Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency
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From Douglas Adams, the legendary author of one of the most beloved science fiction novels of all time, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, comes a wildly inventive novel—in trade paperback for the first time—of ghosts, time travel, and one detective’s mission to save humanity from extinction.
DIRK GENTLY’S HOLISTIC DETECTIVE AGENCY
We solve the whole crime
We find the whole person
Phone today for the whole solution to your problem
(Missing cats and messy divorces a specialty)
Douglas Adams, the “master of wacky words and even wackier tales” (Entertainment Weekly) once again boggles the mind with a completely unbelievable story of ghosts, time travel, eccentric computer geniuses, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the end of the world, and—of course—missing cats.
wore the same distracted expression Richard had seen on his face when first he had arrived at his door that evening, apparently completely unexpected. Reg seemed then to sense that Richard was taken aback and quickly reassembled a smile. “My dear chap!” he said. “My dear chap! My dear, dear chap! What was I saying?” “Er, you were saying ‘My dear chap.’ ” “Yes, but I feel sure it was a prelude to something. A sort of short toccata on the theme of what a splendid fellow you are prior to
conjuring tricks. He pictured the round pale face of Sarah, pop-eyed with wonder. He washed his own face. He thought: “ . . . Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair!” He brushed his own hair. He thought, too, of the pictures hanging high in the darkness above their heads. He cleaned his teeth. The low buzz of the neon light snapped him back to the present and he suddenly remembered with appalled shock that he was here in his capacity as burglar. Something made him look himself
big red push-buttons she regarded as being beneath contempt. And she certainly wasn’t going to do anything rash like smile until she knew for certain that the check wouldn’t bounce. The last time he signed a check for her he canceled it before the end of the day, to prevent it, as he explained, “falling into the wrong hands.” The wrong hands, presumably, being those of her bank manager. He thrust a piece of paper across the desk. She picked it up and looked at it. Then she turned it around and
it,” returned Dirk. “Richard, I commend you on your skepticism, but even the skeptical mind must be prepared to accept the unacceptable when there is no alternative. If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, we have at least to consider the possibility that we have a small aquatic bird of the family Anatidæ on our hands.” “Then what is a ghost?” “I think that a ghost,” said Dirk, “is someone who died either violently or unexpectedly with unfinished business on his, her—or its—hands. Who
said Richard. “We called ourselves The Reasonably Good Band, but in fact we weren’t. Our intention was to be the Beatles of the early eighties, but we got much better financial and legal advice than the Beatles ever did, which was basically ‘Don’t bother,’ so we didn’t. I left Cambridge and starved for three years.” “But didn’t I bump into you during that period,” said Reg, “and you said you were doing very well?” “As a road sweeper, yes. There was an awful lot of mess on the roads. More than