On the spectrum of conspiracy theories, Gnomonry is closer to the relatively benign flat-earthers and moon-landing deniers than the horrific black hole of QAnon. Though the infamously press-shy Portis never stated on the record any precise targets for his farcical sendup, astute readers seeking to uncover the real-world roots of Gnomonry will likely find it a vague mishmash of ideologies, mixing bits and pieces from Freemasonry and Scientology with allusions to the famed lost city under the sea. "[Portis] is probably one of the widest readers I've ever known," said writer Jay Jennings, a friend of the author and editor of Escape Velocity: A Charles Portis Miscellany. "When he gets into a subject like, in this case, secret societies and their strangeness, he's really omnivorous in his reading. It may just be a little three-word phrase that tells you all of that preparational reading went into one line."

His fascination with the cults of yore sneaks into the details and dogma of Gnomonism. At least, in the specifics of the society that he's willing to share. For one of the true genius Portis strokes is to reveal little of the actual content hidden within the Codex Pappus--if he's revealing anything at all. Jimmerson's rambling about sacred cones and all-explaining triangles may just be an idiot's interpretation of an outdated or poorly translated trigonometry textbook, or perhaps some delirious misappropriation granting divine providence to Fibonacci's famed sequence.

Though he intentionally avoids diving too deep into the minutiae of Gnomonism, Portis nails the reasons why cults, secret societies, and conspiracy theories grip certain members of society: namely, a desire for deeper truths and hidden meanings to explain a world that no longer makes sense. And, crucially, a dangerous abundance of free time.

"Things began to pick up towards the end of the decade," Portis writes early on. "And then in 1929, with the economic collapse of the nation, the Gnomon Society fairly flourished. Traders and lawyers and bricklayers and salesmen and farmers now had time on their hands. They had time to listen and some were so desperate to seek answers in books." As Gnomon mania spreads across the heartland, Jimmerson breaks ground on the society's lavish limestone temple in Burnett, Indiana, "the most fashionable suburb of Gary."

As the story unfolds over decades of Jimmerson's life and Gnomonry balloons, each of the suddenly all-too-familiar signs of collective delusion are present. Weirdos, outsiders, fools, the angry, and the marginalized become ensnared by the ideology. Grifters and con men like Popper are all too happy to steer the gullible flock in wallet-lining directions. Contradictions zip over the heads of any and all True Believers. And, perhaps most importantly, a yo-yoing series of surefire predictions and grand declarations inevitably fail to materialize, only to be explained away by a minor miscalculation or infinitesimally small misreading of the tea leaves. The prophecy didn't fail; it's just delayed until TBD. Do not question the prophet, for the prophet remains unimpeachable.

Portis nails why cults, secret societies, and conspiracy theories grip certain members of society: namely, a desire for deeper truths and hidden meanings to explain a world that no longer makes sense.

This phenomenon of explaining away failed predictions occurs with comic frequency in the QAnon alternate reality. Q drops, as they're called--the cryptic messages from the eponymous (alleged) "deep state" insider forewarning of imminent arrests of child-eating liberals and Hollywood types--always fail to come to fruition. And yet, somehow, followers manage to twist and contort each failure into another clue to even grander conspiracy. It's been three years since some punk on 4chan posted his very first prediction, about the imminent arrest of Hillary Clinton. The former secretary of state still walks free, yet the QAnon cult now looms so large that it seated an actual congressional caucus. Meanwhile, some followers have accepted literal time travel as the asphalt to pave over the plot holes of their new favorite religion.