Lost Over Canyon Paperless

 When I look 'round the room which houses the collected Sherlockiana that I've picked up over the years, there are shelves of books, yes, but also other gatherings of printed pages.

Journals, newsletters, flyers, monographs, note cards, copies of talks read at meetings. Not always well organized, and always with the knowledge that more lies unseen, in boxes tucked away elsewhere in the house. One likes to think of such things moving to archives somewhere, or to the collection of another Sherlockian when you're gone. But both of those thoughts have one unspoken condition: Someone has to find these things worth storing, and such storage implies that someone will want to read these documents in some future time. That someone will want to spend some of their precious lifetime reading and reviewing the accumulated by-products of your precious lifetime.

Scanning such things into searchable digital form might be fun. And footnote fans love to have a prior instance of some thought like "Nathan Bogspar suggested Watson's gout in a 1975 issue of The Garrideb Gazebo." But at the end of the day, most of this paper was created just to entertain ourselves in the moment, for the writers and readers of that day. And in this day, so many of our Sherlockian writers and readers have gone paperless . . . look at these very words, which shall never see a printed page. 

If you've ever been involved in the sale of used books, you know that even books, that most hallowed of print forms, don't all end their lives gathering dust on shelves. Very popular authors of their year never become classics or even cult favorites, simply because their works were entertainments of the moment. And that's life. That's the ongoing evolution of our culture. Those ideas entered the human hivemind, influenced those who read them, for better or worse, and then were not needed any more. Citizens of a future world had new things to contend with, new entertainments to indulge in.

And consider our newfound frenemy, the artificial intelligence software. It can scour the internet for data, form its conclusions, and learn for its next attempt. But it doesn't have all of the info, does it? It doesn't know some things even exist that didn't make Project Gutenberg or were otherwise noted on Wikipedia or somewhere. And even digital information can wind up unretrievable. Even AI is a thing that lives in the moment.

It can seem so depressing, this ongoing march of history and all it leaves behind, but really, I think it just reinforces what Zen masters have always taught us: Be present in the moment you're in. Enjoy this moment. Let the past go when it doesn't serve future needs. That might seem counterintuitive when enjoying a hobby that is all about a figure from the past, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. History entertains Sherlockians, even the history of Sherlockians themselves. But we can't carry it all into the future with us, and we can't expect others to bear that load for us. 

Sherlock Holmes had the luxury of all his papers and books being contained in stories that continue to be retold. His move to that cottage in Sussex was managed with just a few words on a page. The rest of us aren't nearly so lucky, but that's life. Literally.

Being Very Stupid Is Just Fine

The following is the opening editorial from this week's episode of The Watsonian Weekly, for those of you who would rather read than listen:

Well, I’m going to start this week with an editorial, because it’s a snowy holiday weekend and what else do I have to do. Next month the John H. Watson Society is going to have yet another reader’s theater adaptation of “The Blue Carbuncle” for its December meeting, and in looking forward to that, I ran into a line in that tale we often forget about.

Holmes is making all his deductions about Henry Baker’s hat, and Watson says:

“I have no doubt that I am very stupid . . .”

When we hear a bit about Watson’s literary agent most weeks on this podcast, we hear Arthur Conan Doyle calling Watson Holmes’s “rather stupid friend,” but when the words come from Watson’s own mouth it’s another story.

In Red-Headed League, Watson writes “ I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I was always oppressed with a sense on my own stupidity in my dealings with Sherlock Holmes.”

John Watson does not have any problem feeling stupid and admitting that Sherlock Holmes is smarter than him. I know, we want to sympathize and go “Oh, Watson, you’re not really stupid,” and defend the poor guy, but I think that misses that those admissions are a part of what makes Watson a wise man.

We’re seeing too many people on social media who try to argue with experts in fields of science and elsewhere with no knowledge, simply because they feel like no one is smarter than they are. None of us knows everything, nor should have an opinion on everything to fill those gaps, and admitting that we’re stupid standing next to a more knowledgeable soul is an admirable quality. Normalizing admitting you’re stupid, as Watson does in “The Blue Carbuncle” is actually a goal we should steer toward. Watson’s quote: “I have no doubt that I am very stupid ...” belongs on a T-shirt, not as an act of belittling Watson but as a campaign toward letting ourselves recognize our deficiencies when they stand in the way of moving forward.

I mean, I bet you can think of a person right now whose failure to admit how stupid they’re being is holding a whole lot of people back from success. It’s practically a pandemic at this point.

So that's my editorial for this week. On to the Watson news.

PluriBSI

 Okay, stick with me on this one. It's gonna be a ramble.

Also, *SPOILER ALERT* if you don't know what the Apple TV show Pluribus is about and are still planning to watch the first episode and find out. If so, come back later, because I'm about to explain the premise a few paragraphs down.

Are spoiler alerts still a thing?

Content warnings, yes. But spoiler alerts?

Anyway, so I watched the third episode of Pluribus just now. If you haven't seen it, it's about a situation where humanity basically becomes a friendly, happy hivemind except for a dozen or so people. And the main character just can't seem to get around to enjoying the situation, even though every single person on Earth except that dozen want to use their shared mind to try to make her happy. And she just doesn't want to be happy.

So I watched that, then I came upstairs and found I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere's latest blog post, "Tips for Making the Most of the BSI Weekend." You know, the BSI Weekend, that week in January when a whole bunch of Sherlockians descend upon New York City to dress up, eat dinner, hob nob, and buy books. You meet what seems like everybody at that time, though it's not really everybody, just people who can get to New York in January, whether because they live close or can afford the trip.

And then Pluribus and the BSI weekend, a.k.a. Sherlock Holmes's birthday weekend, if you're not involved with the Baker Street Irregulars, merged in my head. As when it comes to that particular event, I feel much like Carole, the main character of Pluribus. I just don't want to join the hive mind, as pleasant and inviting as the members of that collective might be. I usually put it down to not being a fan of New York, but it's more than that. It's just too many people, too many places, and too many expectations.

"Bring business cards (a quaint tradition)," Scott Monty writes, "You will be meeting a lot of new people." He's not lying. You meet a ton. And then you will, if you are me, forget you met half of them. Scott has a whole lot of good tips for the neophyte attendee, solid tips. But, at this point in life, far too many of them are also reasons a person like myself might want to avoid the whole thing. And the members of the happy hive mind that do enjoy it, just don't often understand why. So one must always have excuses at the ready. The excuses don't help truly convey your perspective, but excuses do seem to pacify the hive members for long enough to change the subject.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not anti-NYC-birthday-weekend for those who want it.  Things might just get a little too "in the bubble" sometimes, and folks in said bubble can forget that the rest of us don't always see the happy bubble the way they do. 

One morning this week, I breakfasted with a twenty-something fan of many a movie and TV franchise who told me how much he loved BBC Sherlock. Not because I'm a Holmes fan, just because he was rolling through things he really liked. And he loved BBC Sherlock end to end. I then, much to his amusement, told him of the rise of its fandom, its interactions with the traditional Sherlockians, and all the ways it changed lives. He found it fascinating, knowing nothing of Johnlock, original Canon comparisons and Granada, conspiracies borne of fan expectations, or even any problems with that final season. He just loved the show. And was completely outside the bubble. All our Sherlockian bubbles. Except that one basic, "I really like BBC Sherlock bubble" where we could share space and discuss the potential for the series returning as a possible theatrical film. And that was just fine. 

Because those overlapping parts of our personal Venn diagrams are what build community, what keep the hive of humanity working together, as separate and different as we are. Yet in the TV show Pluribus, all of humanity except a dozen or so people aren't just overlapping any more. Their Venn diagram is on solid circle. They all live in exactly the same bubble. And they really want those few who remain outside to be brought into that bubble, and know the true unexplainable joy that they all feel but the main character doesn't. Yet if we all have the same experience, the same intake, we lose something, just as when an AI tries to combine all of our diversity into a created output. (But that's an entirely different discussion.)

As we approach another January, the character of Carol from Pluribus just seems more and more relatable to some of us. And we look forward to February.

My last Sherlock Holmes game

 We have a really good game store here in Peoria, one that compares well with game stores in much larger cities, called "Just for Fun." Having been gifted some cash for a certain annual event a while back, I decided to stop in and treat myself with a budget large enough to get whatever game or games I wanted. And there were so many new and new-ish Sherlock Holmes based games. I literally could have walked out with six or seven (Say it, kids!) new games, and I already own a whole bunch of Sherlock Holmes based games. Now that our old friend is out of copyright, the floodgates are open!

But I think I'm calling it quits on games that have to do with Sherlock Holmes unless a real proven stand-out comes along. Except for one. And that's the one I bought on this trip. I'd heard it existed, but just hadn't sought it out yet. The game?

Mystery Fluxx. It has it's own Sherlock Holmes card, the only detective it calls out by name instead of generic description.

The reason that I'm picking this one above all others? Because, you see, in addition to being a Sherlock Holmes fan, I am also a Fluxx fan. And I've been a Fluxx fan for decades now. It's a great game, a card game where the cards you play actually change the rules of the game, but it's still easy to learn, so unpredictable that it defies any competitive spirit you might have, and is rarely the same game twice.

I've owned Fluxx 1.0, 2.0, Stoner Fluxx, Eco Fluxx, Zombie Fluxx, multiple Star Trek Fluxxes, Holiday, Oz, Doctor Who, Olympus . . . so many variations of this freakin' game. But Mystery Fluxx is the first time it crossed into Sherlockian space outside of possible homegrown versions. (Did I encounter one at 221B Con years ago? My memory is a bit fuzzy there.)

So, personally, I'm declaring Mystery Fluxx the winner of the Sherlock Holmes gaming wars and taking that deck and going home. Your collecting of games starring our friend can continue, and you might want to catch me in a generous mood one day when I'm cleaning out my basement!

What level do we Sherlockian at?

 Way back in April, a goodly number of us attended a conference that emphasized the importance of the local Sherlockian society. The point was well made, and it was a fine conference, but there was a mistake one could easily made walking away from that conference in the joy of just being there.

While there were many an Indianapolis local there from the Illustrious Clients, for the most part we were all handing out flyers, etc., promoting our local societies to people who weren't local to the place we are from. We encouraged people to come visit us, log on to our Zooms, etc., and that's where I suspect one could miss the point. It isn't people coming from other cities served by other societies that make a local Sherlockian society strong and healthy. It's the people who live in your town. Any visitors are just the icing on the cake, not the cake itself.

It seems like a very obvious point, but it's an issue that can suck the life out of a local Sherlockian society. If a group's best and brightest are keeping their Sherlockian gaze on distant horizons -- the birthday weekend, the conferences that draw from across the country, the larger journals, and the friends from distant places -- they are apt to overlook the needs of their local group.

Am I calling anyone specific out in that statement? You bet I am . . . myself!

Even if you don't go to New York every year, even if you've had that BSI shilling long enough to be bored with it, the siren song of the larger Sherlockian community outside of your town still beckons. Some members of a local scion will always share you interest, but the larger part of what often makes up a local Sherlock Holmes society are people who just like talking about Sherlock Holmes with their local Sherlockian friends. They have no thoughts of being invited to a Baker Street Irregulars dinner, or driving up to Minneapolis to see a rare tome. They just like the local hang. And that's fine.

In the early 2000s, I had a lot of non-local aspirations. Hosting a Sherlockian website, publishing a bi-monthly journal, just kicking things up a level, right at the time when our local scion needed leadership. My usual partner in crime, who was great at keeping local meetings running, had retired from the job, and I just wasn't giving the local scion the attention it deserved. Had I been born at some later time, I might have gotten some sort of attention deficit diagnosis because ritual and routine have never been my strong suits, and that's what keeps a Sherlock Holmes society chugging along. You can have creatives doing random, wild guitar solos of Sherlock work in your group, but the steady drumbeat of an ongoing meeting schedule and regular events are the beating heart that keeps a group alive.

As I've gotten older, I've come to really appreciate Sherlockiana at the local level. Our monthly library discussion group is the steady drumbeat that keeps Holmes alive here, and I'm appreciative of that.

"Okay, Boomlockian!"

One eternal question that circles Sherlockiana like an overhead vulture has long been "How do we get more younger people into our Sherlockian world?" As so many Sherlockians are grandparents, indoctrinating school kids always pops up as an answer. Grandparents have enough distance from their parenting days to think that you can get a kid to like something you like, I suspect, but what do I know?

Well, one thing I do know is that Sherlockiana can be expensive. Folks at the end of their careers have often built up more money than folks at the start of their careers. We see more older Sherlockians for the same reason you see more older folks on cruises -- they are more likely to afford such luxuries. But given the way the money game is more and more slanted against new players, I wonder if that will hold true forever.

The Boomlockians seem to be doing okay. (Yes, "Boomer Sherlockian." I'm not proud of that. But, being one, I can say that.) Most of us seem to be okay with country club level Sherlocking. And a few of us are apparently doing much more than okay.

Yet we're probably coming to a time when we need to think of cheaper on-ramps to full participation in Sherlockian culture, if we truly want to keep the old Sherlockian culture. Like being able to be recognized as a full-fledged contributing member of Sherlockian society with paying for a New York vacation just to attend a certain dinner. We've got Zoom now, we could literally recognize someone for their achievements with no cost to them or expectations that they come to New York two to three times to prove their dedication. And it isn't just New York. The old expectation that everything needs to have a banquet, something every traditional Sherlockian ever to wander into 221B Con seems to want to suggest, needs a good solid look.

A lot of things happen in Sherlockiana because someone has enough in their bank accounts not to fret when a big bill for an event comes due. Or are so caught up in the fever of the fandom that they just don't care about those bills coming due.

Every now and then I think of that one Sherlockian group that was so proud of themselves and their history that they never needed to adapt to the changing world, and that group nearly fell off the map completely. We like to think the things we like are impervious to change and will go on forever. We like to see ourselves as a part of that eternal thing, a touch of immortality.

But the times, as ever, are a'changing. A select number of country club Sherlockians will certainly be able to maintain a certain level of Sherlockian events and travel as long as there are old people with money and a few youngsters in their wake. But a new Sherlockiana, if the fandom does not fall with literacy rates, will surely evolve to fit the lives people can afford in the decades ahead. 

Might be time to start thinking about that.

My Comfort Sherlock Holmes

 It's easy not to expect much from a TV Sherlock Holmes. The medium has given us such random incarnations of the great detective -- actors like Roger Moore, Tom Baker, Matt Frewer, and James D'Arcy make the casting choices seem practically random. And once cast, who knows what direction the script and director will take them.

So when Watson on CBS announced Sherlock Holmes was returning from Reichenbach Falls yet again, to be played by Robert Carlyle, most famous in my mind for The Full Monty from the showrunner who gave us Elementary, well, let's just say I was not optimistic. (Apologies, Elementary fans, but I still just don't get it.)

Sherlock Holmes turned up in Watson's kitchen in the middle of the night, making a sandwich, just as casually as you please. No disguise as an old book dealer. No air-gun worries. Just "My dear Watson . . . I don't suppose you have any horse radish."

He offers Watson the chance to hit him for faking his death, but Morris Chestnut's Watson is no Martin Freeman Watson. This Watson goes in for the hug. And then lets Holmes finish making his sandwich.

"I was hoping we could start small," Holmes starts when asked about how he survived and what he was up to. There is a tenderness between the two. Not ship-worthy, but that of real friendship. Holmes admits to fearing he's hurt their friendship, and then does start small with that simplest of questions, "How was your day?"

And he had me.

Robert Carlyle's Sherlock Holmes was kind and gentle, with that sort of wisdom we expect from a aging sage. The episode that follows, then, is Watson telling Holmes about his day, and the latest medical mystery. The two talk all night, until the sun rises the next day, as one would expect of two close friends so long apart. It reminded me of the set-up for Lee Shackleford's play, Holmes and Watson, where the two friends spend their first night together post-Reichenbach talking it out. But that was more dramatic, not this quiet, not this comfortable.

I was surprised at how much I loved this new Sherlock Holmes. No diagnosable personality disorders, no over-dramatic quirks. Just that sage old friend you'd love to have in your life. Like those Holmeses from a day when genius detectives didn't have to have some personal defects to counterbalance their superior brains for the more mundane minds. From a day when we trusted our experts, and desperate influencers weren't trying to puff up their own opinions by tearing down the learned.

In a time when things are as messy as they've ever been, Robert Carlyle brought us a "comfort Sherlock." The kind of Sherlock Holmes that I'd love to find in my kitchen making a sandwich some evening after having a pleasant evening with a date who was still asleep back in the bedroom. (Okay, so that date part is just the icing on the Watson cake.)  I was really thinking this Watson might leave his current love interest and start chasing cases with Sherlock Holmes, but no! This Holmes lets Watson get on with his life . . . even if Holmes does suggest that Mary Morstan and John Watson might really be the couple that should be togther.

I happy with this new Sherlock Holmes. And his secret mission to deal with that very real problem we have with the uber-rich right now. I'm looking forward to his eventual return.