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A review by colin_cox
Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier by Mark Frost
2.0
Mark Frost's first of two Twin Peaks novels, The Secret History of Twin Peaks, mirrors its source material in one significant way: it is interspersed with lacunas or textual gaps. These gaps render the text, like the show, unfinished and incomplete. We often think of gaps (both literal and figurative) as problems, signs of a writer's conceptual and creative deficiencies. We look for those gaps, and when we discover them, we deliver scathing verdicts about the text in question, the sorts of verdicts that suggest a hierarchy of quality predicated on the prevalence of or lack of gaps. In short, texts with fewer gaps are superior to texts flush with gaps. Therefore, the irony of The Secret History is the novel's failed attempt to renders the opacity of Seasons 1 and 2 and Fire Walk With Me transparent. Everything from the collage aesthetic to the continuity errors rebound and successfully reinforce one of the show's central conceits. Some argue that Frost forgot what he, Lynch, and other writers established decades earlier, and while that may be true in some instances, I prefer to think Frost deliberately inserted those lacunas, gaps, and inconsistencies because Twin Peaks is a series that prizes a multitude of competing narratives and eschews any suggestion of a master narrative.
Frost's sequel, Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier, feels aesthetically and conceptually similar to The Secret History, but it lacks something. Instead of failing to clarify the mythology of the show, which I argue The Secret History of Twin Peaks does in a deeply satisfying way, The Final Dossier is too successful. It answers too many questions. Therefore, its attempts to correct particular ambiguities, fail to resonate. I want to read the "final" in the book's title as a humorous bit of irony. Regrettably, Frost means us to take it seriously.
Both The Secret History and The Final Dossier announce themselves as texts. That is to say, unlike some texts that fail to recognize themselves as a text, both of Frost's novels know what they are. This degree of self-awareness is typical of texts that deploy a collage aesthetic, which both of Frost's novels do. However, The Secret History is more subtle in its execution. It knows what it is without necessarily understanding what it is. By contrast, The Final Dossier knows what it is and understands what it is. The best example of this dynamic appears when Frost mentions the appearance of the enigmatic green ring. In The Secret History, we learn that Richard Nixon, for example, wore the ring for a time, but it never feels like Frost uses this detail to comment on Nixon himself as a potentially malevolent figure. If anything, it expands, within the confines of this fictional universe, our understand of Nixon. This detail makes Nixon seem like a deeply curious figure who may share more with the show's heroes (such as Cole and Cooper) than we would ever know. In Frost's hands, Nixon certainly remains a criminal figure, but he also seems far less one-dimensional, which is how we often think of him today The Final Dossier is not so measured. In The Final Dossier, Frost refers to a "notorious resident of a certain eponymous tower on Fifth Avenue who...[appeared] to be wearing an unusual green ring on his left ring finger." This section ends with: "Gee, wonder whatever happened to that guy." Of course, this is a not so subtle reference to Donald Trump, but what is the point? This sort of detail fails to expand our understanding of Trump. Suggesting that Donald Trump shares an affiliation with the Black Lodge is lazy and does nothing but render The Final Dossier too self-aware. The Final Dossier feels hollow, shallow, and too tethered to this moment. The delight of The Secret History is how it feels distance yet proximate, ambiguous yet precise. Too often, this play of contrasting feelings is utterly missing in The Final Dossier.
Frost's sequel, Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier, feels aesthetically and conceptually similar to The Secret History, but it lacks something. Instead of failing to clarify the mythology of the show, which I argue The Secret History of Twin Peaks does in a deeply satisfying way, The Final Dossier is too successful. It answers too many questions. Therefore, its attempts to correct particular ambiguities, fail to resonate. I want to read the "final" in the book's title as a humorous bit of irony. Regrettably, Frost means us to take it seriously.
Both The Secret History and The Final Dossier announce themselves as texts. That is to say, unlike some texts that fail to recognize themselves as a text, both of Frost's novels know what they are. This degree of self-awareness is typical of texts that deploy a collage aesthetic, which both of Frost's novels do. However, The Secret History is more subtle in its execution. It knows what it is without necessarily understanding what it is. By contrast, The Final Dossier knows what it is and understands what it is. The best example of this dynamic appears when Frost mentions the appearance of the enigmatic green ring. In The Secret History, we learn that Richard Nixon, for example, wore the ring for a time, but it never feels like Frost uses this detail to comment on Nixon himself as a potentially malevolent figure. If anything, it expands, within the confines of this fictional universe, our understand of Nixon. This detail makes Nixon seem like a deeply curious figure who may share more with the show's heroes (such as Cole and Cooper) than we would ever know. In Frost's hands, Nixon certainly remains a criminal figure, but he also seems far less one-dimensional, which is how we often think of him today The Final Dossier is not so measured. In The Final Dossier, Frost refers to a "notorious resident of a certain eponymous tower on Fifth Avenue who...[appeared] to be wearing an unusual green ring on his left ring finger." This section ends with: "Gee, wonder whatever happened to that guy." Of course, this is a not so subtle reference to Donald Trump, but what is the point? This sort of detail fails to expand our understanding of Trump. Suggesting that Donald Trump shares an affiliation with the Black Lodge is lazy and does nothing but render The Final Dossier too self-aware. The Final Dossier feels hollow, shallow, and too tethered to this moment. The delight of The Secret History is how it feels distance yet proximate, ambiguous yet precise. Too often, this play of contrasting feelings is utterly missing in The Final Dossier.