And here we go. This is the episode where I discover I’m really in Twin Peaks, ensconced fully in David Lynch. I’ll give a brief rundown of some of the episode particulars and the way the plot is developing, but I want to get to the end of the episode, to the moment where this show becomes the show I’ve always heard about.
First though, things kick off with a scene so odd, one can only wonder at it. The Hornes (the family of high school femme fatale Audrey Horne, played by Sherilyn Fenn) are having dinner when Mr. Horne’s brother Jerry shows up. Mr. Horne and Jerry then proceed to scarf down fistfuls of baguettes in a grotesque display that made me think immediately of the short films of Louis C.K. Does this scene of absurdist comedy exist for any reason other than to be absurdist comedy? I don’t think so. It’s sorta funny, but it’s mostly odd—and that’s its real function, to create in the episode’s first scene a sense of discombobulation. At its root, absurdism is about thwarting the deep human desire to find meaning. We watch these two grown men yelling at each other through moist mouthfuls of bread, and we don’t know what the hell is going on. You don’t know what the hell is going on? David Lynch seems to say. Good, then let’s get started.
The problem with serial killers and psychopaths in fiction, in general, is that they are banal. If you want to be realistic, the story remains the same: we make our own monsters, and the only mystery is why every tortured child doesn’t become like their abuser. But part of the point of True Detective is that we live in circles, and live out the same stories. With serial killers, it is just more distinct: ritualized reenactment of the story at the core of their being, through their own lens, and inflicted upon others.
Bad Machinery: The Case Of The Good Boy by John Allison is the second volume in the web comic series about the middle grade sleuths of Griswald's Grammar School in Tackleford, England (available March 12, 2014).
After the pilot episode of the series set up the town and the central mystery of homecoming queen Laura Palmer’s murder, the first regular episode, “Traces to Nowhere,” begins to expand the canvas and deepen that mystery. FBI Agent Cooper, after securing a superior cup of java, questions a young man named James Hurley (played by James Marshall) about a video that shows Laura and her friend Donna (Lara Flynn Boyle) and hints at the presence of an unseen third person. Hurley admits that he shot the video, and that he was indeed having an affair with Laura, cheating with her behind the back of her batshit boyfriend Bobby Briggs, but he denies having anything to do with her death. We believe him, and so does Cooper.
It’s me again, kittens. Your friendly neighborhood Bibliotherapist, and believe me when I tell you that I know what’s ailing you. Yes, you. And you, too. Gather round, chumps and listen up.
The Sittaford Mystery by Agatha Christie
Here’s how it commenced: One night when I was twelve, maybe thirteen, I caught the film Ten Little Indians on TV. It was the 1965 version, not the best (see 1945’s Then There were None) but compelling all the same. The set-up and execution (literally!) really grabbed me: Take ten strangers, strand them in an isolated mansion, and toss in some shadowy past sins, a slew of quirky murders, and an embedded killer, and what have you got? The beginning of a Christie reader. 
Not long after that evening, I learned that the person who’d dreamed up that dastardly little soiree was a rather renowned Englishwoman, well-born and cultured, who’d been responsible for scores of cold-blooded murders. That week I invested in my first Agatha Christie novel. It was a Dell paperback called Murder After Hours (aka The Hollow.) The cover art reminded me of the Golden Book Encyclopedia covers: a collection of seemingly random objects arranged in still-life. Here, scattered upon a window ledge, were a glowing flashlight, a crumpled note, a teacup and a revolver. Just outside the cracked windowpane, a large owl—shorthand for all things mysterious—sat on a bare black branch and stared forward menacingly. Good stuff. 
Providence Rag, the third book in the Liam Mulligan series by Bruce DeSilva, forces a journalist to dig through his town's archives in order to keep a convicted serial killer in jail (available March 11, 2014). 
Candles can be soothing, aromatic, and perfect for adding some warmth to a cold winter's night. But if you prefer a side of “creepy critter” with your candles, these might just be the ones for you. These candles will be available at 
The Black-Eyed Blonde, by Benjamin Black, brings back Raymond Chandler's famous PI Philip Marlowe as he follows a seductive, young heiress into the riskiest case of his career (available March 4, 2014).
Brooklyn Graves by Triss Stein is the second traditional mystery featuring historian Erica Donato, who'll research Tiffany glass as well as the murder of a family friend (available March 4th, 2014).
Board Stiff 
In case you missed it, last week Criminal Element took a look at this year’s Academy Awards nominees and 
City of Darkness and Light by Rhys Bowen, the thirteenth novel in the Molly Murphy historical series, follows the young mother to Paris in 1905, where she loses track of friends and stumbles onto a murder (available March 4, 2014).
Fast forward to October 25, 1994. Susan Smith, then 23, claims that a black man hijacked her car and drove away with her children inside. A nation watches horrified as the grieving mother makes emotional pleas on television for the safe return of her two small boys, three-year old Michael, and 14-month old Alex. Nine days later, the children are found dead, strapped into their seats in the car, lying at the bottom of John D. Long Lake in Union, South Carolina.
Thirty seconds into the show, and already I’m smiling. The theme music by Angelo Badalamenti is a slow, sugary mix of synth and strings that’s, well, goofy. Along with the green neon credits, the music practically screams 1990. But what the hell, there’s no shame in screaming 1990. (The beginning of Casablanca screams 1942, etc.) These credits go on for a surprisingly long time, though, and the longer they go on, the more interesting the music becomes. Or perhaps a better way to put it is to say that by the end of the credits, I’m not so sure they scream 1990 anymore. Yes, they seem very much of their time, but there’s also a deliberate oddness to them, an almost stubborn insistence on pathos that I am shortly to learn will be a consistent quality throughout this pilot episode.
