August 26, 2001

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A confession: I am probably the world's worst at guessing who-done-it when confronted with a mystery, either in print or on a screen. This has been the case all my life, and I just don't worry about it. I figure the author will eventually let me in on the secret.

I was reminded of my lack of mystery-solving skills yesterday when I wound up watching two different ones on television, both of which were solved when it was revealed that someone was using an assumed identity. I didn't see that coming either time, of course. I would blame it on the fact that I was doing other things when I was watching, but truth is, I probably wouldn't have solved either one in any case.

I do like finding answers, but when it's fiction, the working part of my brain just goes into relax mode and lets the story play itself out. And on those rare occasions when I do think I know the identity of the guilty party, I stay with the story to see if I'm right. Sometimes I surprise myself by getting the answer.

When I ponder real mysteries, I'm not usually thinking in terms of who a culprit is, but why someone has done something. And the mysteries usually aren't crimes, just plain behavior. I've always liked pondering how minds work, and how people come to do what they do.

Those mysteries, of the human condition, I like trying to solve.