he had written it, and the actual HGG suffers in comparison. Yes, this isn't fair. (Yes, I've just finished rereading Men at Arms and, as always, its excellence has had a lingering effect.)

I don't say this to denigrate Adams in any way. He's a wonderful writer, and I've read nearly all of his stuff because of it. But that doesn't make HGG more substantial than it actually is.