“In America everything goes on forever…The 1950s lasted for a thousand years,” Neil Gaiman wrote in American Gods.
This reminds me of the Spanish word for 50, “cincuenta,” which sounds the same as “sin cuenta,” uncountable, endless.
I wrote a novel, Most Famous Short Film of All Time. It’s about someone in Boston in the mid-2010s who thinks he wants to figure out the nature of time, but really he wants to figure out other things, like who might be trying to hurt him.
It’s about prediction, ethics, choice, and reversibility. It’s about gender and self-knowledge and other-knowledge. About epistemology—how we know what we know, but more pointedly, how some people try to control others and slyly refer to their power as “knowledge,” and whether real knowledge might be an unlearning or unknowing.
I shouldn’t tell you which short film is the most famous of all time, except to give you the hint that it was after JFK’s time.
I worked on this novel for seven years. It’s officially released tomorrow from tRaum Books in Munich. Already, it has one incredible review. For me, it’s the end of a creative era, helping this book have its birthday into the world.
I am grateful for the people who have taught me philosophy and for the ongoing conversations. I am grateful for what I have learned as well as for what I’ve unlearned, and for all the learning and unlearning yet to come.
Philosophy is about truth, and fiction is made-up, so a philosophical novel may seem an odd combination. But I think the wall dividing the realms of truth and fiction is wonderfully sheer.