The untimely death of Douglas Adams was a sharp reminder of what a protean talent (and remarkable character) the man was. As MJ Simpson's Hitchhiker: A Biography of Douglas Adams reminds us, when The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy appeared as a radio series, few could guess that its gifted author would, in the space of several books (and adaptations in various other media), single-handedly inaugurate a whole new genre: the sardonically funny, outrageous science fiction parody that combined the sharp-edged sensibility of Monty Python and a marvellously jaded view of British life (taking in some hilarious philosophical asides along the way). Many writers continue to be influenced by Adams, and a new film of Hitchhiker's Guide has been much discussed. So the time is right for this exhaustive and sympathetic biography.

Although several such books are in the pipeline, genre specialist MJ Simpson (a cofounder of the glossy SF magazine SFX) is the perfect chronicler of a strange and eventful life. Adams' quirky personality comes brilliantly to life (thanks to Simpson's impressive research, which he began before Adams' death). We are taken back to his auspicious beginnings as a comic talent in the Cambridge Footlights and through his phenomenal later success (not ignoring the man's pathological inability to meet a deadline). Simpson's writing style is never academic, and sounds the same wry and witty note as his subject effortlessly found. By interviewing a host of friends and associates (and consulting exclusive archives), Simpson paints a picture of this complex and fascinating man that is unlikely to be beaten for quite some time. —Barry Forshaw

When Cambridge mathematician Andrew Wiles announced a solution for Fermat's last theorem in 1993, it electrified the world of mathematics. After a flaw was discovered in the proof, Wiles had to work for another year—he had already laboured in solitude for seven years—to establish that he had solved the 350-year-old problem. Simon Singh's book is a lively, comprehensible explanation of Wiles's work and of the colourful history that has build up around Fermat's last theorem over the years. The book contains some problems that offer a taste for the maths, but it also includes limericks to give a feeling for the quirkier side of mathematicians.

With their inextricable links to history, mystery and war, codes and ciphers offer a rich seam of material for any author. The relative dearth of non-technical books on the subject may be a reflection of its pretty technical foundations, which compel hard decisions about what to include and what to gloss over. Few are better qualified to take on the challenge than Simon Singh, the particle physicist turned science writer whose book Fermat's Last Theorem, recounting the dauntingly complex story behind the proof of this mathematical conjecture, deservedly became a No. 1 bestseller.

The Code Book contains many fascinating accounts of code-breaking in action, from its use in unmasking the Man in the Iron Mask and the defeat of the Nazis to the breaking of a modern cipher system by a world-wide army of amateurs in 1994. It is especially good on the most recent developments, such as quantum cryptology and the thorny civil liberties issues raised by the advent of very secure cipher systems over the Internet. But Singh's mathematical prowess sometimes gets the better of his journalistic instincts, leading to technical descriptions that unnecessarily disrupt the narrative flow. So buy it— and have a shot at the 10,000 pound mystery cipher—but be prepared to skip. —Robert Matthews

All John Sladek's SF novels showed his dark humour and fascination with robots. The farce is funniest and blackest in Tik-Tok (1983), a British SF Association Award-winner.

Robot narrator Tik-Tok may have winsome ways and a cute name from Oz, but inside he's bad, bad, bad. It's not just that his "asimov circuits"—which stop robots hurting people—are defective. He enjoys killing, starting with a dear little blind girl in chapter one and reaching a body count well into four figures. With such achievements behind him, how could Tik-Tok not be offered the US Vice-Presidency?

Sladek's nightmarishly satirical future America is full of daft technology like a nuclear-powered land aircraft carrier the size of Delaware, needing 135 million tyres. Starting life on a Southern plantation where they lynch robots instead of blacks, Tik-Tok rapidly changes owners: a fast-food entrepreneur whose Szechuan duck is really armadillo, a habitual robot-smasher, a fake evangelist (Rev. Flint Orifice) who repeatedly "saves" Tik-Tok at public performances, and many more. Successful careers as robot artist and crimelord are mere steps toward the top.

It seems Tik-Tok can talk his way out of anything, even the bad publicity when his Clockman Medical Centre kicks out non-paying patients: "An interrupted appendectomy held himself together and crawled down the steps". His Wages for Robots campaign, improvised mostly for the fun of guilt-tripping human audiences, is a springboard into US politics. Then he commits one murder too many... Wonderfully, horribly inventive and funny. —David Langford

John Sladek was one of SF's premier satirists, and The Complete Roderick is his masterpiece—a dark comedy of artificial intelligence, previously split into Roderick (1980) and Roderick at Random (1983).

Roderick is an experimental robot, a well-meaning innocent who grows up and learns what it is to be human in the comic inferno of modern America. Being human isn't much fun: bullied at school, diagnosed as mentally unstable for saying he's a robot, forever in trouble for applying logic to religion...

Being a robot is tough: a sinister government agency is determined to destroy all AI "Entities". Luckily their agents are hilariously inept—one assassin lying in wait for Roderick gets mugged for his laser-aimed sniper rifle.

Like Voltaire's Candide, Roderick moves wide-eyed through a world of insane commercialism: (Danton's Doggie Dinette, the posh canine restaurant), fly-by-night religions (the Church of Christ Symmetrical), non-art (identical purple squares, meaningless when painted by Roderick, are praised as cutting-edge art), junk science (research into psychic pigeons is faked but generates a bestseller anyway) and—everywhere—people whose fads and tics and rigid prejudices make them more programmed, less truly human, than Roderick himself.

This book is painfully funny, sprinkled with wild ideas and nifty one-liners: a surreal musical called Hello Dali; marketing a dull book on fishing as You Can Master Bait; the lady founder of Machine Lib, dubbed the Joan of Arc-welding; buying your jeans at Denim Iniquity... Beneath the dazzle, there's some seriously comic discussion of artificial intelligence and why it fascinates us.

Applause to Gollancz SF Masterworks for producing the first one-volume edition of this major SF satire. —David Langford