Americans love to think they reinvent everything they touch, which gives us license to make the same universal mistakes. But we do add a uniquely belligerent gusto to our observances that feels like misplaced pagan bloodlust, mistaken for patriotism.

I love a mystery, and cosmic horror is a place where the mysteries are never fully solved. The persistence of our curiosity about monstrous cosmic indifference, or malice, is part of the thrill. Writing this story, I fixated on Carcosa, on the challenge of making it into a compelling character.

I first visited Haw Par Villa as a kid. Weirdly, I was most afraid of the exhibit that shows the “good souls” standing on the silver and gold bridges to cross into paradise. For some reason I interpreted that exhibit to mean that the good souls would be standing on that bridge forever.

I think both the inspector and Gemma are characters who find solace in each other because they are trying to mediate these brutal social forces that they didn’t choose, but were born into, which is something I relate to. How are you supposed to make decisions for yourself, or even just survive, when you inherit a world other people made for you?