Teaching “The Conspiracy Theory as Literature”: An Action Plan for Aspiring Academics

-Read Pynchon, heaps of Pynchon, and his disciples (Delillo) 

-Read (or just skim) some scholarly work on “the Bible as literature.” 

-Spend most of your time on the internet, reading conspiracy theories on message boards and Twitter. Take notes.  

-Round up a couple of novels about conspiracy theories (Libra). Skim these. Write a short essay clarifying the divide between “conspiracy theory literature” and “the conspiracy theory as literature.” The latter is your focus now.

-Do a close reading of some Twitter threads about conspiracy theories. Write a short essay on the Twitter thread as a unique and compelling literary form. Get it published. 

-Print out everything Q ever said. Compile it in a binder so it looks sort of like a novel. Read it as such. Spend a year writing about it. Try not to get hung up on the fact that the prose is garbage. Make the claim that this is the defining literary event of the new century. Defend the claim with your teeth (also with evidence). This is what will get you noticed. 

-Start applying to adjunct positions at small liberal arts colleges. Dress for your interviews in a tinfoil hat. Shake their hands, then act like you forgot you were wearing the tinfoil hat. They’ll laugh. Tension: eased.  

-Write and publish “Q: the defining literary event of the new century” in a prestigious academic journal. Await fame.

-Start adapting your academic paper for the book deal that’s coming your way (easy, just dumb down some of the prose and divide it into chapters). Go on podcasts and, if possible, talk shows, and yak about the thing. Your sound bite is right in the title. 

-Enjoy fame. Start putting strict limits on the number of students who can take your class, “The Conspiracy Theory as Literature.” Avoid affairs with students, as these have the potential to derail your progress, no matter how they make you feel young again. 

-Dust off the old tinfoil hat joke and reuse it on the first day of class each semester.  

-Put together a neat Powerpoint presentation that combines slides about your accolades with some hard data about how many students are clamoring to learn from you. Ask for more money from the college and/or get yourself on the tenure track and/or start taking interviews from the other colleges that will come knocking.

-End that affair. 

-Start sifting through the many emails that have come your way from people claiming to be Q. Identify some likely prospects. Failing this, find an actor. Someone trusted and discreet.  

-Cancel the final exam for your class. Instead, present Q, in a fashion-forward ski mask. Interview Q. Ask a series of leading questions about their literary aspirations and influences, but don’t ignore the emotional angle: ask also how it feels to be the author of the defining literary event of the new century. Encourage your students to film this event on their phones. 

-Buy more tinfoil 

-Go on sabbatical. Spend time in a remote Mediterranean location, but make sure there’s a good internet connection before you rent the place. Bring a Bible. 

-Whatever seems most outlandish, go with that. Combine it all. Name names. Leave breadcrumb trails. Preach. 

-Don’t spend too much time on the prose. If it’s too poetic, people won’t buy it. Add some misspellings. 

-Publish the defining literary event of the new century. 

-Ignore the chaos. 

-Get yourself known around the fishing village. Have an affair with someone who works in a cafe. Buy a boat. Something rickety. Make sure there are witnesses. 

-Disappear. 

-Continue to ignore the chaos. Read the Bible. 

Reasons I won’t do this myself: not enough time; Pynchon never really spoke to me; chaos.