Now with the first season of True Detective well finished, and I have even had some time to think the series over and over again, I believe it is finally time to try to make some sort of coherent blog post about it.
I started watching True Detective, after it had been running for a few weeks and my Facebook, Twitter (@Groschenlein) and all other dark corners of the internet would not shut up about it. I must admit that the reason I did not start watching it immediately was that the internet have been going on and on and on about how it was all very much related to a very bad conscience of mine, something most people will know as “weird fiction”.
I have never really gotten around to reading any of the old original weird fiction, even though I have had H.P. Lovecraft standing on my bucket list of things to read in almost ten years now. I have read some Neil Gaiman, but I am told that he is only inspired by and not as such weird fiction.
The worst part is that I know exactly why I have not gotten around to it. It is the same reason as why I really really want to listen to “Welcome to Nightvale”, but only ever gets around to listening to a few episodes, when I really have nothing else to do.
I really really really really want to like it, but end up being mostly confused, and after the confusion, comes the part where I get a bit lost, and then because I do not get the revelation where everything all of a sudden makes sense, I start to get bored. I know I am not supposed to get the revelation, but somehow that just does not make it any better. So weird fiction and things that springs from weird fiction is usually things I think nice things about, and have all the right attitudes to, and have all the good intentions to watch/read/listen to, and then puts them somewhere in the back of my mind, where I only get a sting from bad conscience once in a while, but never really have to put myself through actually spending time on it, because I know from experience that it will with all probability be a painful one.