There is no mystery, at least not the kind you want. In real life there are no fogbound moors or clues on matchbooks or fifth columnists waiting to be unmasked. it would be nice if there were, because then there would be solutions to things in life, but it doesn’t always work that way. Everyone likes a good detective story. I went through my Hammett phase in college. I think the attraction is, in life our mysteries aren’t exciting. You know? They’re just intractable and depressing and enervating. Like, why do we always hurt the ones we love. Where does the money go? Why can’t the Russians find a way to govern themselves and let the rest of us off of this perpetual, gnawing anxiety…in a detective story, at least the universe makes sense. It was him. He did it. The natural order is disturbed, but the beauty of it is that it’s restored again.

Joel to Maggie