If you were going to take a vacation based entirely on Conan Doyle's description of a place in his tales of Sherlock Holmes, where would you go?
Norfolk, where Sherlock spent his long summer vacation, with sunshine, fishing, duck hunting, and a select library?
A little white-washed house on the grassy headlands overlooking "the whole sinister semicircle of Mounts Bay," as Holmes and Watson vacationed in "Devil's Foot?"
Or how about "a grim district" with the main characteristic of "barrenness, inhospitality, and misery," a veritable "land of despair?" Sound good? Just cross the western state line of Nebraska, stay south of the Yellowstone River, stay north of the Colorado River, and don't go so far as California. Hey, make it so far as Greeley, Colorado, if you don't want to work too hard at it.
It's the magical place Conan Doyle describes in the opening paragraphs to the non-Sherlock second half of A Study in Scarlet, and it's where I wind up spending a bit of vacation time due to family ties. So far, I've been able to avoid the skulking coyotes, heavy-winged buzzards, and clumsy grizzly bears Conan Doyle has populating the area.
This particular trip, as we entered this "land of despair," I used the spotty cell service to check Twitter and found that Rob Nunn had found a twin to Mycroft Holmes's "hand like the flipper of a seal" in Danny DeVito's portrayal of the grotesque Penguin of Batman Returns, using multiple photos of same to torment anyone following the discussion. As the roadside scenery turned to barren scrub, the misery Conan Doyle saw here began to coalesce like some dour gray spirit.
Follow the right road into this land Doyle painted so grimly, and you will actually come to a town called "Wiggins," named after 1840s guide and scout in these parts, Oliver Wiggins, who helped set the trails that John Ferrier and his Mormon rescuers would take a few years later.
This brings up the thought that "Wiggins" of Sherlock Holmes's Baker Street Irregulars might not have been named Wiggins from birth at all. Given the exploring Wiggins that came before, Sherlock could have nicknamed his favorite urban scout "Wiggins" after Oliver P. Wiggins.
This thought was much cheerier to me than Mycroft having freakish Tim-Burton-movie hands, and coming upon Wiggins did a little bit to lighten this land Conan Doyle (or his friend Watson) visualized as such a depressing country.
Now if I can just make it through tomorrow without Rob Nunn posting pictures of Danny DeVito playing someone named "Wiggins" with foul prosthetic make-up.
(On a BBC Sherlock note, as Wiggins is now in a state of dispensaries for a certain herb, the town could easily start using the BBC guy as their new mascot.)
The ongoing investigation of Sherlock Holmes, reported from the Peoria, Illinois outpost of Baker Street's dirtiest half a dozen.
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Waking up in a different timeline.
This morning began one of those days that you know is going to be a little different. Wake up slightly disoriented in a hotel bed, look at the usual social media suspects to find that spiritualist churches such as Conan Doyle championed still exist. Then see a commercial for The Baker Street Journal where a woman is typing her important Sherlockian paper on a manual typewriter. Manual! Not even an IBM Selectric!
And as it's the last day of August, I know the annual John H. Watson Society Treasure Hunt is winding up and think, "Did I stray into this oddly retro dimension because I didn't take that test this year?"
Waking-up brain is always a little more free-flowing than fully-awake brain. And it thinks about Mycroft Holmes's hands a lot.
Watson wrote that Mycroft had "a broad, flat hand, like the flipper of a seal." How does a person get a hand like that? We are to presume it is somehow tied to Mycroft's obesity, but it's flat, not fat. Was it that way Mycroft held it, with all the fingers tightly closed together? Is it more of a psychological indicator than a physiological one? Did Mycroft clap his hands together and make a honking bark before proffering it to Watson for a shake, mocking John as Sherlock's trained seal?
The Sherlockian mind is trained by Sherlock himself to go deep on the details, and that seal hand of Mycroft's is a detail one could definitely go deep on. (And then type it up on a manual typewriter to send to The Baker Street Journal.)
But I am just waking up and things still have yet to settle in my morning brain. It's also the last day of August, which makes me feel like I should make a reference to Brittany Cavallaro's The Last of August. Such a good title, and a reference to a character who gets a bit of two different Canonical villains in his name.
If all this is a bit rambling, it is probably because I'm on the road to a place whose blog-post is being held back a little longer, as it's a place Conan Doyle did no favors for as a tourist destination. But more to come . . . .
And as it's the last day of August, I know the annual John H. Watson Society Treasure Hunt is winding up and think, "Did I stray into this oddly retro dimension because I didn't take that test this year?"
Waking-up brain is always a little more free-flowing than fully-awake brain. And it thinks about Mycroft Holmes's hands a lot.
Watson wrote that Mycroft had "a broad, flat hand, like the flipper of a seal." How does a person get a hand like that? We are to presume it is somehow tied to Mycroft's obesity, but it's flat, not fat. Was it that way Mycroft held it, with all the fingers tightly closed together? Is it more of a psychological indicator than a physiological one? Did Mycroft clap his hands together and make a honking bark before proffering it to Watson for a shake, mocking John as Sherlock's trained seal?
The Sherlockian mind is trained by Sherlock himself to go deep on the details, and that seal hand of Mycroft's is a detail one could definitely go deep on. (And then type it up on a manual typewriter to send to The Baker Street Journal.)
But I am just waking up and things still have yet to settle in my morning brain. It's also the last day of August, which makes me feel like I should make a reference to Brittany Cavallaro's The Last of August. Such a good title, and a reference to a character who gets a bit of two different Canonical villains in his name.
If all this is a bit rambling, it is probably because I'm on the road to a place whose blog-post is being held back a little longer, as it's a place Conan Doyle did no favors for as a tourist destination. But more to come . . . .
Sunday, August 27, 2017
"It's not for you."
Modern decor doesn't feature framed needlework quotes hung on the wall so much any more, but if it did, there is one stated truth I think I would have to hang: "It's not for you."
The saying hasn't been around all that long, as I don't think it was necessary fifty years ago. Or maybe it was, we just were trying to get past some bigger issues back then and didn't have extra time to fine-tune. But, as the internet gave all of us a broadcast platform, even if it was just our Facebook feed, and pundit/critic licenses suddenly came with birth certificates, those words became a very necessary reflection.
It's not for you.
And, boy, does that apply to the hobby of Sherlockiana.
You see, we only have these sixty stories of Sherlock Holmes. And people are living a very long time now. As a Sherlockian about to hit sixty who came to the hobby in college, I've got over forty years in this field of focus now, which means I've looked at those same stories way too many damn times. Yes, yes, evergreen prose, blah, blah, blah, but come on now . . . nothing is that magical.
At this point, listening to a new Sherlockian podcast or reading some new article that spends half its time going down a path I've been down literally hundreds of times before, my first thought has to be "It's not for you." Because it's not.
This is the trap of becoming an elder Sherlockian: Thinking you're the same person you were when you started. Thinking your happy memories from the 1970s can be entirely useful to a Sherlockian minted in the 2010s. Thinking your boredom should be everyone's boredom.
I don't review things that much in this blog because I don't have the ability to any more. This morning, for example, I sampled a Sherlockian entertainment that I really wanted to like but it was just too same-old, same-old . . . for me. To someone who just joined the club last year, it would have been great. But to someone with hundreds of Holmes books already on their shelves? Been there, done that, done that in the winter, done that in the spring, done that on the Fourth of July . . . .
When we hear the phrase "It's not for you" we're so often talking about gender perspectives, cultural perspectives, generational perspectives, etc., but the biggest difference that sneaks up on us all over time is just the "having been at this a while" versus "excitement of the new" perspective. Our love of the idea of something can last a lifetime, like a movie that brought us great joy upon first viewing. But actually enjoying that thing itself repeatedly?
Nostalgia only goes so far. It's why new adaptations of older stories take their worst beatings from the diehard fans. You can't recapture your youth or your first time, no matter how much you'd like to, and the best you can do at some point is just to enjoy watching the new kids have their own first time moments and all the crazy fallout that first infatuation brings with it.
Because, like that saying goes, at some point it's not for you any more at all. It's for those who come next.
Friday, August 25, 2017
Did Sherlock Holmes collect trophies?
During last night's look at "The Speckled Band," I noticed something odd about the corpse Sherlock Holmes discovers.
"Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott, clad in a long gray dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers."
Outside of A Study in Scarlet, "The Speckled Band" is the earliest occurring recorded case of Sherlock Holmes that we know of, coming before all the others. And it has certain details that we see repeated, which some might say are part of an author going back to the same creative trough, out of habit or laziness. That is, if you're taking the train of thought that an author was behind all of this . . . .
If you're taking Watson's memory for detail as Canon, however, the occasional familiar bit may make you go, "Hey, wait a minute . . ." as that line above did with me this time out.
Grimesby Roylott has a long gray dressing-gown.
Sherlock Holmes had a long gray dressing-gown. Watson just called it "mouse-coloured" when Holmes dresses his wax dummy in it in "The Empty House."
Grimesby Roylott has Turkish slippers.
Sherlock Holmes has Persian slippers. Given that Persia, a.k.a. Iran, and Turkey share a common border, these are pretty much the same kind of slippers. And yes, I refer to "a" Persian slipper that Holmes kept his tobacco in, mentioned in "The Musgrave Ritual." As well as "the Persian slipper" he offers Watson tobacco from in "The Naval Treaty." Plainly, a pair of Persian slippers. How can I be so certain of this? Well, as Watson showed preferences for ship's and later an Arcadia mixture, it should be plain enough that one slipper had Holmes's tobacco of choice and the other held a supply for visits by Watson.
But I digress.
The point I'm trying to make here is that Grimesby Roylott's personal effects seem like they might have wound up in Sherlock Holmes's sitting room. We know Holmes saved a sovereign to remember Irene Adler by, and coins from the treasure chest the Musgrave ritual led to . . . he did like his souvenirs. Did he take one in every case he worked on?
"Our chambers were full of criminal relics," Watson wrote in that same "Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual." But are we to think that Holmes might have even robbed a corpse of a decent pair of slippers and a dressing gown in his little obsession with criminal relics? Well, the man was extremely comfortable in dealing with bodies in his work. And in 1883, a younger Holmes working apart from the police on a case like he was in the Roylott matter, a case where he wasn't going to make much money, the line between "crime scene" and "yard sale" might not have been as solid as on some other occasions.
It's definitely something worth considering. And maybe time we looked around 221B Baker Street for a few other "freebies" that came as returns on Sherlock Holmes's "invest"-igations.
You never know.
"Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott, clad in a long gray dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers."
Outside of A Study in Scarlet, "The Speckled Band" is the earliest occurring recorded case of Sherlock Holmes that we know of, coming before all the others. And it has certain details that we see repeated, which some might say are part of an author going back to the same creative trough, out of habit or laziness. That is, if you're taking the train of thought that an author was behind all of this . . . .
If you're taking Watson's memory for detail as Canon, however, the occasional familiar bit may make you go, "Hey, wait a minute . . ." as that line above did with me this time out.
Grimesby Roylott has a long gray dressing-gown.
Sherlock Holmes had a long gray dressing-gown. Watson just called it "mouse-coloured" when Holmes dresses his wax dummy in it in "The Empty House."
Grimesby Roylott has Turkish slippers.
Sherlock Holmes has Persian slippers. Given that Persia, a.k.a. Iran, and Turkey share a common border, these are pretty much the same kind of slippers. And yes, I refer to "a" Persian slipper that Holmes kept his tobacco in, mentioned in "The Musgrave Ritual." As well as "the Persian slipper" he offers Watson tobacco from in "The Naval Treaty." Plainly, a pair of Persian slippers. How can I be so certain of this? Well, as Watson showed preferences for ship's and later an Arcadia mixture, it should be plain enough that one slipper had Holmes's tobacco of choice and the other held a supply for visits by Watson.
But I digress.
The point I'm trying to make here is that Grimesby Roylott's personal effects seem like they might have wound up in Sherlock Holmes's sitting room. We know Holmes saved a sovereign to remember Irene Adler by, and coins from the treasure chest the Musgrave ritual led to . . . he did like his souvenirs. Did he take one in every case he worked on?
"Our chambers were full of criminal relics," Watson wrote in that same "Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual." But are we to think that Holmes might have even robbed a corpse of a decent pair of slippers and a dressing gown in his little obsession with criminal relics? Well, the man was extremely comfortable in dealing with bodies in his work. And in 1883, a younger Holmes working apart from the police on a case like he was in the Roylott matter, a case where he wasn't going to make much money, the line between "crime scene" and "yard sale" might not have been as solid as on some other occasions.
It's definitely something worth considering. And maybe time we looked around 221B Baker Street for a few other "freebies" that came as returns on Sherlock Holmes's "invest"-igations.
You never know.
The man who was as odd as his snake.
Sherlockian studies have been shifting gears of late, with fan fiction pointing its magnifying lens on the relationships of the Canon. And nowhere is a gear shift more needed than when we look at "The Speckled Band," as Peoria's local Sherlockian study group did this week.
So much of our considerations of that case have been over the way the *BARELY NEEDED SPOILER ALERT* snake doesn't make any sense. It hears whistles. It drinks milk. It climbs a rope. It has an unprecedentedly fast-acting poison. But with that speckled distraction out front, we never really look hard at the fellow behind the snake and how he makes no sense.
Grimesby Roylott is like something out of a comic book or a cartoon. He beats up everybody in the nearby small town. He bends fireplace pokers. And he tries to kill someone completely under his power through an absurdly complicated method that gives them a chance to escape.
I mean, think about it: Why doesn't Grimesby just take a pillow and smother his step-daughter?
The snake scheme is supposedly there because it kills without marks (if no one notices the fang puncture wounds), but that effect isn't all that hard to produce in a murder. Especially for someone who was an experienced medical man, which Grimesby Roylott was.
The isolated manor house he and his victim lived in only had one other occupant, as reported by Roylott's intended victim: "We have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily get her out of the way." That's the victim tallking, so a true villain is going to have no probably manipulating that one potential witness.
Grimesby Roylott is one of those fellows portrayed as such a definite villain that we never really try to understand where he came from or why he did the things he did. Why the violent rages? Why the time spent with the gypsies? Why the spare little bedroom furnishings? Why not take up some form of medical practice so far from his criminal record as to render it moot? He is characterized so much like Bluto from the Popeye cartoons that he might as well tie Helen to a railroad track and require Sherlock Holmes to smoke three pipefuls, swell up his biceps, and punch Grimesby into the stratosphere.
It's a pity Roylott didn't make it more heavily into BBC Sherlock so that he could get more exploration and character development in fan fiction, like Sebastian Moran (who wasn't shown in the show, yet is so tied to Moriarty that he benefited greatly). But we have many a Sherlockian decade ahead of us, so who knows? Somebody just might make sense of him one of these days.
Because people are much more interesting than snakes. Holmes and Watson's friend Stamford knew that well, quoting Pope's "The proper study of mankind is man" in his brief time on the Canonical stage. But Stamford is another guy with depths that could be more fully explored, so I'd best not get started on him here . . . Grimesby Roylott, though! What was going on there?
So much of our considerations of that case have been over the way the *BARELY NEEDED SPOILER ALERT* snake doesn't make any sense. It hears whistles. It drinks milk. It climbs a rope. It has an unprecedentedly fast-acting poison. But with that speckled distraction out front, we never really look hard at the fellow behind the snake and how he makes no sense.
Grimesby Roylott is like something out of a comic book or a cartoon. He beats up everybody in the nearby small town. He bends fireplace pokers. And he tries to kill someone completely under his power through an absurdly complicated method that gives them a chance to escape.
I mean, think about it: Why doesn't Grimesby just take a pillow and smother his step-daughter?
The snake scheme is supposedly there because it kills without marks (if no one notices the fang puncture wounds), but that effect isn't all that hard to produce in a murder. Especially for someone who was an experienced medical man, which Grimesby Roylott was.
The isolated manor house he and his victim lived in only had one other occupant, as reported by Roylott's intended victim: "We have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily get her out of the way." That's the victim tallking, so a true villain is going to have no probably manipulating that one potential witness.
Grimesby Roylott is one of those fellows portrayed as such a definite villain that we never really try to understand where he came from or why he did the things he did. Why the violent rages? Why the time spent with the gypsies? Why the spare little bedroom furnishings? Why not take up some form of medical practice so far from his criminal record as to render it moot? He is characterized so much like Bluto from the Popeye cartoons that he might as well tie Helen to a railroad track and require Sherlock Holmes to smoke three pipefuls, swell up his biceps, and punch Grimesby into the stratosphere.
It's a pity Roylott didn't make it more heavily into BBC Sherlock so that he could get more exploration and character development in fan fiction, like Sebastian Moran (who wasn't shown in the show, yet is so tied to Moriarty that he benefited greatly). But we have many a Sherlockian decade ahead of us, so who knows? Somebody just might make sense of him one of these days.
Because people are much more interesting than snakes. Holmes and Watson's friend Stamford knew that well, quoting Pope's "The proper study of mankind is man" in his brief time on the Canonical stage. But Stamford is another guy with depths that could be more fully explored, so I'd best not get started on him here . . . Grimesby Roylott, though! What was going on there?
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
History isn't always all it's cracked up to be.
History is a funny, funny thing.
Sherlockians have long done research to find Sherlock Holmes's place in history . . . "the Game," as it is sometimes called. We have to call it a game, because sometimes the too-literal, simpler folk fear we are promoting some sort of revisionism to bring what we are all certain is a fictional character into the history books. And, perhaps, denying Conan Doyle his due. Though I'm sure Conan Doyle would be even more famous were we to suddenly discover that Holmes was real and he kept the secret from us all this time.
You never know. Because, like I said, history is a funny, funny thing.
Looking at what I've experienced of the world, Sherlockian and non, and what history is liable to record of those events, it seems very possible that Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson could have existed out there in the cracks somewhere.
History favors the wealthy and powerful, and if anyone had a reason to quash that there was ever any truth to certain points in the Sherlock Holmes stories, it would have been the wealthy and powerful. I live in a city whose own history has been whitewashed more than a bit . . . a wide-open town of all sorts of vices like Peoria once was has its share of family wealth passed down from illegitimate sources. Heck, my favorite local church even took money from the rackets once upon a time, and it wasn't alone in that.
History has so many little hidden gems that die with its participants. Things done for love unspoken, no-talents coming to the fore out of sheer resolve (which is a talent in itself, I guess) to stand in place of genius, incredible moments that never passed beyond word of mouth before all the mouths passed away. There are not only cracks in history, but gaps, gullies, and great gaping voids.
Plenty big enough for 221B Baker Street and all its occupants.
With all of the wicked little conspiracy theories out there, aimed at tearing down or discrediting, what would it hurt to slip a more positive one named Sherlock Holmes into the mix? True, Sherlock is every bit as real as Russell's teapot, evidence-wise, but hey, if you have to go down a rabbit hole of crazy, at least we have clubs and cons with some very charming people who will still hang out with you if you do.
So make a little history. Whether it has you or Sherlock Holmes in in, someone will enjoy it, I'm sure.
Sherlockians have long done research to find Sherlock Holmes's place in history . . . "the Game," as it is sometimes called. We have to call it a game, because sometimes the too-literal, simpler folk fear we are promoting some sort of revisionism to bring what we are all certain is a fictional character into the history books. And, perhaps, denying Conan Doyle his due. Though I'm sure Conan Doyle would be even more famous were we to suddenly discover that Holmes was real and he kept the secret from us all this time.
You never know. Because, like I said, history is a funny, funny thing.
Looking at what I've experienced of the world, Sherlockian and non, and what history is liable to record of those events, it seems very possible that Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson could have existed out there in the cracks somewhere.
History favors the wealthy and powerful, and if anyone had a reason to quash that there was ever any truth to certain points in the Sherlock Holmes stories, it would have been the wealthy and powerful. I live in a city whose own history has been whitewashed more than a bit . . . a wide-open town of all sorts of vices like Peoria once was has its share of family wealth passed down from illegitimate sources. Heck, my favorite local church even took money from the rackets once upon a time, and it wasn't alone in that.
History has so many little hidden gems that die with its participants. Things done for love unspoken, no-talents coming to the fore out of sheer resolve (which is a talent in itself, I guess) to stand in place of genius, incredible moments that never passed beyond word of mouth before all the mouths passed away. There are not only cracks in history, but gaps, gullies, and great gaping voids.
Plenty big enough for 221B Baker Street and all its occupants.
With all of the wicked little conspiracy theories out there, aimed at tearing down or discrediting, what would it hurt to slip a more positive one named Sherlock Holmes into the mix? True, Sherlock is every bit as real as Russell's teapot, evidence-wise, but hey, if you have to go down a rabbit hole of crazy, at least we have clubs and cons with some very charming people who will still hang out with you if you do.
So make a little history. Whether it has you or Sherlock Holmes in in, someone will enjoy it, I'm sure.
Monday, August 21, 2017
A rare moment for Sherlockians to gather,
Well, I'm now one up on Alec MacDonald.
Sure, Inspector MacDonald got to meet Sherlock Holmes, John H. Watson, and Professor Moriarty. I don't see myself ever being able to check that box. But I did get to see a total eclipse of the sun, which it is very, very, very unlikely that MacDonald did. I know this, because Janet Bensley, the new "Waxen Image" (vice-president) of the Occupants of the Empty House, explained those possibilities in detail as the moon started to move in front of the sun today.
A great migration of Americans headed down, up, or sideways to see the total eclipse today -- a fact that became frighteningly clear when they all decided to go home at once, or so it seemed. But even with something as once-in-a-lifetime as a solar event like that, it is vastly improved by doing it among Sherlockians at their old home base.
The Occupants of the Empty House, Southern Illinois's regional Sherlockian society -- a special rare thing as no major city can lay claim to it -- have been gathering at Alongi's restaurant in DuQuoin, Illinois for a very long time now, and the owners and staff know them well. So it was a very happy arrangement that allowed the Occupants to take use both the banquet room and the patio for a few hours today to have lunch in comfortable air conditioning on a hot and humid day, then step out on the patio as they liked to take in the eclipse.
We debated Moriarty's place as top villain in the Canon -- and voted he was not, based on a case I pleaded for another, whom you will hear about another day. But Moriarty's eclipse by another was just part of the fun. I took some pins and cards so we could make pinhole eclipse projectors in a "patriotic V.R." or other Sherlockian pattern of choice. Bottles of eclipse wine were both opened and auctioned, and a general camaraderie of everyone there just made the special moment in time all the better.
When the "diamond ring" first appeared as the sun blotted the moon, the temperature had already cooled noticeably, the streetlights came up, the cicadas and crickets sang, a weird 360 degree dusk took over the world, and there we were. The Occupants of the Empty House became the Occupants of the Empty Sun for a couple brief minutes.
Sherlockians have an ability to make anything be about Sherlock Holmes, even though this was kind of an easy one, as Professor Moriarty did explain eclipses to Alec MacDonald using a globe and a lantern. (Which was good, as MacDonald surely never saw a complete one in person.) Following Sherlock Holmes is a hobby that will take you places you might never have otherwise gone, or appreciated nearly so well when you got there, and today was definitely one of those days for me.
And, as weary as I now am after the long journey home, I still have to give Holmes a big "Hoo-RAH!" for that.
Sure, Inspector MacDonald got to meet Sherlock Holmes, John H. Watson, and Professor Moriarty. I don't see myself ever being able to check that box. But I did get to see a total eclipse of the sun, which it is very, very, very unlikely that MacDonald did. I know this, because Janet Bensley, the new "Waxen Image" (vice-president) of the Occupants of the Empty House, explained those possibilities in detail as the moon started to move in front of the sun today.
A great migration of Americans headed down, up, or sideways to see the total eclipse today -- a fact that became frighteningly clear when they all decided to go home at once, or so it seemed. But even with something as once-in-a-lifetime as a solar event like that, it is vastly improved by doing it among Sherlockians at their old home base.
The Occupants of the Empty House, Southern Illinois's regional Sherlockian society -- a special rare thing as no major city can lay claim to it -- have been gathering at Alongi's restaurant in DuQuoin, Illinois for a very long time now, and the owners and staff know them well. So it was a very happy arrangement that allowed the Occupants to take use both the banquet room and the patio for a few hours today to have lunch in comfortable air conditioning on a hot and humid day, then step out on the patio as they liked to take in the eclipse.
We debated Moriarty's place as top villain in the Canon -- and voted he was not, based on a case I pleaded for another, whom you will hear about another day. But Moriarty's eclipse by another was just part of the fun. I took some pins and cards so we could make pinhole eclipse projectors in a "patriotic V.R." or other Sherlockian pattern of choice. Bottles of eclipse wine were both opened and auctioned, and a general camaraderie of everyone there just made the special moment in time all the better.
A "V.R." of eclipses.
Occupants and friends viewing the oncoming totality.
When the "diamond ring" first appeared as the sun blotted the moon, the temperature had already cooled noticeably, the streetlights came up, the cicadas and crickets sang, a weird 360 degree dusk took over the world, and there we were. The Occupants of the Empty House became the Occupants of the Empty Sun for a couple brief minutes.
Sherlockians have an ability to make anything be about Sherlock Holmes, even though this was kind of an easy one, as Professor Moriarty did explain eclipses to Alec MacDonald using a globe and a lantern. (Which was good, as MacDonald surely never saw a complete one in person.) Following Sherlock Holmes is a hobby that will take you places you might never have otherwise gone, or appreciated nearly so well when you got there, and today was definitely one of those days for me.
And, as weary as I now am after the long journey home, I still have to give Holmes a big "Hoo-RAH!" for that.
Sunday, August 20, 2017
The big deal about eclipses.
As a lot of us are going to be making a big deal of the eclipse very soon, it seems, as always, time to look to the Canon of Sherlock Holmes and check to see if it really is all that important.
I mean, if something is truly important, there will be a reference to it in the Sherlock Holmes stories, right? (At least those of us who seem to want to write endlessly about that great detective definitely hope so.) A quick check-up on the matter proves it out:
Eclipses are important, because if you look at the cases of Sherlock Holmes and see the people they are associated with . . . wow.
Sherlock Holmes, of course, references eclipses on the subject of his own mind: "Should you care to add the case to your annals, my dear Watson, it can only be as an example of that temporary eclipse to which even the best-balance mind may be exposed." (This, about "The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax.")
Watson also uses it to show how much Irene Adler meant to Holmes: "In his mind, she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex." (In "A Scandal in Bohemia, of course.")
And Inspector MacDonald gets eclipses themselves explained to him by Professor Moriarty: "I had a chat with him on eclipses . . . he had out a reflector lantern and a globe and made it all clear in a minute. He lent me a book . . ." (During The Valley of Fear.)
Sherlock Holmes. Irene Adler. Professor Moriarty.
If those aren't the big three of the Sherlock Holmes universe, who is?
(Yes, Mycroft, but he gets "Jupiter is descending today" and "A planet might as well leave its orbit." to show his planetary importance.)
Which makes it all the more interesting when one finds the one other reference to eclipses in the Canon Holmes and what it refers to: "The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long since ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it . . . ."
John H. Watson uses the word, regarding the scandalous bigamy of St. Simon's bride. Note that Watson also featured a bigamy-involved case in the first novel he wrote of Holmes's detection, A Study in Scarlet. And while that scandal in Bohemia wasn't about bigamy, it was about multiple romantic relationships in conflict. So why might that topic have been of "eclipse-level" importance to Watson? As someone who has written of the possible six wives of John H. Watson, I definitely have my own theories.
But let's not eclipse the eclipse with Watson's little relationship issues. It's kind of a big deal, as the Sherlock Holmes texts definitely convey.
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Eclipso Irene.
With Monday bringing a total eclipse of the sun to parts of the U.S. near to Sherlock Peoria, the time seems night to recall another eclipse from fourteen years ago, involving Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
The medium was comics, and DC had taken to publishing a book featuring a strange character named "Eclipso," a sort of supernatural Jekyll-and-Hyde who was less about two sides to one person and more about a comic booky sort of demon possessing people. Since the true entity called Eclipso was not human, it existed throughout time, and in May and June issues for 1993, Eclipso came to the London of Sherlock Holmes.
First possessing a judge in Eclipso #7, the entity's host met a tragic fate, but upon his demise the final page of the story finds Eclipso in a new host -- Irene Adler -- with the King of Bohemia tied to a bed in his boxers.
"Irene has always wanted to kill -- the KING OF BOHEMIA!" the possessed adventuress announces in the final panel, with a blurb reading "NEXT: GOOD NIGHT, MISTER HOLMES!" just below it.
So coming to Eclipso issue #8, written by Robert Loren Fleming, we immediately see a desperate man, running for his life, and coming to Baker Street. He barges past a sleepy Mrs. Hudson, whom Holmes and Watson also pass on their way to the sitting room (curious layout to 221B in this comic!), and is given a tall glass of something alcoholic by Watson. Holmes mentally relives "A Scandal in Bohemia" over the course of three pages, and then we come back to Godfrey Norton and his tale of his wife seemingly becoming supernatural and disemboweling the King in Norton's bedroom.
Now comes spoiler territory, so if you'd like to read this tale for yourself, I'd recommend you go find a copy and do so now. Because I'm about to spill the fun stuff.
Ready?
Irene, now darkly super-powerful, kills Norton, wraps a fireplace poker around Sherlock's neck, and has a bullet from Watson's revolver bounce off her. In the resulting struggle to save his friend, Watson accidentally grabs one of the Eclipso gems that caused Irene's possession and becomes an Eclipso himself.
"I must oppose you . . ." Eclipso Watson tells Eclipso Irene. "For he loves this man . . ."
A little Johnlock in 1993? Sure, why not. But wait . . .
With the rising sun, Irene reverts to normal, and Eclipso Watson flees, hiding in a church out of the sunlight. (Eclipsos are a bit like werewolves, and can't exist in sunlight, it seems.) Holmes follows him, and Irene follows Holmes.
Now, let me give fair warning, should you ever decide to read this tale from 1993: Irene Adler is not quite the clever lady we remember her to be. She defeats Eclipso after discovering she killed her own husband while in his thrall, but in a really stupid fashion that finishes her as well.
Sherlock is sharing a moment with Watson when he realizes what Irene has done, so he has to share a moment with her before she dies. And then we get an epilogue of Holmes with his bees and his housekeeper on Sussex Downs remembering the adventure and considering his own eventual death.
This is not a happy tale, and the art by Ted McKeever is somewhere between stylized and just seeming sloppily done in haste. Still, the story is fairly good and it makes a nice oddity in one's collection of Sherlock Holmes comics.
Hopefully, Monday's eclipse will not be so hard on Sherlockians as Eclipso was on Irene.
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
When Sherlock Holmes rose from the depths.
Remember all the times that Sherlock Holmes was falling apart?
"His iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day . . . ."
That was from "Reigate Squires." But "Dying Detective," The Sign of Four, even "Empty House, in it's way, all have Watson telling us of times when Sherlock Holmes was at a low point, a place when no one would have expected anything from a person in such a condition. Worn out, deathly ill, drugged, or even dead, in each case Sherlock Holmes comes back to be . . . well, Sherlock Holmes.
Logic, reason, and truth are all brought to bear on mystery and ignorance of a situation to win the day. Even when things look darkest for him personally, Sherlock Holmes rises to help, rises to make things better for the rest of his fellow humans.
In a life of looking to Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson for inspiration, I don't think I've ever found him wanting. A really good book can be like that, and Holmes and Watson are in many good books. But you know that.
This morning, waking up and looking at the goings-on of a country trying to find its way around a particular source of grief, mistrust, and an incompetence that's far too easy to just call "evil," a Sherlockian like myself is apt to turn in the direction of 221B Baker Street and say, "What have you got for me, Sherlock?" And like a golden nugget in a pan full of river silt, something shines up at me and reminds me that this is a stream worth panning.
Conan Doyle channelled John H. Watson, M.D. starting a hundred and thirty years ago, and the words he put on paper then still shine today. Sherlock Holmes could find light in darkness then, serve as an example of a person rising to find answers from their lowest ebb, and inspire us to do likewise, and he still does so now.
Reason. Truth. Attempting to help. Even though Sherlock Holmes was a man whose intelligence and personality made it hard for him to relate to others at times, he still knew what he had to do when the time came, and he rose to do it. And occasionally, he rose from some pretty dark depths.
A Sherlock Holmes fan named Nicholas Meyer and a composer named James Horner once combined talents to create a scene that lives in my mind to this day, the battle of the Mutara Nebula. A very simple trick, both as a part of the story and of the film, gives the viewer a glorious moment when a beaten and damaged starship rises up from behind its foe to seize the moment and win the day. The orchestral score of that moment is brilliant and brings the full emotional punch of it to bear.
If the Canon of Holmes had a soundtrack, I think we'd hear more than a few of those moments, and this morning was a good morning to remember they exist.
Sherlock Holmes rising to deal with what needed to be dealt with -- its a spirit that we are blessed to have passed along to us to this day, a day when we definitely need to look to better days ahead.
"His iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day . . . ."
That was from "Reigate Squires." But "Dying Detective," The Sign of Four, even "Empty House, in it's way, all have Watson telling us of times when Sherlock Holmes was at a low point, a place when no one would have expected anything from a person in such a condition. Worn out, deathly ill, drugged, or even dead, in each case Sherlock Holmes comes back to be . . . well, Sherlock Holmes.
Logic, reason, and truth are all brought to bear on mystery and ignorance of a situation to win the day. Even when things look darkest for him personally, Sherlock Holmes rises to help, rises to make things better for the rest of his fellow humans.
In a life of looking to Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson for inspiration, I don't think I've ever found him wanting. A really good book can be like that, and Holmes and Watson are in many good books. But you know that.
This morning, waking up and looking at the goings-on of a country trying to find its way around a particular source of grief, mistrust, and an incompetence that's far too easy to just call "evil," a Sherlockian like myself is apt to turn in the direction of 221B Baker Street and say, "What have you got for me, Sherlock?" And like a golden nugget in a pan full of river silt, something shines up at me and reminds me that this is a stream worth panning.
Conan Doyle channelled John H. Watson, M.D. starting a hundred and thirty years ago, and the words he put on paper then still shine today. Sherlock Holmes could find light in darkness then, serve as an example of a person rising to find answers from their lowest ebb, and inspire us to do likewise, and he still does so now.
Reason. Truth. Attempting to help. Even though Sherlock Holmes was a man whose intelligence and personality made it hard for him to relate to others at times, he still knew what he had to do when the time came, and he rose to do it. And occasionally, he rose from some pretty dark depths.
A Sherlock Holmes fan named Nicholas Meyer and a composer named James Horner once combined talents to create a scene that lives in my mind to this day, the battle of the Mutara Nebula. A very simple trick, both as a part of the story and of the film, gives the viewer a glorious moment when a beaten and damaged starship rises up from behind its foe to seize the moment and win the day. The orchestral score of that moment is brilliant and brings the full emotional punch of it to bear.
If the Canon of Holmes had a soundtrack, I think we'd hear more than a few of those moments, and this morning was a good morning to remember they exist.
Sherlock Holmes rising to deal with what needed to be dealt with -- its a spirit that we are blessed to have passed along to us to this day, a day when we definitely need to look to better days ahead.
Monday, August 14, 2017
When one Baker Street isn't enough.
Sherlock and Sherlockians provided the best parts of the past weekend, I think.
My friend John Holliday, a great Sherlockian whose reclusive and mysterious nature means he's only been seen by a scant few Sherlockians, came to town for an Irish pub lunch and hanging out in the Sherlock library. (I have the good Carter as a witness, in case you should ever think he's a Tyler Durden figment of my imagination whom I named after a famous gunfighter.)
And the 221B Con commanders all went down to Atlanta to research the new hotel for this year's con, and the con's Homeless Network tweeted some great pics of what we can expect there come spring. As I had to tweet on Saturday, the reminders of all the love and inclusion that swirl around 221B Con were a healthy inoculation against the hate on display in one corner of the country, and a reminder that there are good, good people here in America, as well as those who act otherwise.
But when Sunday night came, and the last moments of the weekend brought that weary lack of accomplishment blues that come as the clock runs out, I found myself picking a book out from down in the pile near my bed, one I picked up at an Indianapolis horror convention, of all places, a few years back:
Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets, edited by David Thomas Moore.
I dearly love that title, so much that I almost wish I'd come up with it myself. But as this was a three-hundred-and-some page paperback, what I found inside was merely fourteen stories of alternative universe Sherlocks and Johns, and yet . . . it was enough.
"A Scandal in Hobohemia" by Jamie Wyman turned Baker Street into a carnival, where ex-military man Jim Walker first encounters carny Sanford Haus. It was a colorful new world to be swept into, securely anchored by the knowledge that underneath their guises, these were two old friends.
The second tale, "Black Alice," by Kelly Hale, brought back the familiar names of Holmes and Watson, but place them a full century before their rightful place, the same yet different.
I don't review books very often here in the blog, as I don't finish most books in a timely manner, and don't like to talk about those I don't finish . . . not sure who's fault that is in a particular case. But in this case, just getting started with Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets was such a particularly welcome tonic of distraction at the end of mixed bag of a weekend. (Burying bodies from the household serial killer can be soooo depressing on top of everything else. Don't know why we let him live here.)
And a good reminder of just how much fun Sherlock Holmes and John Watson can be at the end of the day is always worth a mention.
My friend John Holliday, a great Sherlockian whose reclusive and mysterious nature means he's only been seen by a scant few Sherlockians, came to town for an Irish pub lunch and hanging out in the Sherlock library. (I have the good Carter as a witness, in case you should ever think he's a Tyler Durden figment of my imagination whom I named after a famous gunfighter.)
And the 221B Con commanders all went down to Atlanta to research the new hotel for this year's con, and the con's Homeless Network tweeted some great pics of what we can expect there come spring. As I had to tweet on Saturday, the reminders of all the love and inclusion that swirl around 221B Con were a healthy inoculation against the hate on display in one corner of the country, and a reminder that there are good, good people here in America, as well as those who act otherwise.
But when Sunday night came, and the last moments of the weekend brought that weary lack of accomplishment blues that come as the clock runs out, I found myself picking a book out from down in the pile near my bed, one I picked up at an Indianapolis horror convention, of all places, a few years back:
Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets, edited by David Thomas Moore.
I dearly love that title, so much that I almost wish I'd come up with it myself. But as this was a three-hundred-and-some page paperback, what I found inside was merely fourteen stories of alternative universe Sherlocks and Johns, and yet . . . it was enough.
"A Scandal in Hobohemia" by Jamie Wyman turned Baker Street into a carnival, where ex-military man Jim Walker first encounters carny Sanford Haus. It was a colorful new world to be swept into, securely anchored by the knowledge that underneath their guises, these were two old friends.
The second tale, "Black Alice," by Kelly Hale, brought back the familiar names of Holmes and Watson, but place them a full century before their rightful place, the same yet different.
I don't review books very often here in the blog, as I don't finish most books in a timely manner, and don't like to talk about those I don't finish . . . not sure who's fault that is in a particular case. But in this case, just getting started with Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets was such a particularly welcome tonic of distraction at the end of mixed bag of a weekend. (Burying bodies from the household serial killer can be soooo depressing on top of everything else. Don't know why we let him live here.)
And a good reminder of just how much fun Sherlock Holmes and John Watson can be at the end of the day is always worth a mention.
Ennui.
Sherlock Holmes was so against boredom that he couldn't even say the word.
"It saved me from ennui," he replies to Watson's compliments at the end of "The Red-Headed League."
Bored by social events. ("Noble Bachelor.") Bored even with his own explanations of his own deductions. ("Blue Carbuncle.") Bored with crime. ("Wisteria Lodge," "Copper Beeches," etc.)
Like fellow genius Rick Sanchez (who just might have had a deerstalker on for ten seconds in this week's episode of "Rick and Morty"), Sherlock Holmes is just so good at what he does that it just isn't fun at a certain point. He certainly didn't retire in 1903 to keep bees because crime and mystery had been eradicated from the world.
No, Sherlock Holmes went, "Gee, what's more interesting than crime? I know, bees."
And, sorry, bee-lovers, but bees more interesting than humans? Have a little species pride here. Bees only get anywhere close to equally interesting as humans if you've so mastered humanity's every move that they might as well be a predictable hive. Sherlock Holmes's retirement is actually such a diss on the human race that it's amazing he has human fans.
Oh, I shouldn't watch "Rick and Morty" the first thing on a Monday morning. Did I mention there was a character composed of a million bees on this week's episode? Sherlock Holmes might have liked that guy . . . since he seemed to head in that bee direction for retirement and not hanging out with Watson and the kids, or hunting up Irene Adler, or doing something for Mycroft . . . which, oh wait, he did do after he got sick of the bees.
And don't get me started on Mary Russell. She's imaginary.
Sherlock Holmes in retirement, without Watson to either admire his efforts or bring him down a notch, is pretty dull himself. "Let's squash a jellyfish with a rock!" dull. Oops. Sorry, jellyfishes. Crossed a line there.
Mondays. What are ya gonna do? Let's be on the side of Sherlock Holmes and go anti-boredom this week. Because otherwise . . . well, things get kinda dull.
"It saved me from ennui," he replies to Watson's compliments at the end of "The Red-Headed League."
Bored by social events. ("Noble Bachelor.") Bored even with his own explanations of his own deductions. ("Blue Carbuncle.") Bored with crime. ("Wisteria Lodge," "Copper Beeches," etc.)
Like fellow genius Rick Sanchez (who just might have had a deerstalker on for ten seconds in this week's episode of "Rick and Morty"), Sherlock Holmes is just so good at what he does that it just isn't fun at a certain point. He certainly didn't retire in 1903 to keep bees because crime and mystery had been eradicated from the world.
No, Sherlock Holmes went, "Gee, what's more interesting than crime? I know, bees."
And, sorry, bee-lovers, but bees more interesting than humans? Have a little species pride here. Bees only get anywhere close to equally interesting as humans if you've so mastered humanity's every move that they might as well be a predictable hive. Sherlock Holmes's retirement is actually such a diss on the human race that it's amazing he has human fans.
Oh, I shouldn't watch "Rick and Morty" the first thing on a Monday morning. Did I mention there was a character composed of a million bees on this week's episode? Sherlock Holmes might have liked that guy . . . since he seemed to head in that bee direction for retirement and not hanging out with Watson and the kids, or hunting up Irene Adler, or doing something for Mycroft . . . which, oh wait, he did do after he got sick of the bees.
And don't get me started on Mary Russell. She's imaginary.
Sherlock Holmes in retirement, without Watson to either admire his efforts or bring him down a notch, is pretty dull himself. "Let's squash a jellyfish with a rock!" dull. Oops. Sorry, jellyfishes. Crossed a line there.
Mondays. What are ya gonna do? Let's be on the side of Sherlock Holmes and go anti-boredom this week. Because otherwise . . . well, things get kinda dull.
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Five. Orange. Pips.
Let's talk about "The Five Orange Pips" this morning, and contrast it with the modern day.
Not in terms of its writing. Not in terms of its Victorian detail. Not anything about Sherlock Holmes.
No, let's talk about how the Ku Klux fucking Klan had a sense of shame in that tale.
Now, I probably should apologize for using "fucking" in a Sherlock Holmes blog, where mannered British-isms might seem the order of the day, but we're just at that point here. I woke up this morning to read of torch-wielding Klan types in the news in 2017. And if that doesn't make you want to say, "Well, fuck that," you probably shouldn't be reading anything I write.
The entire reason "The Five Orange Pips" works is because Conan Doyle wrote the Ku Klux Klan as what it was . . . a secret society. Their threatening message, those five seeds from an orange, was remarkable in its ordinariness, a threat that the casual onlooker wouldn't see as terrifying. The Klan of that story worked in the shadows, made deaths look like accidents or suicide, and basically avoided the light like the cockroaches of evil they were.
The true Ku Klux Klan of decades before was more of a terrorist organization, burning and lynching so their works would be seen by the public, even if they were not. Their hooded robes hid their faces, as they knew that society was not behind them. They knew their agenda was not something that would stand the light of day.
And now, thanks to whatever factor analysis might cite . . . growing poverty, false entitlement, the inability to get a girlfriend . . . we're seeing a version of the Klan that, even if it doesn't use that name, wants to announce itself publicly with torches and uncovered faces. And just as much a threat in those torches as the five orange pips . . . the threat to burn the changing culture that so offends and frightens them. A changing culture which is people.
Despite what one blithering idiot might be saying to the world this past week, we don't burn people.
We. Don't. Burn. People.
The stories of Sherlock Holmes have always been a source for nostalgia, a longing for times of horse-drawn conveyances and guiltless tobacco smoking, etc. But I never thought I'd see the day when they'd also be a source of nostalgia for a secretive, sneaky Ku Klux Klan, that at least seemed to have a sense of shame about its evil nature.
And yet here we are. Time to pull a Sherlock Holmes and send those pips in the opposite direction, don't you think?
Not in terms of its writing. Not in terms of its Victorian detail. Not anything about Sherlock Holmes.
No, let's talk about how the Ku Klux fucking Klan had a sense of shame in that tale.
Now, I probably should apologize for using "fucking" in a Sherlock Holmes blog, where mannered British-isms might seem the order of the day, but we're just at that point here. I woke up this morning to read of torch-wielding Klan types in the news in 2017. And if that doesn't make you want to say, "Well, fuck that," you probably shouldn't be reading anything I write.
The entire reason "The Five Orange Pips" works is because Conan Doyle wrote the Ku Klux Klan as what it was . . . a secret society. Their threatening message, those five seeds from an orange, was remarkable in its ordinariness, a threat that the casual onlooker wouldn't see as terrifying. The Klan of that story worked in the shadows, made deaths look like accidents or suicide, and basically avoided the light like the cockroaches of evil they were.
The true Ku Klux Klan of decades before was more of a terrorist organization, burning and lynching so their works would be seen by the public, even if they were not. Their hooded robes hid their faces, as they knew that society was not behind them. They knew their agenda was not something that would stand the light of day.
And now, thanks to whatever factor analysis might cite . . . growing poverty, false entitlement, the inability to get a girlfriend . . . we're seeing a version of the Klan that, even if it doesn't use that name, wants to announce itself publicly with torches and uncovered faces. And just as much a threat in those torches as the five orange pips . . . the threat to burn the changing culture that so offends and frightens them. A changing culture which is people.
Despite what one blithering idiot might be saying to the world this past week, we don't burn people.
We. Don't. Burn. People.
The stories of Sherlock Holmes have always been a source for nostalgia, a longing for times of horse-drawn conveyances and guiltless tobacco smoking, etc. But I never thought I'd see the day when they'd also be a source of nostalgia for a secretive, sneaky Ku Klux Klan, that at least seemed to have a sense of shame about its evil nature.
And yet here we are. Time to pull a Sherlock Holmes and send those pips in the opposite direction, don't you think?
Thursday, August 10, 2017
"John, Sherlock. Watson, Holmes."
There was a single cry of frustration on Twitter today that caught my eye, amid the feeds thousand other reactions today, and it didn't have the word "nuclear" in it. (Sorry to use the word, just emotionally time-stamping this blog.) It went like this: "STOP CALLING THEM SHERLOCK AND WATSON 2k17."
In a single line of protest, one could see so much of the current state of things Sherlockian.
Sherlock and John. Holmes and Watson.
Two men with two different forms of address, those two styles connoting source material, generations, approaches to their relationship, time periods . . . a virtual rabbit hole for deep-diving, but then Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson have always been an incredible cavern for exploration to those who "catch the distant view-halloah" as the Starrett poem says.
Even as I've come to use both given names and surmanes of the pair as the spirit moves me, those names still bring distinct pictures to my head.
"Holmes and Watson" are older gentlemen. The fellows you saw in every adaptation pre-2010, regardless of who the actors were. Even all the art of that time placed them as near-senior-citizens an ungodly percentage of the time.
"Sherlock and John" are younger, vital men. The age where men are actively coupling, whatever direction you want to take that, and they can actually still run with all the speed of youth. They are the age that A Study in Scarlet always handed us, yet no one seemed to want them to be.
One set of names is properly Victorian, the other modern casual, yet once you go "Sherlock and John," the two tend to remain on a first-name basis even when you return to the Victorian era. It's a cultural retrofitting that I suspect we'll never return from, unless a new Victorian age takes over . . . and these days, you just never know. Crazier things have happened.
One can even almost understand why the offending combination of "Sherlock and Watson" occurs -- "Sherlock" is the more distinct of the detective's two names, and "Watson" the more distinctive of the doctor's. It's a mismatch, to be sure, but you know how ham-handed the non-Sherlockians have always been with our favorite sons of Britain. (The phrase "No shit, Sherlock!" popularized over-familiarity with Holmes long before he and John were on a first name basis. And pretty rudely at that. Sherlockians definitely didn't start that trend.)
And as old school as my roots run, I really like that I've gotten comfortable calling the boys Sherlock and John. It's like we've all gotten to know them a little better. After a century or so, I'd say, as a fan culture, we have. Not everyone's preference, even now, I know, but not every shift in societal norms over time is an omen of the end times. Sometimes, it's just a sign that something brand new is actually happening for a valid reason.
We're kind of lucky that Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson have hung around long enough for us to get to this point with them. And where they go from here? Well, anyone that gets to see that will, I hope, be luckier still.
In a single line of protest, one could see so much of the current state of things Sherlockian.
Sherlock and John. Holmes and Watson.
Two men with two different forms of address, those two styles connoting source material, generations, approaches to their relationship, time periods . . . a virtual rabbit hole for deep-diving, but then Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson have always been an incredible cavern for exploration to those who "catch the distant view-halloah" as the Starrett poem says.
Even as I've come to use both given names and surmanes of the pair as the spirit moves me, those names still bring distinct pictures to my head.
"Holmes and Watson" are older gentlemen. The fellows you saw in every adaptation pre-2010, regardless of who the actors were. Even all the art of that time placed them as near-senior-citizens an ungodly percentage of the time.
"Sherlock and John" are younger, vital men. The age where men are actively coupling, whatever direction you want to take that, and they can actually still run with all the speed of youth. They are the age that A Study in Scarlet always handed us, yet no one seemed to want them to be.
One set of names is properly Victorian, the other modern casual, yet once you go "Sherlock and John," the two tend to remain on a first-name basis even when you return to the Victorian era. It's a cultural retrofitting that I suspect we'll never return from, unless a new Victorian age takes over . . . and these days, you just never know. Crazier things have happened.
One can even almost understand why the offending combination of "Sherlock and Watson" occurs -- "Sherlock" is the more distinct of the detective's two names, and "Watson" the more distinctive of the doctor's. It's a mismatch, to be sure, but you know how ham-handed the non-Sherlockians have always been with our favorite sons of Britain. (The phrase "No shit, Sherlock!" popularized over-familiarity with Holmes long before he and John were on a first name basis. And pretty rudely at that. Sherlockians definitely didn't start that trend.)
And as old school as my roots run, I really like that I've gotten comfortable calling the boys Sherlock and John. It's like we've all gotten to know them a little better. After a century or so, I'd say, as a fan culture, we have. Not everyone's preference, even now, I know, but not every shift in societal norms over time is an omen of the end times. Sometimes, it's just a sign that something brand new is actually happening for a valid reason.
We're kind of lucky that Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson have hung around long enough for us to get to this point with them. And where they go from here? Well, anyone that gets to see that will, I hope, be luckier still.
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
Really? John Watson's Island, season two, begins!
Nothing says relaxation like turning off your brain at the end of a hard day, flopping on the couch, and turning on a sitcom with a laugh-track that even takes the work out of voicing your merriment. But for the summer blogger, a serious evening's relaxation must go one step further: Converting episodes of the classic sitcom Gilligan's Island into a Sherlock-based comedy called John Watson's Island. Last month saw the end of the first thirty-six episode season of the show (Ah, how long things ran in the sixties!), and this month begins season two:
37. The Grice Patersons from the Isle of Oof-ah. A family of primitive Scots from a neighboring island show up and encounter John Watson in the jungle. After many comical communication errors, Mycroft informs John that they want him to marry their daughter, having come to the island in search of a mate for her. Mycroft interprets that John must past a marital test of manhood first, involving a caber toss and a hammer throw, and that Watson should do it so the Scots will help them get off the island. Lestrade offers to help John practice, but while tossing the caber, Lestrade accidentally kills the bride-to-be's mother. According to Scot islander custom, he must then take the mother's place in the family. After wacky attempts at Scottish maternal duties, Lestrade's new husband decides divorce is best and takes his daughter away from the island to get as far away from the Scotland Yard inspector as possible.
38. An Admirable Queen. When a newspaper washes up on the shore with a headline about the winner of the Miss British Empire contest, Irene becomes furious, as the winner was her understudy in the last opera she performed in, who also replaced her as star when she became shipwrecked. When Sherlock says that Irene is still the most beautiful woman on their current island empire in an act a rare chivalry, John argues that Mary might be the more handsome woman, and Mycroft then proposes that Inspector Lestrade is really the most handsome of all the castaways. Professor Moriarty proposes a beauty pageant to settle the issue. Since Moriarty is the only one without bias toward a particular candidate, he is asked to judge the contest, which sparks all sorts of hijinks as the castaways sabotage each other's chances. Moriarty finally decides that they all look so foolish that he is the only fitting queen of the island and places the crown upon his own head.
39. A Scandal in New San Pedro. Don Murillo, the Tiger of San Pedro, arrives at the island after being thrown off a steam launch by countrymen carrying out his exile. Murillo declares the island "New San Pedro" and announces himself the new dictator of the island nation. Mycroft explains that this is a democratic island in which every castaway is a member of the parliament that chooses their prime minister, and Murillo, realizing he cannot win such an election, starts promoting the merits of John Watson as prime minister, sure that he can connive his way into a spot as Watson's top advisor. No one thinks Watson can beat such brainy candidates as the Holmes brothers and Moriarty, but when the "smart" votes are split so widely between them, John Watson wins the election with three votes. (Sherlock's, Mary's, and Don Murillo's.) John has a whole weird dream about being king of the island, yet a puppet to Don Murillo, and wakes convinced to resign, only to find that Don Murillo has been mysteriously murdered during the night, which Moriarty confesses to and everyone laughs, deciding they don't need a government after all.
40. The Developed Footage. When John Watson discovers a downed hot air balloon with an aerial camera, the castaways decide they can repair and re-inflate the balloon to carry the camera back to London with pictures of them and a note to summon a rescue. After much debate and many humorous modeling sessions, the castaways decide to dress primitively to show their desperate straits. But after the letter asking for help is placed on the balloon, Watson decides to change something, accidentally releasing the balloon as he grabs the letter. When the camera makes it back to London, the geographers who funded its mission declare it a great success, as the pictures they find seem to be of a new tribe of primitive Britons living as they did before civilization. The geographers all then agree that those innocent natives should be left alone to live their lives.
41. The Gold Circle. Another newspaper washes ashore in a water-proof trunk, this time announcing that the missing John Watson is the winner of the Irish Sweepstakes. Professor Moriarty announces that his pub is now an exclusive club for the island's wealthy, whom he calls his "Baker Street Regulars." John, finding himself a bit lonely in the club, writes IOUs for 50,000 pounds to Irene and Mary, then later one for Sherlock, who passes it to his brother when he gets tired and is going to bed. Lestrade just comes in saying he had to investigate a complaint he had about the establishment, and Sherlock has a crazy dream about the old West and a town that only lets rich Americans in. Reading the new newspaper over his breakfast, he points out that it was John O. Watson who won the sweepstakes and not John H. Watson, and Moriarty opens the pub back up to everyone.
42. The Grossest Episode. When Professor Moriarty says his calculations of London sewage production from overpopulation is causing the Thames to rise, Mycroft decides the castaways must build a new hut on higher ground. All the castaways have ideas on how to improve the new construction, which they call 223B Island Street, and their solo efforts each wind up counteracting some others. The one part that does manage to get built is a crow's nest, from which John Watson spots a fleet of huge filthy prison ships headed for downriver for Australia, causing the river to rise and freely dumping waste overboard. Moriarty's theory disproven, they all retire to 221B Island Street and listen to Sherlock Holmes tell the story of the Gloria Scott one more time.
Well, when the seasons are that long, all the episodes can't be winners. (Have we had a winner yet? Winner implies contest, as well as that it's all over. Perhaps we need to declare a winner.)
Stay tuned for more John Watson's Island! (Or change the channel to one of those showing Sherlockian porn, as the stories are probably a lot better!)
37. The Grice Patersons from the Isle of Oof-ah. A family of primitive Scots from a neighboring island show up and encounter John Watson in the jungle. After many comical communication errors, Mycroft informs John that they want him to marry their daughter, having come to the island in search of a mate for her. Mycroft interprets that John must past a marital test of manhood first, involving a caber toss and a hammer throw, and that Watson should do it so the Scots will help them get off the island. Lestrade offers to help John practice, but while tossing the caber, Lestrade accidentally kills the bride-to-be's mother. According to Scot islander custom, he must then take the mother's place in the family. After wacky attempts at Scottish maternal duties, Lestrade's new husband decides divorce is best and takes his daughter away from the island to get as far away from the Scotland Yard inspector as possible.
38. An Admirable Queen. When a newspaper washes up on the shore with a headline about the winner of the Miss British Empire contest, Irene becomes furious, as the winner was her understudy in the last opera she performed in, who also replaced her as star when she became shipwrecked. When Sherlock says that Irene is still the most beautiful woman on their current island empire in an act a rare chivalry, John argues that Mary might be the more handsome woman, and Mycroft then proposes that Inspector Lestrade is really the most handsome of all the castaways. Professor Moriarty proposes a beauty pageant to settle the issue. Since Moriarty is the only one without bias toward a particular candidate, he is asked to judge the contest, which sparks all sorts of hijinks as the castaways sabotage each other's chances. Moriarty finally decides that they all look so foolish that he is the only fitting queen of the island and places the crown upon his own head.
39. A Scandal in New San Pedro. Don Murillo, the Tiger of San Pedro, arrives at the island after being thrown off a steam launch by countrymen carrying out his exile. Murillo declares the island "New San Pedro" and announces himself the new dictator of the island nation. Mycroft explains that this is a democratic island in which every castaway is a member of the parliament that chooses their prime minister, and Murillo, realizing he cannot win such an election, starts promoting the merits of John Watson as prime minister, sure that he can connive his way into a spot as Watson's top advisor. No one thinks Watson can beat such brainy candidates as the Holmes brothers and Moriarty, but when the "smart" votes are split so widely between them, John Watson wins the election with three votes. (Sherlock's, Mary's, and Don Murillo's.) John has a whole weird dream about being king of the island, yet a puppet to Don Murillo, and wakes convinced to resign, only to find that Don Murillo has been mysteriously murdered during the night, which Moriarty confesses to and everyone laughs, deciding they don't need a government after all.
40. The Developed Footage. When John Watson discovers a downed hot air balloon with an aerial camera, the castaways decide they can repair and re-inflate the balloon to carry the camera back to London with pictures of them and a note to summon a rescue. After much debate and many humorous modeling sessions, the castaways decide to dress primitively to show their desperate straits. But after the letter asking for help is placed on the balloon, Watson decides to change something, accidentally releasing the balloon as he grabs the letter. When the camera makes it back to London, the geographers who funded its mission declare it a great success, as the pictures they find seem to be of a new tribe of primitive Britons living as they did before civilization. The geographers all then agree that those innocent natives should be left alone to live their lives.
41. The Gold Circle. Another newspaper washes ashore in a water-proof trunk, this time announcing that the missing John Watson is the winner of the Irish Sweepstakes. Professor Moriarty announces that his pub is now an exclusive club for the island's wealthy, whom he calls his "Baker Street Regulars." John, finding himself a bit lonely in the club, writes IOUs for 50,000 pounds to Irene and Mary, then later one for Sherlock, who passes it to his brother when he gets tired and is going to bed. Lestrade just comes in saying he had to investigate a complaint he had about the establishment, and Sherlock has a crazy dream about the old West and a town that only lets rich Americans in. Reading the new newspaper over his breakfast, he points out that it was John O. Watson who won the sweepstakes and not John H. Watson, and Moriarty opens the pub back up to everyone.
42. The Grossest Episode. When Professor Moriarty says his calculations of London sewage production from overpopulation is causing the Thames to rise, Mycroft decides the castaways must build a new hut on higher ground. All the castaways have ideas on how to improve the new construction, which they call 223B Island Street, and their solo efforts each wind up counteracting some others. The one part that does manage to get built is a crow's nest, from which John Watson spots a fleet of huge filthy prison ships headed for downriver for Australia, causing the river to rise and freely dumping waste overboard. Moriarty's theory disproven, they all retire to 221B Island Street and listen to Sherlock Holmes tell the story of the Gloria Scott one more time.
Well, when the seasons are that long, all the episodes can't be winners. (Have we had a winner yet? Winner implies contest, as well as that it's all over. Perhaps we need to declare a winner.)
Stay tuned for more John Watson's Island! (Or change the channel to one of those showing Sherlockian porn, as the stories are probably a lot better!)
Monday, August 7, 2017
The great composers of Sherlock Holmes.
Way back in 1996, Varese Sarabande produced a CD of music called Sherlock Holmes -- Classic Themes from 221B Baker Street. It led with Patrick Gowers's theme music from the Jeremy Brett series, which was state-of-the-Sherlock back then, and wandered through the musical filmography of Sherlock Holmes, hitting Stephen Sondheim, Miklos Rozsa, and Henry Mancini before it was done. Very cool for 1996. But twenty years have passed, and Sherlock Holmes really needs a two (or three) volume set now if he is going to be represented on vinyl or CD.
Seeing Hans Zimmer including a little Sherlock Holmes in a program of movie music he was doing inspired this little reverie. Zimmer's music for Robert Downey Jr.'s time as Sherlock has a marvelous feel to it, capturing Holmes in a way unlike any before him. (And got an Oscar nomination for score.)
We also now have the work of David Arnold and Michael Price on BBC's Sherlock, which won an Emmy award, as well as Sean Callery's theme for CBS's Elementary, which may not have won an Emmy but did get nominated.
There are some serious contenders for composer of "best Sherlock Holmes music" these days. Folks with some serious credits to their names coming in to do very good work. But being completist collectors, a modern compilation would surely not stop with those heavy hitters.
We'd also like to see a track from Chris Ridenhour's soundtrack to "Sherlock Holmes and Dinosaurs," as it is affectionately known, from The Asylum films. (The guy did the Sharknado music, as well as a boatload of other such films.)
John Barry's score to They Might Be Giants needs representation. I mean, John Barry! Even if you forget Bond films, he was winning BAFTAs before most Americans knew what BAFTAs were.
And while that earlier CD I mentioned, did have a Henry Mancini track from Without A Clue, what about Mancini's work on The Great Mouse Detective, which one could argue had more real Sherlock Holmes than Without A Clue. Definitely need some of that on there!
An while we're talking animated, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century has a theme song that's an earworm which will not be denied. Eric Allaman is the composer credited with the show's music, and he also did the music for Sherlock Holmes and the Incident at Victoria Falls, so he definitely deserves inclusion.
What else? A bit of Colin Towns from Hands of a Murderer? Madeline Khan singing with Gene Wilder from The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes's Smarter Brother? (With all the fuss over Eurus Holmes of late, how can we forget Sigerson Holmes? And damned if I wouldn't pay to see Eurus and Siggy in a movie together.)
The music that's been created for and inspired by Sherlock Holmes over the years is a deep, deep rabbit hole, and one that deserves collecting in its own right. Actors may stand front and center for any Sherlock Holmes production, but the music . . . ah, the music is always what takes a production over the top. And Holmes has had some great stuff, even when the Holmes in front of it wasn't necessarily so great.
Perhaps one day, we'll see it all gathered in one place for a long, thoughtful tour of his tunes. I sure hope so.
Seeing Hans Zimmer including a little Sherlock Holmes in a program of movie music he was doing inspired this little reverie. Zimmer's music for Robert Downey Jr.'s time as Sherlock has a marvelous feel to it, capturing Holmes in a way unlike any before him. (And got an Oscar nomination for score.)
We also now have the work of David Arnold and Michael Price on BBC's Sherlock, which won an Emmy award, as well as Sean Callery's theme for CBS's Elementary, which may not have won an Emmy but did get nominated.
There are some serious contenders for composer of "best Sherlock Holmes music" these days. Folks with some serious credits to their names coming in to do very good work. But being completist collectors, a modern compilation would surely not stop with those heavy hitters.
We'd also like to see a track from Chris Ridenhour's soundtrack to "Sherlock Holmes and Dinosaurs," as it is affectionately known, from The Asylum films. (The guy did the Sharknado music, as well as a boatload of other such films.)
John Barry's score to They Might Be Giants needs representation. I mean, John Barry! Even if you forget Bond films, he was winning BAFTAs before most Americans knew what BAFTAs were.
And while that earlier CD I mentioned, did have a Henry Mancini track from Without A Clue, what about Mancini's work on The Great Mouse Detective, which one could argue had more real Sherlock Holmes than Without A Clue. Definitely need some of that on there!
An while we're talking animated, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century has a theme song that's an earworm which will not be denied. Eric Allaman is the composer credited with the show's music, and he also did the music for Sherlock Holmes and the Incident at Victoria Falls, so he definitely deserves inclusion.
What else? A bit of Colin Towns from Hands of a Murderer? Madeline Khan singing with Gene Wilder from The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes's Smarter Brother? (With all the fuss over Eurus Holmes of late, how can we forget Sigerson Holmes? And damned if I wouldn't pay to see Eurus and Siggy in a movie together.)
The music that's been created for and inspired by Sherlock Holmes over the years is a deep, deep rabbit hole, and one that deserves collecting in its own right. Actors may stand front and center for any Sherlock Holmes production, but the music . . . ah, the music is always what takes a production over the top. And Holmes has had some great stuff, even when the Holmes in front of it wasn't necessarily so great.
Perhaps one day, we'll see it all gathered in one place for a long, thoughtful tour of his tunes. I sure hope so.
Sunday, August 6, 2017
Let us speak of CBS's Elementary.
Well, it's August, and the time when TV viewers start looking forward to the fall season, with all its new shows and returning favorites. Unfortunately for those desperate to hear the name "Sherlock Holmes" spoken anew from the surround sound on their fifty inch flatscreen, that's not really happening this year.
After five years of full-court press, CBS has decided to bench Elementary for the fall and bring it back in January with a thirteen episode run. (Twenty-four episodes is the norm.) Such a move makes one wonder if this might not be the end for that procedural Sherlockian fan favorite, and, given that potential . . . that CBS is just running out the clock . . . makes one wonder if the showrunners are just going to go for it.
Now, whatever else backseat screenwriters, disappointed Johnlockers, and grumpy Canon purists had to say about season four of BBC's Sherlock, no one can say that the showrunners weren't running hard at something for that potentially final season. They could have knocked out three comfortably status-quo mysteries where no babies were dealt with, no mommies were killed, no friends or lovers were mercilessly beaten, no homes were exploded, no landladies ran wild, no husbands were unfaithful, no dogs were delusions, no super-geniuses were operating from island fortresses . . . holy crap, they packed a lot into three episodes . . . but it cannot be said that the series creators were not trying to get the most bang for their buck out of their three latest chances to play with Sherlock Holmes.
So, come 2018, we might be seeing the last run of Elementary, and those who run the show are surely fully aware that this thirteen episode order might be the end. Do they go for it, or just wind down as they carried on for five seasons, handing out weekly procedural drama, with individual episodes often ignoring ongoing subplots in favor of the week's mystery?
Jonny Lee Miller's Sherlock character will be getting a new recovering addict buddy named Michael in season six, and some medical unpleasantness is going on with his brain. (Could this Michael be the one stablehand in "The Sussex Vampire" who sleeps in the house? He's the only Canonical Michael.) And twelve episodes is a lot of airtime -- a full season for Netflix or some other cable channels. Will Elementary take the route of "living like it is dying?" Or will it cozy on down for a final twelve procedural cases and finish with a Jonny and Lucy hug sort of scene? Or wilder still, risk it all on the hope of one more season and end on a cliffhanger?
Whatever the case, we probably won't know until next year.
After five years of full-court press, CBS has decided to bench Elementary for the fall and bring it back in January with a thirteen episode run. (Twenty-four episodes is the norm.) Such a move makes one wonder if this might not be the end for that procedural Sherlockian fan favorite, and, given that potential . . . that CBS is just running out the clock . . . makes one wonder if the showrunners are just going to go for it.
Now, whatever else backseat screenwriters, disappointed Johnlockers, and grumpy Canon purists had to say about season four of BBC's Sherlock, no one can say that the showrunners weren't running hard at something for that potentially final season. They could have knocked out three comfortably status-quo mysteries where no babies were dealt with, no mommies were killed, no friends or lovers were mercilessly beaten, no homes were exploded, no landladies ran wild, no husbands were unfaithful, no dogs were delusions, no super-geniuses were operating from island fortresses . . . holy crap, they packed a lot into three episodes . . . but it cannot be said that the series creators were not trying to get the most bang for their buck out of their three latest chances to play with Sherlock Holmes.
So, come 2018, we might be seeing the last run of Elementary, and those who run the show are surely fully aware that this thirteen episode order might be the end. Do they go for it, or just wind down as they carried on for five seasons, handing out weekly procedural drama, with individual episodes often ignoring ongoing subplots in favor of the week's mystery?
Jonny Lee Miller's Sherlock character will be getting a new recovering addict buddy named Michael in season six, and some medical unpleasantness is going on with his brain. (Could this Michael be the one stablehand in "The Sussex Vampire" who sleeps in the house? He's the only Canonical Michael.) And twelve episodes is a lot of airtime -- a full season for Netflix or some other cable channels. Will Elementary take the route of "living like it is dying?" Or will it cozy on down for a final twelve procedural cases and finish with a Jonny and Lucy hug sort of scene? Or wilder still, risk it all on the hope of one more season and end on a cliffhanger?
Whatever the case, we probably won't know until next year.
Saturday, August 5, 2017
Lex Luthor's favorite literary character
There's a scene in the latest issue of Green Arrow comics (issue 28, story by Benjamin Percy, art by Juan Ferreyra), where that classic Superman foe Lex Luthor asks Green Arrow if he knows who his favorite literary character is.
"Guessing Dracula . . ." is Green Arrow's reply.
"Sherlock Holmes," Luthor replies, "because he is always twelve steps ahead of everyone."
Lex Luthor then goes on to demonstrate his ample brainpower by making Sherlock-style observations about Green Arrow.
Now, it may seem odd that a classic comic-book super-villain has Sherlock Holmes as a hero, but Lex Luthor has gone through a lot of changes in recent years, and his most current comic book incarnation has a certain almost nobility about him. He's even on Superman's side quite a bit of the time, having seemed to have changed his mind about the Man of Steel, and Luthor even wears an "S" and a cape to deal with trouble.
And if Lex Luthor can find something heroic worth modeling in Superman after all this time, well, he was probably at Sherlock Holmes a long time before. He wouldn't be the first intelligent captain of industry to find inspiration in Holmes.
But it does bring us to the bigger question: Is Lex Luthor truly a Sherlock Holmes fan? Would he be a member of the Baker Street Irregulars of Metropolis? For on Superman's Earth, are we so sure the B.S.I. began in New York? And if Luthor is an Irregular, who else in the DC Comics universe would head to New York in January as well?
Of course, New York has two doppelgangers on the world of DC Comics: Metropolis and Gotham City. And if there was a Baker Street Irregulars of Gotham City instead of Metropolis, what Sherlockian would we find there? While such a gathering might seem too frivolous for the Batman, his alter ego has often played the frivolous socialite. Bruce Wayne might have found a once-a-year banquet just one more easy activity to cover a true obsession with crime.
Of course, there was that time in the 1980s when Batman actually met Sherlock Holmes . . .
In Detective Comics, issue 572 for March of 1987, we find Batman in a rare condition: total astonishment. And what's he astonished at? Not that he has encountered an aged Sherlockian cosplayer in a deerstalker with a pipe. No. Batman has run into a person who not only shouldn't be alive, he's run into someone who shouldn't exist. And someone whose sudden existence appears to be very important to him. Like it would a proper Sherlockian.
So do we now find that Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor might have had something in common besides being two of the wealthiest men in Metropolis and Gotham City? Could be.
Sherlockians do show up in all sorts of places, something that should surprise none of us.
"Guessing Dracula . . ." is Green Arrow's reply.
"Sherlock Holmes," Luthor replies, "because he is always twelve steps ahead of everyone."
Lex Luthor then goes on to demonstrate his ample brainpower by making Sherlock-style observations about Green Arrow.
Now, it may seem odd that a classic comic-book super-villain has Sherlock Holmes as a hero, but Lex Luthor has gone through a lot of changes in recent years, and his most current comic book incarnation has a certain almost nobility about him. He's even on Superman's side quite a bit of the time, having seemed to have changed his mind about the Man of Steel, and Luthor even wears an "S" and a cape to deal with trouble.
And if Lex Luthor can find something heroic worth modeling in Superman after all this time, well, he was probably at Sherlock Holmes a long time before. He wouldn't be the first intelligent captain of industry to find inspiration in Holmes.
But it does bring us to the bigger question: Is Lex Luthor truly a Sherlock Holmes fan? Would he be a member of the Baker Street Irregulars of Metropolis? For on Superman's Earth, are we so sure the B.S.I. began in New York? And if Luthor is an Irregular, who else in the DC Comics universe would head to New York in January as well?
Of course, New York has two doppelgangers on the world of DC Comics: Metropolis and Gotham City. And if there was a Baker Street Irregulars of Gotham City instead of Metropolis, what Sherlockian would we find there? While such a gathering might seem too frivolous for the Batman, his alter ego has often played the frivolous socialite. Bruce Wayne might have found a once-a-year banquet just one more easy activity to cover a true obsession with crime.
Of course, there was that time in the 1980s when Batman actually met Sherlock Holmes . . .
In Detective Comics, issue 572 for March of 1987, we find Batman in a rare condition: total astonishment. And what's he astonished at? Not that he has encountered an aged Sherlockian cosplayer in a deerstalker with a pipe. No. Batman has run into a person who not only shouldn't be alive, he's run into someone who shouldn't exist. And someone whose sudden existence appears to be very important to him. Like it would a proper Sherlockian.
So do we now find that Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor might have had something in common besides being two of the wealthiest men in Metropolis and Gotham City? Could be.
Sherlockians do show up in all sorts of places, something that should surprise none of us.
The unspoken observations, the other discoveries.
Not all detective stories are Sherlock Holmes stories, of course.
And fans of Sherlock are not necessarily fans of all mysteries. He's a special one, a rare individual with a particular way of dealing with the mysteries that come his way. Few detectives measure up. But that is what gives some of the stories their substance.
Take BBC's Broadchurch, for example, a streaming pick that I've taken up recently. The lead detective's inability to solve the crime quickly is what makes the story. As the search for answers drags on, more and more secrets from under the town's appearance of quiet normalcy start to come out. So many of the characters are hiding something, much of which has nothing to do with the crime being investigated. And those secrets are what turn the story into an ongoing series.
Sherlock Holmes's efficiency had him solving matters in fifty-six cases that could be recorded as "short" stories. And John Watson had a part in that efficiency as well, editing the investigations down to fit in a size The Strand Magazine could handle. But when you look at a detective story being told like Broadchurch and you think about how Sherlock Holmes would have looked at such a town and such a case, and what he would have seen there . . . and how none of it would have been reported by Watson in The Strand.
But Sherlock Holmes would have known.
Sherlock Holmes would have known. All the little details picked up by his keen eye. All the little truths exposed by those observations. All the secrets revealed in those truths. All the darkness that Sherlock Holmes kept inside and didn't let out. Except for the momentary flash . . . .
"It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside."
Sherlock Holmes states pretty clearly that those words from "The Adventure of the Copper Beeches" come from personal experience. And they sound like it wasn't just a single experience.
Watching what comes out in the long investigation shown in the first season of Broadchurch, one could imagine all the similar things that Sherlock Holmes kept inside, the leads he followed when he was away from Watson, and those Watson left out.
When Sherlock Holmes said, of Copernican theory, "You say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or my work," we tend to think he was just having some fun with Watson. But there's a truth behind those words, a rule that Sherlock Holmes had to live by, dressed up in astronomical clothes. When on a case, Sherlock Holmes had to stick to only those facts that had to do with his work -- the case at hand.
One can imagine him using a paraphrase of that with a overly helpful witness: "You say that Mr. Roundhay is stealing from the church coffers. If he was stealing the Crown jewels from the Tower of London it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or my work."
Adaptations often like to see Sherlock Holmes as "an automaton -- a calculating machine," as John Watson accused him of being in The Sign of Four. But as John surely knew better than anyone, Sherlock had depths, and some emotional depths at that. All of the things that he learned, all of the things that he saw . . . Robert Downey Jr.'s Sherlock Holmes touched on it as an overload of the senses, but there was more to it than that . . . Holmes didn't just sense more. He learned more. He knew more. More than he could ever reveal.
Did he allow his best friend in on that burden, to help carry the load? Were the hiatus and the somewhat early retirement both necessary retreats from all those secrets? Bees, for all their society, have no personal dramas filling the hive with backstories Holmes had to consider to care for the colony.
For all the years and all the fans, there is still so much to Sherlock Holmes we have yet to consider.
And fans of Sherlock are not necessarily fans of all mysteries. He's a special one, a rare individual with a particular way of dealing with the mysteries that come his way. Few detectives measure up. But that is what gives some of the stories their substance.
Take BBC's Broadchurch, for example, a streaming pick that I've taken up recently. The lead detective's inability to solve the crime quickly is what makes the story. As the search for answers drags on, more and more secrets from under the town's appearance of quiet normalcy start to come out. So many of the characters are hiding something, much of which has nothing to do with the crime being investigated. And those secrets are what turn the story into an ongoing series.
Sherlock Holmes's efficiency had him solving matters in fifty-six cases that could be recorded as "short" stories. And John Watson had a part in that efficiency as well, editing the investigations down to fit in a size The Strand Magazine could handle. But when you look at a detective story being told like Broadchurch and you think about how Sherlock Holmes would have looked at such a town and such a case, and what he would have seen there . . . and how none of it would have been reported by Watson in The Strand.
But Sherlock Holmes would have known.
Sherlock Holmes would have known. All the little details picked up by his keen eye. All the little truths exposed by those observations. All the secrets revealed in those truths. All the darkness that Sherlock Holmes kept inside and didn't let out. Except for the momentary flash . . . .
"It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside."
Sherlock Holmes states pretty clearly that those words from "The Adventure of the Copper Beeches" come from personal experience. And they sound like it wasn't just a single experience.
Watching what comes out in the long investigation shown in the first season of Broadchurch, one could imagine all the similar things that Sherlock Holmes kept inside, the leads he followed when he was away from Watson, and those Watson left out.
When Sherlock Holmes said, of Copernican theory, "You say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or my work," we tend to think he was just having some fun with Watson. But there's a truth behind those words, a rule that Sherlock Holmes had to live by, dressed up in astronomical clothes. When on a case, Sherlock Holmes had to stick to only those facts that had to do with his work -- the case at hand.
One can imagine him using a paraphrase of that with a overly helpful witness: "You say that Mr. Roundhay is stealing from the church coffers. If he was stealing the Crown jewels from the Tower of London it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or my work."
Adaptations often like to see Sherlock Holmes as "an automaton -- a calculating machine," as John Watson accused him of being in The Sign of Four. But as John surely knew better than anyone, Sherlock had depths, and some emotional depths at that. All of the things that he learned, all of the things that he saw . . . Robert Downey Jr.'s Sherlock Holmes touched on it as an overload of the senses, but there was more to it than that . . . Holmes didn't just sense more. He learned more. He knew more. More than he could ever reveal.
Did he allow his best friend in on that burden, to help carry the load? Were the hiatus and the somewhat early retirement both necessary retreats from all those secrets? Bees, for all their society, have no personal dramas filling the hive with backstories Holmes had to consider to care for the colony.
For all the years and all the fans, there is still so much to Sherlock Holmes we have yet to consider.
Friday, August 4, 2017
Jurys of the Canon.
It's the lazy days of summer, so why not just let the lines from the stories themselves roll over you and tell the tale themselves. (One could say I'm presenting the evidence and letting you be the jury, but naaaww. Just lazy.)
"I should be judge, jury, and executioner, all rolled into one."
"How could I hope to make it good before twelve foolish tradesman in a jury-box?"
"This explanation was borne out by the post-mortem examination, which showed long-standing desease, and the coroner's jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence."
"You and I know that he died of sheer fright, and we know also what frightened him; but how are we to get twelve stolid jurymen to know it?"
"I had a complete knowledge of the whole business, but I had not a case which could go to a jury."
"Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed British jury."
"A single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner's jury."
"I really think we have enough to go before a jury."
"And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid before a judge or jury."
"That's for a jury to decide."
"I fancy that I have evidence enough to satisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it."
"However, that is for a British jury to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you that if you choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours I will promise you that no one will hinder you."
"Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met a man who was more eminently fitted to represent one."
"The coroner's jury brought in the obvious 'Willful murder', but the parties remained as unknown as ever."
"I knew the facts were true, but could I hope to make a jury of countrymen believe so fantastic a story?"
"That was the view taken by the coroner's jury and also in the police-court proceedings."
Did Holmes's view of juries evolve over time? Did Dr. Watson eventually follow the path chosen by Jefferson Hope and be the second man in the Canon to decide he was a jury, or does Holmes's appointment of him make him a more innocent jury-poser? In any case, it's the lazy days of summer, so don't think too hard about it.
"I should be judge, jury, and executioner, all rolled into one."
-- Jefferson Hope, American
"How could I hope to make it good before twelve foolish tradesman in a jury-box?"
-- Arthur Morstan, British father of British Mary
"This explanation was borne out by the post-mortem examination, which showed long-standing desease, and the coroner's jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence."
-- Dr. James "Boring" Mortimer, Briton
"You and I know that he died of sheer fright, and we know also what frightened him; but how are we to get twelve stolid jurymen to know it?"
-- Sherlock Holmes, looking to take a hound to court
"I had a complete knowledge of the whole business, but I had not a case which could go to a jury."
-- Sherlock Holmes, still working out the hound and the court
"Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed British jury."
-- Inspector G. Lestrade, a man who knows his job
"A single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner's jury."
-- Sherlock Holmes, thinking highly of coroner's juries
"I really think we have enough to go before a jury."
-- Inspector Gregory
"And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid before a judge or jury."
-- Sherlock Holmes on his brother Mycroft
"That's for a jury to decide."
-- Inspector G. Lestrade, again
"I fancy that I have evidence enough to satisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it."
-- Inspector Stanley Hopkins
"However, that is for a British jury to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you that if you choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours I will promise you that no one will hinder you."
-- Sherlock Holmes, making one less jury necessary
"Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met a man who was more eminently fitted to represent one."
-- Sherlock Holmes, deciding he needs a jury after all
"The coroner's jury brought in the obvious 'Willful murder', but the parties remained as unknown as ever."
-- John H. Watson, reporting
"I knew the facts were true, but could I hope to make a jury of countrymen believe so fantastic a story?"
-- Leon Sterndale, about to disappear into Africa
"That was the view taken by the coroner's jury and also in the police-court proceedings."
-- Sherlock Holmes, about to go in and prove otherwise
Did Holmes's view of juries evolve over time? Did Dr. Watson eventually follow the path chosen by Jefferson Hope and be the second man in the Canon to decide he was a jury, or does Holmes's appointment of him make him a more innocent jury-poser? In any case, it's the lazy days of summer, so don't think too hard about it.
Wednesday, August 2, 2017
That moment you loved Sherlock Holmes best.
When did you most enjoy Mr. Sherlock Holmes?
Don't answer right away. Let the full meaning of that question sink in.
At this point, nearly a hundred and thirty years after his creation, Sherlock Holmes is so much a part of the culture that the sixty tales with Arthur Conan Doyle's name on them is probably not your initial introduction to the character. Unless Doyle's work was thrust upon you in school (and you were paying attention), chances are you first saw Sherlock Holmes on television.
And while most of us anchor our love of Sherlock to a Canon, be it ACD or BBC, I would venture to say that our biggest lifetime thrill regarding Mr. Sherlock Holmes did not come directly from the ACD anchor-point any more. It is the holy source of all things Sherlock, yes, but that fan who traces their initial falling in love with Sherlock Holmes to a moment in, say, The Hound of the Baskervilles is becoming rare indeed.
And even if you truly bonded to Holmes after full ACD Canon immersion, I'd bet if we had hooked you up to any source of response-measurement machine for your entire life, your highest reaction point to a Sherlock Holmes stimuli would have come from something later, something that took you by surprise once you had developed your love of Sherlock Holmes over time.
Because I don't think we ever truly enjoy Sherlock Holmes completely until we know Sherlock Holmes.
It's like the concept of love at first sight. Sure, you might have a moment of "Wow, that person is amazing and I'm having feelings!" But if that's the peak of your relationship with that person, why even bother having a relationship. You'll always remember that moment, but, if things go well, you'll have a lot more moments you remember just as fondly, if not moreso.
So it is with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
And when you consider the long term . . . like being into Sherlock Holmes for decades and decades, as many people are . . . you don't hang on that long without some high points along the way. It may be discovering other fans who speak your language at a Sherlockian event. It may be in something really good written by a non-ACD author. And it may be . . . heaven forbid . . . in a movie or television show.
To be honest, as much as I've loved Sherlock Holmes the character and drawn fun and frolic from the original ACD tales over time, I think that if I had to rank single moments of joy, BBC Sherlock topped the Doyle Canon in spots. Works by other writers, both pastiche and essay, have topped the Doyle Canon at times for sheer enjoyment. ACD's works are the fuel, but they aren't the engine, and they certainly don't press the pedal to the metal any more . . . that comes from forces outside those original sixty stories. Is that blasphemy at this point? I really don't think so.
A staple of Sherlockian essaydom has long been "what is it that we love best about Sherlock Holmes" or "when did I first meet Sherlock Holmes." But as Holmes has spread so far and wide in our culture, a new question to add to those staples might be "When did I love Sherlock Holmes the best?"
Because there's so much Holmes to love out there. And should love ever have limits?
Don't answer right away. Let the full meaning of that question sink in.
At this point, nearly a hundred and thirty years after his creation, Sherlock Holmes is so much a part of the culture that the sixty tales with Arthur Conan Doyle's name on them is probably not your initial introduction to the character. Unless Doyle's work was thrust upon you in school (and you were paying attention), chances are you first saw Sherlock Holmes on television.
And while most of us anchor our love of Sherlock to a Canon, be it ACD or BBC, I would venture to say that our biggest lifetime thrill regarding Mr. Sherlock Holmes did not come directly from the ACD anchor-point any more. It is the holy source of all things Sherlock, yes, but that fan who traces their initial falling in love with Sherlock Holmes to a moment in, say, The Hound of the Baskervilles is becoming rare indeed.
And even if you truly bonded to Holmes after full ACD Canon immersion, I'd bet if we had hooked you up to any source of response-measurement machine for your entire life, your highest reaction point to a Sherlock Holmes stimuli would have come from something later, something that took you by surprise once you had developed your love of Sherlock Holmes over time.
Because I don't think we ever truly enjoy Sherlock Holmes completely until we know Sherlock Holmes.
It's like the concept of love at first sight. Sure, you might have a moment of "Wow, that person is amazing and I'm having feelings!" But if that's the peak of your relationship with that person, why even bother having a relationship. You'll always remember that moment, but, if things go well, you'll have a lot more moments you remember just as fondly, if not moreso.
So it is with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
And when you consider the long term . . . like being into Sherlock Holmes for decades and decades, as many people are . . . you don't hang on that long without some high points along the way. It may be discovering other fans who speak your language at a Sherlockian event. It may be in something really good written by a non-ACD author. And it may be . . . heaven forbid . . . in a movie or television show.
To be honest, as much as I've loved Sherlock Holmes the character and drawn fun and frolic from the original ACD tales over time, I think that if I had to rank single moments of joy, BBC Sherlock topped the Doyle Canon in spots. Works by other writers, both pastiche and essay, have topped the Doyle Canon at times for sheer enjoyment. ACD's works are the fuel, but they aren't the engine, and they certainly don't press the pedal to the metal any more . . . that comes from forces outside those original sixty stories. Is that blasphemy at this point? I really don't think so.
A staple of Sherlockian essaydom has long been "what is it that we love best about Sherlock Holmes" or "when did I first meet Sherlock Holmes." But as Holmes has spread so far and wide in our culture, a new question to add to those staples might be "When did I love Sherlock Holmes the best?"
Because there's so much Holmes to love out there. And should love ever have limits?
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