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by Franz Kafka
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The often naïve heroes of conspiracy fiction must quickly learn to read the signs of an increasingly sinister world, and read I did. The students in my composition class on conspiracy fiction were in fact conspiring against me.
"It was like a moment out of Indiana Jones – prying the lid off the sarcophagus, blowing off the dust," Charles Ardai says. "It was breathtaking. I was thrilled. To find new words from an author you thought would never speak again – it was magical."
When I first began to watch The Killing two months ago, I told a friend who’d been watching since day one. His reaction was vehement. “Goddamn FUCK THE KILLING. I keep watching it and it keeps NOT GOING ANYWHERE. And yet I cannot stop watching.”