Summer of Sherlock: The Norwood Builder

In the summer of 1894, things just got weird on Baker Street.

Remember Sherlock Holmes? The guy who loved all those weird little puzzles presented by humanity interacting in its great metropolis. A found Christmas goose and hat, a near-sighted girl with a boyfriend who took off . . . he seemed to take joy in digging up the truth in all sorts of situations. But after a few years off, suddenly he's bitching that Moriarty isn't around to make crime more interesting, and refers to himself as "out-of-work."

Remember Dr. Watson? The guy who used to have a wife and attempt to practice medicine? He's given up the medical profession and moved back into Holmes's rooms, recruited as a partner . . . for that business Holmes is out-of-work at.

This Sherlock Holmes, who has talked Dr. Watson into giving up his own life, is also perversely happy to see a ruined mess of a young man show up on the run from the police and a murder charge. There have been many who suspected Sherlock Holmes was not the same man when he returned from his supposed death at Reichenbach Falls, ever since Father Ronald Knox pointed it out in the 1920s, and "The Adventure of the Norwood Builder," by itself is a case that lends credence to that theory.

Even Inspector Lestrade seems to have lost confidence in Sherlock Holmes in this case, advising him to give it up at one point without even telling him why. And if Lestrade wasn't concern enough, consider this: Sherlock Holmes seems to be unsure if he has the stuff to solve it. Sure, he talks a good game, but when Watson sees him the second morning of the case, he has spent a sleepless night and looks "pale and harassed." Holmes actually seems like he spent more of the night worrying about not being able to solve it than actually thinking it over and over like he used to, back in the pre-Moriarty days.

And here's where it gets really weird: The first story of Sherlock Holmes's return to life after his supposed death at Reichenbach Falls is the tale of his reappearance, a necessary choice. The second? "Norwood Builder," a tale of  *** SPOILER ALERT FOR THE HUNDRED YEAR OLD STORY *** a man who fakes his own death. Almost like Watson is trying to cement the idea of Sherlock Holmes faking his death (with that wacky "reversing his shoes" ploy) in the heads of his readers by kind of going, "See, people fake their deaths all the time." Which then makes one wonder, what if the tale that Holmes faked his own death is the actual fake-out in this cycle?

At the end of the tale, Sherlock Holmes asked the villain how he pulled off a part of his plot involving burned bones: "By the way, what was it you put into the woodpile besides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rabbits, or what?" When no answer is forthcoming, Holmes then actually advises Watson, "If ever you write an account, Watson, you can make rabbits serve your turn."

In other words, "Just make something up, Watson!" like the threshold of fiction has already been well crossed in some much larger violation of Watson's sharing the truth with the reader.

Of all the stories in the Summer of Sherlock so far, I think this is my least favorite for all those doubts that it casts upon our trusted friends Holmes and Watson. Were these details perhaps a touch of shading by an angry literary agent who was grumpy enough at Holmes's return to do a little malign editing of Watson's words? Or was this indeed a second Holmes pushed upon the public? It is a very uncomfortable choice.

As bad as I wanna be.

Well, the Bootalicious E-story contest deadline was today, and just to be sure, I finished my own little Watsonian chronicle before bed last night. As I imagined, and is typical for the word-limit, time-limit short story contest, I ran out of runway in landing my literary Cessna, the landing gear came off when I hit the 2500 word limit, and the craft started taking damage as I tried to save the passengers, so to speak.

But, hey, it's not like I'm in it for the glory.

Simultaneous to my literary hard landing was a Facebook friend's rant against people who say movies suck. I suspect his point was directed toward those critics who go see every movie, then gripe about films that were never intended toward their demographic or personality type. But I couldn't help being touched by his words, because, after all, Elementary sucks. And yet I just keep watching it. And it's not even like I have a financial investment such as a movie ticket, which might spur one to finish just to get one's money's worth. It's FREE, FREE, FREE on CBS TV.

All of this, then raises the question: How dare I criticize the creators of Elementary when my own attempts at a Sherlock Holmes tale are definitely sub-par? (Don't think Seven-per-cent Solution. Don't think Beekeeper's Apprentice. Think literary Sharknado.)

Well, for starters, nobody paid me to write my Sherlock Holmes. I work a full-time-plus job, serve on a board, try to keep up with a blog, nurse a Warcraft account along, and then in my leftover time, occasionally write one-draft fiction which I even more occasionally subject people to.  All from my basement here in Peoria, the traditional lair of the fanboy.

Someone who's handed a choice opportunity for a Sherlock Holmes pilot that a network really wants to have on their schedule, thanks to a really good existing Sherlock Holmes franchise . . . well, those folks should have a little more expected of them. Mainly their network, of course, by whom they are judged by the ratings numbers, and thus, advertising dollars they bring in. But also by fans of the existing character they were assigned to re-create. Sure, we're probably not even a blip on the ratings, but we get to have our opinions by right of having been here first. I'm not saying that Sherlockians are the Native Americans of this country's Holmes mindset, but I might say that Elementary did try to buy us off with a few beads and trinkets in the paltry cookies the show provides.

And for all my faults, I do dump a lot of sugar into my Sherlock literary cookies. Which makes them a lot of fun to make, and sometimes that's just the point. Even when your mixed metaphoric cookies over-shoot the runway and crash and burn.

Summer of Sherlock: The Lion's Mane.

Curiously, reading the tales of Sherlock Holmes on the dates they occur reveals an interesting pattern, come late summer . . . retirement suddenly comes on strong. Take a look at the next four tales:


July 30, 1907, Tuesday -- "The Lion’s Mane"
August 1, 1894, Wednesday -- "The Norwood Builder"
August 2, 1914, Sunday -- "His Last Bow"
August 20, 1898, Saturday -- "The Retired Colourman" 

First we find Sherlock Holmes in retirement, then a "retiring" fellow who had pretty much given up his own business and then definitely leaving the scene, followed by Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson coming out of retirement, and finally a retiree at the center of a murder mystery.

Is late summer a time when people tend to think of retirement, as summer vacations come to an end and the work of harvests, fall, and winter set in?  Did the season affect Watson and his literary agent in their selection of stories from this time of year?

Off-topic summer side note: Here's a great game to test your Sherlockian know-how -- go to the Moonfind search engine of the Canon. Now think of any Sherlock Holmes story, like "The Lion's Mane." Now think of the one word that will pull up that story -- and only that story -- on the search engine. (And "Lion's Mane" is one of the easier ones.)


The thought of retirement for a mind that "rebels at stagnation" must have been an curious little problem for Sherlock Holmes. Plainly the detective business had lost its luster for him, as once Professor Moriarty is vanquished, Holmes seems to be actually looking for a new Moriarty and not finding one. When he refers to "the late lamented Professor Moriarty," it seems like he's the one doing the lamenting, having to deal with crooks and schemers who aren't even close to his level. But retirement?

It seems Holmes's first choice of retirement busy-work is writing. He writes "The Blanched Soldier." He writes "The Lion's Mane." He writes the Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, probably because he spent as much time and thought on bee-keeping as any man ever did and exhausted that subject -- the bees certainly know what they're doing and don't require too much maintenance past a certain point.

Sherlock Holmes might have also had ideas of becoming something of a naturalist in his retirement, as is hinted at in a number of stories. "Of late I have been tempted to look into the problems furnished by nature," being the biggest clue, said during the finishing of Moriarty. And "Lion's Mane" shows hints of Holmes going that direction, as in his familiarity with the book Out of Doors by J.G. Wood. But he also has to rummage around his attic to find it, so it seems like a hobby he might have given up on.

He still writes up "The Lion's Mane," though, which is exactly the sort of "problem furnished by nature" he spoke of over a decade before.

Yet in July of 1907, when the events of the tale occur, we know that he is not going to stay long in that cottage in Sussex, for the summer story that starts just a couple of days from now is soon two take him away for years. This period of occasional weekend visits from Watson and dropping in on Harold Stackhurst was probably just a bit too lonely for him . . . even those of us that think we are nature people sometimes are surprised to find we were people persons after all.

Because the "Lion's Mane" certainly makes a lousy beach companion. (The story, however, not bad.)

(And one last note: Maud Bellamy. Forget Mary Russell and Irene Adler. Maud Bellamy! The one woman we have Sherlock Holmes's direct testimony on, and even he can't let her pass without comment.)

Summer of Sherlock: The Naval Treaty

Few of the shorter chronicles of Mr. Sherlock Holmes give us as much personal information about he and Dr. Watson as "The Naval Treaty." There are the big biographical items, like learning of Watson's well-born schoolmate Percy Phelps, and the smaller, personal opinion bits, like Holmes's hopes in the sight of board schools and his obvious value of education. (As if his own example wasn't enough.)

And then there are even more subtle things, like Watson's attitude toward his medical practice.

"I was going to say that my practice could get along very well for a day or two, since it is the slackest time of year." Apparently Londoners were healthier in July, but even with that, it's not like John H. Watson is a picture-framer or scissors-grinder, or any one of a thousand professions that work on an "I'll get to it when I get to it" basis. In other tales, the good doctor mentions who he can get to cover for him. In this one, he seems to be more "Aaaaah, they'll get by without me."

Now we know Watson is a bit younger in the 1880s, and perhaps still trying to impress Holmes a bit, but such a cavalier attitude toward his patients seems unlike him. Which makes one wonder . . . was his practice that non-existent in those days? Or was he, perhaps, engaged in a specialty that had a slightly more predictable ebb and flow, like obstetrics?

Once the province of midwives, the late 1800s were a time when doctors were starting to get into the baby business, and Watson, trained as a surgeon, might have taken an interest in Caesarean sections as a possible specialty. He certainly doesn't seem all that interested in his old schoolmate's brain fever.

Percy Phelps does have the honor of being the first known overnight guest at 221B Baker Street. Of course, his stay does bring up the question of the number of bedrooms at 221B: "Mr. Phelps can have the spare bedroom tonight," Holmes says. Did he mean Watson's now-vacant room, in which case it was assumed Watson would either go home for the night or sleep in Sherlock's room? (And if he went home for the night, he really wasn't worried about Phelps's brain fever!)

Finding Watson spending an evening in Baker Street with someone other than Sherlock Holmes is rather an interesting thing as well. The doctor tries entertaining Phelps with tales of Afghanistan and India, catching him up since last they knew each other. Watson raises "social questions," the likes of which I'd certainly like to hear . . . in fact, all the conversational ploys Watson finds don't work with the single-minded Percy Phelps are probably exactly things we'd all love to hear on an evening at 221B, alone with the doctor.

As we will surely never get that happy circumstance, at least our friend Watson has given us a marvelously drawn-out case like "The Naval Treaty," to help fill at least one summer evening.

Writing Sherlock just to see what's under the hood.

With a mere two days left until the deadline for entries to "Bootalicious: The first, the only, Sherlock Holmes e-story contest with boots!" I find myself at 1402 of the 2500 word limit. At which point the second problem with writing for Sherlock Holmes story contests comes in.

First, of course, is getting the idea, getting comfortable in the idea, and starting the writing.

Second, then, comes that moment when you realize you have to land this plane you've just gotten airborne, and you have to do it with only so much fuel and runway left. Story contest judges can be very persnickety about their word count limits. And as so few of us are Stephen King or J.K. Rowling, they're not going to let our works get fatter and fatter just because the market can't get enough of our prose.

Sources on the web say a short story should be between 1,000 and 7,500 words long -- a limit that Watson went over many times, but then, his novels were a bit short by modern standards as well. The "Bootalicious" contest limit actually makes its entries qualify as "short-short stories" and there is where the Sherlockian writer can get into trouble.

There are so many trappings we love that go with an enjoyable Sherlock story. The Baker Street scene, the Watsonian commentary, the descriptions of the clients . . . and then one feels the need to set up a mystery, of course, which must be followed by a solution to said mystery. All of that basically makes it three stories in one. And while one could allow 2,500 words each for the trappings, the mystery, and the solution and get a 7,500 word story in, pulling all three parts together in 2,500 provides something of a challenge.

If you've never written a Sherlock Holmes story, it's an exercise well worth trying, even if you're certain you have no talent whatsoever. No one else has to read your story for you to get something out of it -- the mere act of trying to put together a similar beastie to those stories you've enjoyed all your life can give you a different perspective on what makes them, and what makes them  enjoyable.

It's a little like tinkering with an old car, just to see how it runs. You want to pick a car you're not depending upon to get you were you want to go, just as you don't want to quit your job just to see what writing fiction is like. There are professionals out there who have that covered. But a little tinkering in your spare time never hurt anyone, and can be quite educational.

Summer of Sherlock: The Dancing Men

"The Adventure of the Dancing Men" was perhaps the best read of the Summer of Sherlock here in Peoria so far, for one simple reason: The Hansoms of John Clayton were with me on this one.

Thirty-six years, eight month, and nine days ago, six Hansoms first came together at an address about three hundred yards from where nine of us gathered last night to discuss "Dancing Men," so Peoria's Sherlock Holmes group has a certain consistency to it, to be sure.  Certain rituals were observed, as they have been from that first gathering, but I also have to say that I think the discussion of the story at hand was as good as it ever has been in those years gone by.

The theme that kept coming up in our discussions of "The Adventure of the Dancing Men" was that of honor. While honor doesn't specifically come up in the story (nor in the Canon, according to Moonfind, except for "Speckled Band"'s Honoria Westphail), it seemed like a key factor.

In the modern day, Elsie Cubitt's actions in not telling her husband about her past are a little hard to understand. A simple statement like "My father was a gang leader and there was a very dangerous man who is now stalking me!" might have saved her husband's life and spared her a horrible wound.

We debated her love for her husband and found it sound. We delved into Abe Slaney's mind and found it dangerously obsessive. But what we kept coming back to was the "why" of Elsie's silence. It was a different day, to be sure, and reputation meant a lot, especially to a man of an old, old British family. But how much? Elsie Patrick confides to her future husband that she has "nothing personally to be ashamed of" and says it is simply "the disagreeable associations" of her past which make her promise her future husband to allow her not to talk about her past. And yet she is so frightened by the possibility of him knowing the truth that she will not utter a peep about a direct threat to their lives and marriage.

It is a very hard attitude to grasp for a modern American, but then, like Australia, we're a country born of more than a few criminals and cast-offs of more polite British society. And like it or not, Abe Slaney comes from Chicago, the city that means gangsters, in a state with more governors who wind up in prison than we care to speak of, so we Illinoisians may have a more casual attitude toward a criminal past than most.

Our discussions roamed through those hard-to-understand cultures where killing is accepted for honor and even my completely rejected theory that the line "There was an American young lady there -- Patrick was the name," indicated that Hilton Cubitt's wife was a transvestite and Abe Slaney her/his former gay lover. (Hey, what better code for a hidden Chicago gay community of Victorian times than "dancing men?") But we kept coming back to Elsie Patrick Cubitt's motivations for her silence, which seems much less reasonable to us these days than Effie Munro's fears of racism in "The Yellow Face," a problem we still deal with today.

In any case, "The Adventure of the Dancing Men" yielded a very nice social evening for this Summer of Sherlock here in Peoria. It's always good to see that our old Canon has the power to do that, even after thirty-six years here, and a lot longer elsewhere.

A nude first for an old institution?

Well, The Baker Street Journal has certainly got my attention with this tweet . . . .

And I probably just lost a good share of my readers for a bit longer than the normal blog post holds their attention. Fitting for a summer issue, the hot weather sometimes putting one in that particular suit of one's birth, but questions arise:

Is this Irene Adler's first BSJ cover? Is this the first appearance by a woman on the BSJ cover?

I really hope not, on either point, as that might have a certain controversial overtone. Yes, yes, all in fun, but you know the internet these days, always quick to the controversy . . . oh, wait, I'm a part of that internet. So let me quell the controversy by discussing other nude covers of The Baker Street Journal. Like these:

WHOA! Settle down, there, ladies! I know you got three instead of the one, but they are just drawings after all. And naked as jaybirds! Well, except for that coat . . . which looks a lot like the one Irene Adler used to cover her naked body in "A Scandal in Belgravia," a scene surely inspired by the little known fact that both Sherlock Holmes and Julian Wolff posed nude with coat for the artists of these BSJ covers. I mean, why else would you wear that classic "flasher" style coat? 

Of course, times change and by the time Tom Stix (see correction comment below) made the cover, as you can see, he's wearing nothing but a smile. So the Irene Adler is sort of a natural evolution of sorts, paving the way for the Tom Stix's successor, Mike Whelan, to take Tom's sans-trenchcoat look to a fuller shot.

Where's it all leading? A clothing-optional Baker Street Irregulars dinner? An eventual Cumberbatch centerfold? Articles on the length and girth of Sher . . . ahem . . . well, that would be Sherlockian scholarship we haven't gotten to yet, and writers are always looking for fresh fields. (Though I suspect Tumblr got there months and months ago.)

Well, the old Journal had to do something to get some attention during Comic-Con week, and I guess this bit of cover un-cosplay fits right in. Excuse me while I scroll back up the page for a moment . . . .