The maintenance that keeps things in our hands.

'Tis a curious thing when two thoughts enter your end in the course of a few days and start to interact. First was a notable tweet from Rowan MacBean that read "Talking to tiny fans about the cishet white dude gatekeepers in SH fandom: 'But soon they'll be dead, and then Millennials will rub their queer little hands all over everything those dudes held dear.'" A bit of a pot-stirrer, but a basic sentiment that's hard to disagree with -- time will change things. The second thought was a line on a podcast from DeRay Mckesson about everything built by man needing maintenance to survive. Every building, every institution, every law, every creation of humans . . . it all has to be maintained to last.

Over the years, I've heard many an overly optimistic Sherlockian exude that Sherlock Holmes, Sherlockiana, a particular Sherlockian club or tradition, etc. will be as it is forever. It's a very immature thought, the kind a kid has who has had much of the furniture in his home existing for his entire life. A fantastic feeling that was is will always be. A secure and wonderful feeling. But you get a bit older, live a bit, and realize how much we take for granted.

As responsible sorts, we try to see that and make sure our basic needs are going to last as long as we do -- food, shelter, etc.  Sherlock Holmes, and all those things that surround him, this very culture of Sherlockiana we enjoy . . . slightly less of a priority, but still requiring both maintenance and attention to last. Have you seen what water can do to a book? Fire is bad, and sure, it will destroy a book, but water . . . oh, it will torture and deform a poor book in ways that are more awful than burning. A library, one of those basic Sherlockian loves, requires protection and maintenance, whether it's five books or five hundred. You don't keep books in your basement if you can help it, or take a lot of care of that basement.

A society, a podcast, an ongoing publication, an annual event . . . they require even more maintenance. Nothing lasts forever, true, and just making something ongoing last five years, ten years, even just two or three years, takes work. A lot of work, most times. That's why we celebrate anniversaries and should probably celebrate them harder than anniversaries: it takes work to get to anniversaries. Birthdays, you just have to not die.

Maintenance. It's not pretty, it's not fun, but it keeps all that is man-made existing, and not reclaimed by the Earth.

Which brings me back to Rowan's original thought, to which I'll add one especially dark realization that came to me early in life: It takes people a very long time to die. This might seem apparent to some folks, but after losing a parent early on, as a child I expected people to die a lot more often than they did. And sometimes, the people you think should really be dead by now just keep on going, and going, and going . . . just look hard at Congress sometime. Which means that getting your hands on their stuff can take forever. And forever means a lot of maintenance has to go on for that stuff to be around when you finally get your hands on it, at which point it might even not be something you really want anymore. The world is a funny, shifty place.

And ideas, traditions, man-made items can die a lot faster than people.

Everything we hold dear, whatever your age, race, or gender, could be a completely different thing tomorrow without proper attentions. Sherlock Holmes lasting this long in a recognizable form is a wondrous thing, and has taken legions of fans of all stripes to keep him in the public eye. There are those Sherlockians who enjoy the old things in the old-fashioned way they were made. They are the ones who preserve certain old man-made things, maintain them, research to preserve more knowledge about them, and carry them forward. There are also Sherlockians who create new variations on the basic Holmes things to enjoy in new ways that inspire us to carry the great detective on further through our lives.

And those aspects, items, tales, etc. that we just don't care about? 

We will let them pass from existence, letting them go from lack of attention. What I'm getting at here is that putting your energy into those things that you enjoy, maintaining them, carrying them forward, is what gives future generations something to take in their hands and enjoy as well . . . if they choose. If you don't enjoy it, don't put your energies into it, it will be up to someone else to carry forward, and if that someone is out there, it will go forward. Until that day when no one picks up that book, that idea, that way of doing things any more.

Even things stored forever in a climate-controlled shelf in a library vault are only carried forward if someone in the future cares to look at them.  Why do we look at those things?

Because somebody enjoyed them once, shared that enjoyment with us, and led us to share that enjoyment with someone else. I can understand raging against the bull-crap that the old white dudes in any culture can throw around, especially when their chosen fetish is threatened. I really, really, do, which is why I do sympathize with Rowan more than a bit. Entrenched enthusiasm without awareness of a changing world can be problematic. But how does that saying go? "Living well is the best revenge."

Living well and sharing the things we love and enjoy so others can live well, too. And maybe, just maybe, carry those things forward in a fashion that means something to them as well.

So who gets offended in Holmes world?

Sometimes a blogger has to wonder if they're offending people. And sometimes, as I cruise social media, I sometimes have to stop and wonder if I should be more offended at all the stuff laid at the doorstep of my generation or gender on social media. (I'm not . . . having been born into a segment of the populace lets you know them better than anyone, including their offenses.) Humans can offend the heck out of other humans, and what might offend or has offended is always worth a look or two.

After examining my own deficiencies today, however, the topic of taking offense made me want to look back at our Canonical brethren and see what offended them . . . and who it was who was getting offended. And the Canon starts off with a truly choice one:

"I have said all I have to say," said Gregson, in an offended voice.

Good old Gregson! I knew he had it in him, and in A Study in Scarlet, he brings it, as does a certain other group in that novel.

"There was one way and only one in which he offended the susceptibilities of his co-religionists."

Yes, religion is always a reason for people to get offended. And as Jefferson Hope was offended a particular sect because he refused to display hetero-normative behaviors, well, no surprise there. But let's talk about someone who was only truly religious about his profession: Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

"He did not seem offended," Watson reports in The Sign of the Four after Watson complains to Holmes about the detective's drug use. Holmes did worry about Watson being offended by his trick of playing ill in "The Dying Detective," a question Watson does not answer. He also doesn't want to offend Watson's intelligence at the end of "Devil's Foot," but that might have just been a lack of wanting to explain things in dull detail.  Watson was not above faking being offended, however, as he did when dealing with Baron Gruner in "Illustrious Client."

Holmes definitely thinks he would be sorry to offend Holy Peters, the kidnapper of Lady Frances Carfax, but that was surely for a different reason. Peters was one nasty-looking dude. (A regular Danny Trejo of his day!) Holmes suspects women might be more offended by a some little thing than a murder, but Violet DeMerville has him stymied when he says that, so we might forgive him that once. (Up to you, ladies.)

Sherlock Holmes doesn't seem to get offended much, and a woman some suspect of being his sister does likewise. Violet Hunter is not offended by being asked "to sit here or sit there," or by being passed by her employer without him speaking a word.  As far as who does get offended, there are a few folks in the Canon, often for good reason.

Lord St. Simon is "a picture of offended dignity" when he finds his bride was already married. Mr. Blessington is offended to be asked about why he's scared all the time. An American secret society was offended by John Douglas, and then Cecil Barker was offended by the questions Inspector MacDonald asked about John Douglas's wife. (Even though MacDonald admitting meaning no offense.) But then The Valley of Fear has a lot of offensiveness and offenders, probably due to all those Americans being involved.

Perhaps the worst example of someone getting offended, however comes in "The Blanched Solider."

Colonel Emsworth handled getting offended by James Dodd inquiring about his son by saying "Many people, Mr. Dodd, would take offence at your infernal pertinacity and would think that this insistence had reached the point of damned impertinence." That, however, is kind of a haughty way of not even owning up to your own emotions while plainly reacting badly to a situation. In fact, it sounds like a certain loser we hear far too much from these days who likes to use the "many people think this" or "many people didn't know that" instead of admitting his own deficiencies.

In the end, one has to find Sherlock Holmes or Violet Hunter the better role models in terms of not taking offense at honest or irrelevant things, as well as Holmes in caring if something seems it might offend your best friend. Good old Sherlock Holmes.

Heroic hounds of Sherlock Holmes

A photo Rob Nunn took of his dog considering his Sherlock Holmes books got me thinking last night: What would a dog enjoy reading in the Canon?

My first thought, of course, was The Hound of the Baskervilles. It begins with the legend of a super-hero vigilante dog that uses its powers to end the evil life of a true villain. A canine reading of the text would discard the human bias it shows and discern the obvious truth of the legend: That heroic super-dog was the pet of the yeoman's daughter and this was his origin story. He's like the Ghost Rider of dogs.

And how does the rest of the tale go?

As with every dark vigilante superhero, dark rumors swirl up and the latest incarnation of this mysterious hero is falsely accused of a crime. A dog-loving detective named Sherlock Holmes comes to clear his name. And yet even while the local humans hate and fear Ghost Bounder, or whatever this hero dog is called, he still protects them, tracking down and ending Selden the murderer . . . the villain that most of the locals are actually living in fear of.

Now, the ending might not seem too dog-friendly, as the detective and his friends put down a Ghost Bounder imposter, but all we need is a shot of the true Ghost Bounder, standing proudly atop a tor and looking down at that crew before bounding off into the darkness, with Sherlock Holmes shaking his head in approval, and The Hound of the Baskervilles becomes completely dog-friendly.

"The Adventure of the Creeping Man" is similarly dog-friendly from the jump, with Roy the Newfie saving the neighborhood from the villainous monkey man, whose intentions for college girls were definitely not going to stop once he claimed his first victim.

More problematic is "The Copper Beeches," where Carlo the mastiff takes down the villain only to have the naive Dr. Watson run up, and in a thoughtless moment of prejudice, commit a graphically-described killing of the poor animal. Due to said graphic nature, I won't even quote it here, as I don't want to ruin my breakfast and there might be puppies among my readers.

"The Copper Beeches," is, of course, a tragedy, and such tales of a misunderstood hero meeting a fatal fate do occasionally get written. But the point of all this is that, outside of that imposter Ghost Bounder, who was duped into playing a role by Stapleton, the dogs of Sherlock Holmes's life were good dogs, and their stories should be read to the dogs of your pack if they have problems turning the pages for themselves.

Because The Sign of the Four and "Missing Three-Quarter" aren't the only stories you can share with them . . . you just have to understand a dog's point of view. 

A Saturday soapbox for Watson and Clark Russell.

A sleepy Saturday morning with no caffeine in sight, where to turn?

Well, initial thoughts were upon CBS's Elementary, where that unimaginable sixth season is slowly winding to a close with the promise of shocking new revelations. Last year, Mr. Elementary got brain damage -- this year? A severed limb perhaps? Watson revealing herself to be Von Bork after all this time? But then, out of nowhere, Canada launched a targeted drone strike on Watsonian candor.

As you can see on Twitter, I was quick to respond. But Twitter, even with its expanded word limit, offers far too little space to mount a true defense of friend Watson, so I'm bringing the case to Blogger. Ahem. 

Ladies, gentlemen, and other lovelies of the jury, Canada's Sherlockian journal of record, speaking upon our public social media, has leveled what I find a shocking accusation at one John H. Watson, M.D., a fine upstanding citizen of the United Kingdom. A man so stalwart and true that he might, as we all well know, but a fair and impartial jury just like yourselves. 

Canadian Holmes, a publication that can be bought for the very low price of twelve dollars Canadian for a single issue, has leveled the charge against our good doctor Watson that he actually had read no books by the author Clark Russell and was simply pandering to the public with the pretense that he liked what they liked.

"I think if it was a Russell sea story he would have said," this less-than-book-length publication wrote, in the wee hours of this morning.  But Watson did say "I was deep in one of Clark Russell's fine sea stories until the howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text, and the splash of the rain to lengthen into the long swash of the sea waves."

Note Watson's direct reference to "the text" and his commentary on how "fine" the story was, a judgment he could never have honestly made without actually reading Clark Russell's work. Are you or I or Canadian Holmes going to state frankly that John H. Watson was a dishonest man? Nay, that "H." in the middle of his name might well have stood for "Honest," his character is so beyond reproach!

John H. Watson was a man of literature, a fact no one can deny. His writing ability connotes a reader, and a well-read reader at that, so why not Clark Russell? And as a fellow author, would not Watson be knowledgeable enough in the field of books sales to know that specifying a title, such as My Watch Below or The Romance of a Midshipman, would just promote one of Russell's book, while the phrase "one of Clark Russell's fine sea stories" promotes all of Clark Russell's work? John Watson is a kind and generous man, why should those qualities not extend to his treatment of fellow writers?

Hundreds, if not thousands of Sherlockian scholars have one or more Clark Russell novels upon their shelves thanks to Watson's recommendation in "The Five Orange Pips," and plainly, they all have believed John H. Watson over the years. This sudden and controversial claim by Canadian Holmes can plainly be seen as modern media trying to drum up attention at the cost of the good name of Watson, and I tell you, ladies, gentlemen, and other lovelies of the jury, we should not stand for such an outrageous blot on a good man's escutcheon!

"This time it was probably just some popular novel, nothing more . . ." Canadian Holmes writes, flailing its pages against a computer keyboard in some remote Beauty and the Beast enchanted Canadian castle where the animated Sherlockiana sings and dances the day away. Nothing more than a popular novel? What were Clark Russell's books if not popular novels? Chopped Christmas goose liver?

We do not even need to bring the literary agent into this conversation, as his trust in Watson was surely greater than anyone's. And by now, I am sure that such an enlightened quorum as you fine folks can see the truth of this matter and can render your verdict with a satisfied ease. I would ask that you go lightly on your sentencing of Canadian Holmes in this matter, and maybe even have the goodness to subscribe to that journal and see that it's not usually so troublingly accusatory of our friend John Watson.

As for me, well, I will rest my case here, and thank the prosecution for helping me wake up this morning.

People get weird . . .

People get weird . . .

People get weird when the topic of sex comes up, for a lot of reasons. And we often won't even admit that we do get weird, which just makes it weirder. So I have to congratulate the Three Patch Podcast for making it to their sixth annual "sexpisode." It's a podcast about Sherlock Holmes. And they've done six episodes, each about three hours long, about sex and Sherlock.

Remember that fandom we used to hear was going to be a flash in the pan, way back when, from the hoi polloi? Them and their porny fanfic! A blip on the radar!

Whoops! No, it's not.

It's fascinating to look at what male fans had done with the sex lives of Sherlock Holmes and company before female-dominated wave of Sherlockian sexual orientation came along, because for men . . . well, for men, they just didn't seem all that interested in sex for once. Sure, John Bennett Shaw could double-entendre the heck out of Canonical quotes. And there was a very private Doyle-Canon porn writer or two out there, sharing their work with only close friends. But other than that? Larry Townsend's The Sexual Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Chris Redmond's In Bed With Sherlock Holmes were the two big sexy Sherlock times you could have on your shelf, and only the former was porn.The latter had footnotes, a bibilography, and an index.

Yet I always love that Chris Redmond ended that book with the line "Go and read Sherlock Holmes, and do it soon; but first, go and kiss somebody. Sex comes first; detective stories are only meant to model the way men and women really are." But that was 1984, long before sex advice columnist Dan Savage would coin the more flat-out slogan for holiday dining celebrations, "Fuck first." And it's in a world with Dan Savage in it that Three Patch Podcast is doing their thing.

Sherlock Holmes is now fostering sexual exploration in his fans, as well as explorations of logic and detection, in ways that would go far beyond making Vincent Starrett blush. (But might, however, make a few of our famed Sherlockians of yore come out of the closet, were they around now . . . not talking about anyone in particular, but c'mon. Probabilities.) It comes from a place of relationship in most cases, and not pure carnal novelty (though that factor does enter in), and that is where it always comes back to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. And Mary Morstan. And Mycroft Holmes. And James Moriarty. And Mrs. Hudson.

To some, this might be like imagining your parents having sex. And yes, there is a reason that the Three Patchers, like most in these areas of fanfic, use pseudonyms . . . especially in an era when someone might not like your politics and try to weaponize one isolated part of your work to try to ruin your job or your life. They're a bit like the underground that comes before any revolution. (Ever notice that "the sexual revolution" of the sixties and seventies didn't really finish the job?) Perhaps taking the guilt and shame out of a basic human function is a battle we humans will always be fighting, but at least Sherlock Holmes is on the front lines for this war, just like he was in "His Last Bow."

So, congratulations, Three Patch. When I say "people get weird when it comes to sex," you bold folks are definitely not the ones I'm talking about, and I wish you many many more years of just doing what you enjoy best and explaining it to the rest of us.

Sherlock Holmes and the Controlled Reaction

At this point, seeing a headline like "People React to Xxxxxx!" is just laughable clickbait, and possibly worse, some supposed news professional trying to pass scrolling through Twitter as actual journalism. Because people react to things, always have, and there's somebody out there who is going to react strongly to any damn thing. (Like my reaction to that headline, for example.)

How does this connect to Sherlock Holmes? Well, remember first how Watson liked to right about Holmes, those statements like "You really are an automaton, -- a calculating machine!" or "All emotions . . . were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind." Then recall all the times we actually saw Watson describe Holmes displaying emotion. Why the disparity?

It is all, I believe, about the reaction. Consider it in internet headlines.

"Watson Reacts to Beautiful Woman!"  Okay, fairly mundane. But look at what Watson is going for.

"You Won't Believe What Sherlock Holmes Did NOT React To!"

It's kind of like Holmes himself once said, "Crime is common. Logic is rare."

Reactions to certain stimuli are common. Refusing to react is rare.

And Watson plainly wanted something out of Holmes that he wasn't always getting: Reactions.

Sherlock Holmes, of course, had what might be considered valid excuses for not putting on a reaction show. His professionalism, his ability to reserve judgement until all the facts were in, his damned Vulcan logic . . . well, scrap that last one, as "logic" in the "ranting Dr. McCoy" sense is just another way of saying someone has some understanding of a situation or thing that the person expecting a reaction does not . . . an understanding that means they don't have only the superficial view to react to. But did Holmes need an excuse?

No, because we all get to react based on our own lights, not to the expectations of others.

Watson's reaction that Holmes was "an automaton -- a calculating machine!" didn't do anyone any good, and might have even harmed the relationship, if Holmes took it too hard. One might even consider Watson to have been trying to be a little manipulative with his outburst, if one tends toward Team Holmes.

To react or not to react, that is the question. And with Sherlock Holmes, that question gives us a . little more to think about than a clickbait headline.

Conan Doyle is Satan, apparently.

It was somewhere close to midnight on Friday night, when I was finishing the John H. Watson Society Treasure Hunt quiz, in an unexpected last minute burst of Sherlockian vigor. And I came to the last three questions . . .

"From [Tottenham Court Road] find the item whose value could not be conjectured."

Okay, simple enough. Already in "Blue Carbuncle" for that last answer and how does Holmes describe the carbuncle?

"It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured . . ."

Well, like I said, it was close to midnight and the word "conjectured" was there, so I answered "The blue carbuncle."

Next question: "With the splendid us of [that item] in mind, find the red connector."

What was the use of the blue carbuncle? Well, as Holmes was describing it, he called it one of "the devil's pet baits."  And, hey, the devil is red, isn't he? So the devil is the "red connector," obviously.

Next question: "The final treasure -- find the [answer to previous question] who runs through all the sixty adventures of Holmes and Watson, although he is mentioned only once in the Canon. Who?"

Well, there's only one devil mentioned by name in the Canon, and then only once: Satan.

Imagine my surprise when the official answers were given out today and that final answer, according to the JHWS Treasure Hunt officiary was . . . prepare yourself . . . Arthur Conan Doyle.

Now, in "Devil's Foot," we know the vicar came running in going "We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devil-ridden! Satan himself is loose it it!"

That's an actual mention by an actual character. And all the crime, all the human suffering, all the mistaken identities running through the Canon, could, if you are of that religious point of view, be attributed to Satan. Kind of an evangelical turn for a Sherlock Holmes quiz, but to each their own, I say.

Conan Doyle, however, isn't mentioned in the Canon itself. He signs his name to the preface to Casebook, but his name is on the title page too . . . do we count the title-page as Canon? I suppose that's a religious doctrine choice as well, given "Canon." But the inserting of "Conan Doyle" in a place that obviously belonged to Satan, well, I guess he did kill Sherlock Holmes with malign intent, but putting him on equal footing with Satan still seems a little extreme a conjecture on the part of the John H. Watson Society as an official body.

But, as you might recall from that first question in this little adventure in quiz-taking, some things can "not be conjectured." And I suppose that is what shows the difference between Conan Doyle and Satan and the paths to either. Or why I might have made a mistake with horrific consequences in that near-midnight hour on Friday.

The John H. Watson Society Treasure Hunt continues to be an adventure which can lead to madness for the unwary Sherlockian who ventures upon that path alone. Maybe next year I had better team up again to avoid the demonic pitfalls that awaited this time around.