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3.82 AVERAGE
3.82 AVERAGE
The Final Dossier is nothing more than an embarrassingly half-arsed attempt at more fan service and more money. It is a series of short, sometimes incomplete summaries about what happened to some (not all, sorry Andy/Lucy fans) popular characters from Twin Peaks (mixed with a few confirmations of theories about The Return, like the identity of the black and white girl). This is pure fan fiction without any attempt at replicating the art it's trying to honour.
The Final Dossier reads like Frost sat down with a few stiff drinks and amused himself with daydreams about how Twin Peaks characters would interact with our modern world. It doesn't read like a damn fine attempt to put a blue rose on top of this mystery.
Once upon a time, there was a hit show called Twin Peaks. Years later, it returned and was torn apart by loyal fans desperate for more, the director's disinterest in the old story, and the co-creator's penchant for over-explaining. They once came together to make a strange, thoughtful, and wonderfully surreal whole; now they use their Twin Peaks instalments to argue back and forth about how to build and tell the story... and hell, even what the story actually is.
The Final Dossier reads like Frost sat down with a few stiff drinks and amused himself with daydreams about how Twin Peaks characters would interact with our modern world. It doesn't read like a damn fine attempt to put a blue rose on top of this mystery.
Once upon a time, there was a hit show called Twin Peaks. Years later, it returned and was torn apart by loyal fans desperate for more, the director's disinterest in the old story, and the co-creator's penchant for over-explaining. They once came together to make a strange, thoughtful, and wonderfully surreal whole; now they use their Twin Peaks instalments to argue back and forth about how to build and tell the story... and hell, even what the story actually is.
“A wise man once told me that mystery is the most essential ingredient of life, for the following reason: mystery creates wonder, which leads to curiosity, which in turn provides the ground for our desire to understand who and what we truly are.”
This is the opening paragraph of the The Secret History of Twin Peaks, which arguably establishes the mission statement of the show. Twin Peaks is a universe full of unknowable mystery, and how humanity internalizes and interacts with these mysteries informs who we are at our core. “What happened to Dale Cooper?” and “How’s Annie?” have been two mysteries that have haunted the dormant universe of Twin Peaks for decades, until the show’s return earlier this year.
It is disappointing, then, that Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier spends the majority of its time answering questions that we didn’t necessarily need the answers to. The answers that exist in The Final Dossier vary in degrees of unsatisfactory storytelling, though they follow a pattern: Things did not go well for the beloved characters of Twin Peaks after the events of the original series.
One can already imagine that would be the case, however, which make some of the choices Mark Frost makes here somewhat baffling. For example, we know from the new series that Audrey Horne is not in a good place. We know she’s the mother of Richard, one of the series’ main antagonists, by way of Evil Cooper, who impregnated her while she was in a coma post-bank explosion. We also know that she’s dealt with toxic relationships, is secluded from the rest of the characters from the original series, and her reality is unstable. “What happened to Audrey Horne?” became an open ended question at the end of the new series, just as it was at the end of the original run.
In The Final Dossier, however, Frost tells us exactly what happened to Audrey. She woke up soon after the events of the original series, realized she was pregnant, and took it upon herself to raise her child, preparing “for the most important role of her life: raising her child as a single mother.” She didn’t question the identity of the child’s father, and she never talked about the subject with anyone; however, she did keep a picture of Agent Cooper at the hair salon she owned and managed after finishing community college. The weight of taking care of a child, in addition to being in an abusive relationship with her accountant, led her to a life of “public scenes, heavy drinking, verbal abuse, and sexual infidelity,” which eventually landed her in a private care facility around the time frame of the new series.
You can also apply this to Donna Hayward, a character who didn’t show up in the new series both because of that actress’ relationship to the show and simply because her character didn’t fit in with the rest of the story. In the book, Frost tells us that Donna moved to New York City after the Hayward family fell apart as a result of the drama that ensued with Ben Horne at the end of the original series. Donna initially moved to the city to start college while doing modeling work on the side, but eventually dropped out of school to pursue the career full-time. This led to — you guessed it — a life of drug and alcohol abuse (as well as a life of bisexuality, because in Twin Peaks, you’re only queer when it’s in service of the “I’m going to explore my sexuality while being rich and doing all of the drugs” trope). She eventually checks herself into rehab, and after multiple attempts to get clean, settles down and moves in with her father in Vermont.
You can also apply this to Annie Blackburn, who was left mentally paralyzed after the events of the original series, unable to move, take care of herself, or interact with the outside world in any way. After multiple suicide attempts, she is admitted into a — you guessed it — psychiatric hospital, where she spends her days under constant surveillance and is entirely inactive, save for one exception: Every year, on the anniversary of her reappearance out of the Black Lodge, she says the words “I’m fine,” out of nowhere, to no one in particular. Frost makes sure to answer the question of “How’s Annie?” bluntly, hitting the reader’s nose with a noisy jackhammer.
Maybe I would be open to these characters’ fates if they weren’t soaked in misogyny. And there’s even more of that I haven’t even mentioned: There are at least two other women in the book who are portrayed as evil gold-diggers, who hook up with men for money and eventually disassociate with them or kill them off entirely. In a story with an abuse victim at the center of it all, one would hope that one of the co-creators of said story would write women respectably and with a level of nuance in their personality, as was David Lynch’s depiction of Laura Palmer in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me. But that level of tact just isn’t present here, and it’s not only disrespectful to those characters, it also does a disservice to the actresses who portrayed them in the series’ original run.
Frost’s misogyny lessens the impact of some of his other themes as a result. There are decent, if not broad, criticisms of the prison industrial complex and capitalism to be found here, but all of that is undermined when those sections are stuck between chapters about Evil Women and/or Heavily Traumatized Women. Even the moment where the book admits that Dale Cooper has a weird obsession with “saving” women rings hallow when placed in a book full of women who need saving.
Even the book’s protagonist, Tamara Preston, feels like a vessel for Frost to insert his voice into. Are we to assume Preston just happens to correctly and conveniently point us in the direction of how to interpret and contextualize the events of the new season? In the context of the Preston we see in the show coming off as a completely different character than what we read here, her characterization feels shallow and incomplete, reading more like an amalgamation of various Twin Peaks characters as a result.
There are moments where The Final Dossier succeeds in evoking the mystery of Twin Peaks, mainly towards the end of the book. There, Frost contextualizes and expands on some of the events of the show’s finale, answering some questions and creating more as a result. This is where The Final Dossier shines: Examining the way Frost interprets Lynch’s abstract ideas and builds on them in his own way has always been one of the most interesting aspects of the Twin Peaks, and that is on full display here.
Additionally, the end of this book gets at something the series finale conveys, albeit in a more direct way: Mysteries cannot be answered in the same way that secrets can; they’re called mysteries for a reason. But what happens when you dedicate your entire life trying to solve the mysteries of the universe? Both the end of Twin Peaks and The Final Dossier reveal that the natural endpoint of exploring mystery is always deep existentialism. If you keep chasing mysteries that have no end, one of two things will happen. You will either stop your pursuit of them, content with not knowing all of the answers. Or, you will keep chasing them, unsatisfied with all of the results you discover, until you become lost. Chasing mystery into the fringes of the universe, thinking it will make you a better person for having done so, will leave you worse off.
It’s too early to tell whether The Final Dossier leaves my opinion of Twin Peaks in a worse place. But if nothing else, its existence makes us ponder the respect authors give our characters, what questions are worth answering in our stories, and what mysteries are worth chasing in our lives.
(Originally published on Medium: https://medium.com/@TacoDetective/twin-peaks-the-final-dossier-and-the-nature-of-mystery-b3ecaa7b8673)
This is the opening paragraph of the The Secret History of Twin Peaks, which arguably establishes the mission statement of the show. Twin Peaks is a universe full of unknowable mystery, and how humanity internalizes and interacts with these mysteries informs who we are at our core. “What happened to Dale Cooper?” and “How’s Annie?” have been two mysteries that have haunted the dormant universe of Twin Peaks for decades, until the show’s return earlier this year.
It is disappointing, then, that Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier spends the majority of its time answering questions that we didn’t necessarily need the answers to. The answers that exist in The Final Dossier vary in degrees of unsatisfactory storytelling, though they follow a pattern: Things did not go well for the beloved characters of Twin Peaks after the events of the original series.
One can already imagine that would be the case, however, which make some of the choices Mark Frost makes here somewhat baffling. For example, we know from the new series that Audrey Horne is not in a good place. We know she’s the mother of Richard, one of the series’ main antagonists, by way of Evil Cooper, who impregnated her while she was in a coma post-bank explosion. We also know that she’s dealt with toxic relationships, is secluded from the rest of the characters from the original series, and her reality is unstable. “What happened to Audrey Horne?” became an open ended question at the end of the new series, just as it was at the end of the original run.
In The Final Dossier, however, Frost tells us exactly what happened to Audrey. She woke up soon after the events of the original series, realized she was pregnant, and took it upon herself to raise her child, preparing “for the most important role of her life: raising her child as a single mother.” She didn’t question the identity of the child’s father, and she never talked about the subject with anyone; however, she did keep a picture of Agent Cooper at the hair salon she owned and managed after finishing community college. The weight of taking care of a child, in addition to being in an abusive relationship with her accountant, led her to a life of “public scenes, heavy drinking, verbal abuse, and sexual infidelity,” which eventually landed her in a private care facility around the time frame of the new series.
You can also apply this to Donna Hayward, a character who didn’t show up in the new series both because of that actress’ relationship to the show and simply because her character didn’t fit in with the rest of the story. In the book, Frost tells us that Donna moved to New York City after the Hayward family fell apart as a result of the drama that ensued with Ben Horne at the end of the original series. Donna initially moved to the city to start college while doing modeling work on the side, but eventually dropped out of school to pursue the career full-time. This led to — you guessed it — a life of drug and alcohol abuse (as well as a life of bisexuality, because in Twin Peaks, you’re only queer when it’s in service of the “I’m going to explore my sexuality while being rich and doing all of the drugs” trope). She eventually checks herself into rehab, and after multiple attempts to get clean, settles down and moves in with her father in Vermont.
You can also apply this to Annie Blackburn, who was left mentally paralyzed after the events of the original series, unable to move, take care of herself, or interact with the outside world in any way. After multiple suicide attempts, she is admitted into a — you guessed it — psychiatric hospital, where she spends her days under constant surveillance and is entirely inactive, save for one exception: Every year, on the anniversary of her reappearance out of the Black Lodge, she says the words “I’m fine,” out of nowhere, to no one in particular. Frost makes sure to answer the question of “How’s Annie?” bluntly, hitting the reader’s nose with a noisy jackhammer.
Maybe I would be open to these characters’ fates if they weren’t soaked in misogyny. And there’s even more of that I haven’t even mentioned: There are at least two other women in the book who are portrayed as evil gold-diggers, who hook up with men for money and eventually disassociate with them or kill them off entirely. In a story with an abuse victim at the center of it all, one would hope that one of the co-creators of said story would write women respectably and with a level of nuance in their personality, as was David Lynch’s depiction of Laura Palmer in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me. But that level of tact just isn’t present here, and it’s not only disrespectful to those characters, it also does a disservice to the actresses who portrayed them in the series’ original run.
Frost’s misogyny lessens the impact of some of his other themes as a result. There are decent, if not broad, criticisms of the prison industrial complex and capitalism to be found here, but all of that is undermined when those sections are stuck between chapters about Evil Women and/or Heavily Traumatized Women. Even the moment where the book admits that Dale Cooper has a weird obsession with “saving” women rings hallow when placed in a book full of women who need saving.
Even the book’s protagonist, Tamara Preston, feels like a vessel for Frost to insert his voice into. Are we to assume Preston just happens to correctly and conveniently point us in the direction of how to interpret and contextualize the events of the new season? In the context of the Preston we see in the show coming off as a completely different character than what we read here, her characterization feels shallow and incomplete, reading more like an amalgamation of various Twin Peaks characters as a result.
There are moments where The Final Dossier succeeds in evoking the mystery of Twin Peaks, mainly towards the end of the book. There, Frost contextualizes and expands on some of the events of the show’s finale, answering some questions and creating more as a result. This is where The Final Dossier shines: Examining the way Frost interprets Lynch’s abstract ideas and builds on them in his own way has always been one of the most interesting aspects of the Twin Peaks, and that is on full display here.
Additionally, the end of this book gets at something the series finale conveys, albeit in a more direct way: Mysteries cannot be answered in the same way that secrets can; they’re called mysteries for a reason. But what happens when you dedicate your entire life trying to solve the mysteries of the universe? Both the end of Twin Peaks and The Final Dossier reveal that the natural endpoint of exploring mystery is always deep existentialism. If you keep chasing mysteries that have no end, one of two things will happen. You will either stop your pursuit of them, content with not knowing all of the answers. Or, you will keep chasing them, unsatisfied with all of the results you discover, until you become lost. Chasing mystery into the fringes of the universe, thinking it will make you a better person for having done so, will leave you worse off.
It’s too early to tell whether The Final Dossier leaves my opinion of Twin Peaks in a worse place. But if nothing else, its existence makes us ponder the respect authors give our characters, what questions are worth answering in our stories, and what mysteries are worth chasing in our lives.
(Originally published on Medium: https://medium.com/@TacoDetective/twin-peaks-the-final-dossier-and-the-nature-of-mystery-b3ecaa7b8673)
It's a little bit "Twin Peaks for Dummies."
But, hey, I'm a dummy.
But, hey, I'm a dummy.
dark
informative
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
dark
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
1) [Albert Rosenfield, on Leo Johnson] "My own interaction with this knuckle-dragger was fleeting, but he left a vivid impression, not unlike the livid marks on his soon-to-be ex-wife’s neck after he nearly strangled her. His entire life span could easily be written off as a scathing indictment of our public education system, but to be fair, you’d probably have to go all the way back to the crossroads where Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal went their separate ways and say: Leo’s forbears took the path less traveled.
So, for starters: It wasn’t the spiders that killed him. Whatever 'evil genius'–I’m looking at you, Windom Earle–decided to hoist a bag of tarantulas over his head as a dire threat to Leo’s health obviously wasted far too much time watching cheesy Vincent Price movies and not nearly enough studying arachnids. Tarantulas aren’t ever fatally venomous, dipshit; they just look scary.
[...]
The world is changing pronto, Chief, and now that these salt-of-the-earth “country volk” realize they’ve been left behind, it’s going to be sheer hell playing catch-up. (I know, I know, I’m a raging asshole.)
And speaking of entrepreneurial initiative, here’s a no-brainer: Why don’t some of these enterprising yokels kick-start a craft brewery here in town? They’d instantly attract an endless stream of thirsty proles, and the only competition is swill.
Enough community building for one night. To sum up: Leo Johnson’s dead. Having a hard time arguing that the local landscape isn’t trending upward because of it."
2) "The level of Cooper’s suffering and remorse in the terrible aftermath of these tragic events can’t be underestimated. He fiercely committed himself to counseling and self-reflection during his physical recovery in a way that was 100 percent sincere. He’s on record—well, tape, anyway—confirming that this experience represented the most difficult lesson of his life, and, admirably, he took it to heart. But that’s not quite the same thing as entirely purging an ingrained impulse to save a troubled woman from herself, is it, Chief?
(Am I being too harsh on Agent Cooper here? I’m open to suggestions, so please let me know if you feel that’s the case. Notwithstanding its importance, I believe Cooper’s obsession with the Laura Palmer case harbors echoes of this tendency.)"
3) "James had edged past thirty, and at this point the bloom faded permanently from his Kerouac romance with the road. Once his leg healed up, he went back to work for Ed at the Gas Farm, and a few years later he took a second job working night security at the Great Northern. He lives alone, modestly, drives a used Ford Focus now, still plays guitar, writes plaintive, simple, and appealing songs—unrequited love, heartbreak, and so on—that he sometimes performs locally, and as far as I can tell has never hurt another human being."
4) [Margaret Lanterman, read aloud at her funeral] "Every meeting between friends must end with a parting, and so, my friends, today we take our leave. This is life. None of us profits from ignoring or hiding from the facts, so why should we bother? Life is what it is, a gift that is given to us for a time—like a library book—that must eventually be returned. How should we treat this book? If we are able to remember that it is not ours to begin with—one that we’re entrusted with, to care for, to study and learn from—perhaps it would change the way we treat it while it’s in our possession. How do you treat a precious gift from a dear friend? This is a good question to ask, and today is a good time to ask it.
Such busy, busy minds we have. Have you noticed? We think and we think until we twist ourselves into the ground like a flathead screw. My log has this to say: The answers to all our questions are in the wind and the trees, the rocks and the water.
No one is helpless. No one is beyond helping. It is good to seek out those who need us and do what we can for them. I recommend that. There is nothing that can’t be done if we set our minds to doing it. Don’t be sad. Be happy you have another day to do what needs doing. We only have so many of them.
We are born into this world, not another one. It’s not perfect, but it is what it is. This world presents some simple, certain truths. It helps us grow if we accept them, but many of these truths seem to trouble or frighten us. For instance, there is no light without darkness—and this troubles many of us—but without it, how else would we tell one from the other? We spend half of every day in darkness; surely we should make our peace with this. You may decide to see this as a metaphor. Many people do. I see it as a fact. Metaphors are beautiful ways of speaking about the truth. So are facts. Both tell us that time—and light, and darkness—moves in cycles. We move through them, too, often as passengers, but if our eyes are open, there is much to be learned along the way. A traveler learns more than a passenger. When darkness comes, a traveler learns to be brave, for they know the light will return. Anyone who’s spent a night alone in the woods learns this. When a dark age comes, hold the light inside. That’s where it lives anyway. There are forces of darkness—and beings of darkness—and they are real and have always been around us. They’re part of the dance, just as you and I are; they’re just listening to different music. This may be the most troubling truth we will ever know. Many of us live most of our lives and brush up against this reality only rarely. It is far from pleasant, but wishing it were otherwise will not make it so.
So may I offer a suggestion: When a dark age comes, just as you would at night, hold the light inside you. Others, I can tell you, have already learned to do the same. In time, you will learn to recognize the light, in yourself and others. In this way you will find each other. Together, you will make the light stronger.
This truth I know as sure as the dawn: Darkness will always yield to light, when the light is strong."
5) "I’m on the plane now, in the air, forty minutes east of Spokane. The uncanny penumbra I reported hasn’t left me—I barely slept—but it’s fading as I travel farther east. I don’t know what to make of it.
You wanted to know what happened there in that town and region, to these people you knew, whom I feel I’ve come to know now as well. They meant something to you for a reason, I think, beyond just your knowing them, beyond that they were good or interesting people in their own right: because it was all there, in that one town. All of life, cradle to grave, every shade and color of the spectrum, like a fractal, itself made up of infinite parts. The ocean in a drop of water."
So, for starters: It wasn’t the spiders that killed him. Whatever 'evil genius'–I’m looking at you, Windom Earle–decided to hoist a bag of tarantulas over his head as a dire threat to Leo’s health obviously wasted far too much time watching cheesy Vincent Price movies and not nearly enough studying arachnids. Tarantulas aren’t ever fatally venomous, dipshit; they just look scary.
[...]
The world is changing pronto, Chief, and now that these salt-of-the-earth “country volk” realize they’ve been left behind, it’s going to be sheer hell playing catch-up. (I know, I know, I’m a raging asshole.)
And speaking of entrepreneurial initiative, here’s a no-brainer: Why don’t some of these enterprising yokels kick-start a craft brewery here in town? They’d instantly attract an endless stream of thirsty proles, and the only competition is swill.
Enough community building for one night. To sum up: Leo Johnson’s dead. Having a hard time arguing that the local landscape isn’t trending upward because of it."
2) "The level of Cooper’s suffering and remorse in the terrible aftermath of these tragic events can’t be underestimated. He fiercely committed himself to counseling and self-reflection during his physical recovery in a way that was 100 percent sincere. He’s on record—well, tape, anyway—confirming that this experience represented the most difficult lesson of his life, and, admirably, he took it to heart. But that’s not quite the same thing as entirely purging an ingrained impulse to save a troubled woman from herself, is it, Chief?
(Am I being too harsh on Agent Cooper here? I’m open to suggestions, so please let me know if you feel that’s the case. Notwithstanding its importance, I believe Cooper’s obsession with the Laura Palmer case harbors echoes of this tendency.)"
3) "James had edged past thirty, and at this point the bloom faded permanently from his Kerouac romance with the road. Once his leg healed up, he went back to work for Ed at the Gas Farm, and a few years later he took a second job working night security at the Great Northern. He lives alone, modestly, drives a used Ford Focus now, still plays guitar, writes plaintive, simple, and appealing songs—unrequited love, heartbreak, and so on—that he sometimes performs locally, and as far as I can tell has never hurt another human being."
4) [Margaret Lanterman, read aloud at her funeral] "Every meeting between friends must end with a parting, and so, my friends, today we take our leave. This is life. None of us profits from ignoring or hiding from the facts, so why should we bother? Life is what it is, a gift that is given to us for a time—like a library book—that must eventually be returned. How should we treat this book? If we are able to remember that it is not ours to begin with—one that we’re entrusted with, to care for, to study and learn from—perhaps it would change the way we treat it while it’s in our possession. How do you treat a precious gift from a dear friend? This is a good question to ask, and today is a good time to ask it.
Such busy, busy minds we have. Have you noticed? We think and we think until we twist ourselves into the ground like a flathead screw. My log has this to say: The answers to all our questions are in the wind and the trees, the rocks and the water.
No one is helpless. No one is beyond helping. It is good to seek out those who need us and do what we can for them. I recommend that. There is nothing that can’t be done if we set our minds to doing it. Don’t be sad. Be happy you have another day to do what needs doing. We only have so many of them.
We are born into this world, not another one. It’s not perfect, but it is what it is. This world presents some simple, certain truths. It helps us grow if we accept them, but many of these truths seem to trouble or frighten us. For instance, there is no light without darkness—and this troubles many of us—but without it, how else would we tell one from the other? We spend half of every day in darkness; surely we should make our peace with this. You may decide to see this as a metaphor. Many people do. I see it as a fact. Metaphors are beautiful ways of speaking about the truth. So are facts. Both tell us that time—and light, and darkness—moves in cycles. We move through them, too, often as passengers, but if our eyes are open, there is much to be learned along the way. A traveler learns more than a passenger. When darkness comes, a traveler learns to be brave, for they know the light will return. Anyone who’s spent a night alone in the woods learns this. When a dark age comes, hold the light inside. That’s where it lives anyway. There are forces of darkness—and beings of darkness—and they are real and have always been around us. They’re part of the dance, just as you and I are; they’re just listening to different music. This may be the most troubling truth we will ever know. Many of us live most of our lives and brush up against this reality only rarely. It is far from pleasant, but wishing it were otherwise will not make it so.
So may I offer a suggestion: When a dark age comes, just as you would at night, hold the light inside you. Others, I can tell you, have already learned to do the same. In time, you will learn to recognize the light, in yourself and others. In this way you will find each other. Together, you will make the light stronger.
This truth I know as sure as the dawn: Darkness will always yield to light, when the light is strong."
5) "I’m on the plane now, in the air, forty minutes east of Spokane. The uncanny penumbra I reported hasn’t left me—I barely slept—but it’s fading as I travel farther east. I don’t know what to make of it.
You wanted to know what happened there in that town and region, to these people you knew, whom I feel I’ve come to know now as well. They meant something to you for a reason, I think, beyond just your knowing them, beyond that they were good or interesting people in their own right: because it was all there, in that one town. All of life, cradle to grave, every shade and color of the spectrum, like a fractal, itself made up of infinite parts. The ocean in a drop of water."
The Final Dossier focuses on events occurring in the 25 intervening years between Seasons 2 and 3 of the great Twin Peaks. As other readers have mentioned, this feels a bit like fan fic. I realized this when I got to Dr. Jacoby’s chapter (one of the longest at 10 pgs) and Frost spoke of the time Jacoby spent in Switzerland with a guru whose same translated to Dr. Little Poops. Clearly none of these details really matter and Frost just wanted to be with the characters a bit longer . . . Or he’s a troll.
The book similarly discussed other characters’ pasts, some more interesting and relevant to the present Season 3 than others, namely Audrey. But again much of this information is either irrelevant to understanding the deeper levels of the show or it’s revealing a detail from the show that really was obvious, such as Laura’s fate. We do get a few pages in the last chapter that discuss Today, the day after everything went down in Sheriff Truman’s office, and that was fun. Still, we fans are left to wonder, are some of these details part of TP canon or not?
The book similarly discussed other characters’ pasts, some more interesting and relevant to the present Season 3 than others, namely Audrey. But again much of this information is either irrelevant to understanding the deeper levels of the show or it’s revealing a detail from the show that really was obvious, such as Laura’s fate. We do get a few pages in the last chapter that discuss Today, the day after everything went down in Sheriff Truman’s office, and that was fun. Still, we fans are left to wonder, are some of these details part of TP canon or not?
dark
informative
mysterious
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
An amazing companion book that wraps up all we’ve seen of Twin Peaks thus far. There’s more than a few secrets and connections in these pages. It’s a must for any fan.
Unlike The Secret History of Twin Peaks, this book will only be of interest to those who have seen the entire show. For that reason, it suffers. It fills in a couple lines that could have been connected without this new “dossier” by Frost, because the show implies those dots. It seems unlikely we’ll ever get anything new about Twin Peaks, and in that light, this book is a decent final chapter.
Of course, that’s what people thought twenty-five years ago.
Of course, that’s what people thought twenty-five years ago.
This was not nearly as extensive or even well written as the Secret History of Twin Peaks, but at the end of the day, I just enjoyed getting to spend some more time learning about these characters. Does a decent job filling in the (purposeful) gaps in The Return, and nice to get some confirmation that Cooper actually did affect the timeline.