“What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence,” returned my companion, bitterly. “The question is, what can you make people believe that you have done?”

—Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet

"I could see that something was coming along the passage, something dark and crouching."

Mr. Sherlock Holmes was always of the opinion that I should publish the singular facts connected with Professor Presbury, if only to dispel once and for all the ugly rumours which some twenty years ago agitated the university and were echoed in the learned societies of London.

The Creeping Man, if indeed it was published on the insistence of Holmes, reveals that love of the grotesque which is one of the many tensions at the heart of his character. Time and again throughout the canon, Holmes has declared a primary interest in the weird and the unusual – illogic seems to be what most excites this most logical of men. This story also looks back to some of the earliest of Holmes’s adventures – The Speckled Band, for instance – in which Conan Doyle revealed his own love of horror. One of the last cases Holmes ever investigated, The Crooked Man is also something of a melodrama.

Despite this lurid quality, it was unfair of Nicholas Meyer’s Watson, in The Seven Per Cent Solution, to bracket this tale with some of the others in the Casebook as “forged drivel”. Holmes has investigated stranger cases than this, and if foreign powders and potions raise a more sceptical eyebrow when found in 1903 and when set in 1883, and Holmes’s deduction in this case is of the ‘inspired guess’ kind in which he occassionally induldges, the story itself develops a satisfyingly heavy atmosphere. It’s all a gothic drama, perhaps, but it’s not an incompetent one.

Interestingly, as in some of the other later cases, sex plays a far greater role than usual in Holmes’s adventures. The elderly professor at the centre of the mystery develops a passionate attachment to a much younger woman, and the solution revolves around an attempt to recapture his virility. The story is coy in other ways, however. Regulars will remember how, in The Three Students, we never learned the name of the university town in which the nefarious deeds were done. Here, we are taken by train to the ancient colleges of ‘Camford’. For an Edinburgh man, Conan Doyle exhibits a strange Oxbridge squeamishness.

The frankness which does contribute to the story’s modest entertainment value, however, is all Watson’s. On this, the eve of Holmes’s retirement, the good doctor is clear-eyed about his relationship with his old friends. Watson has responsibilities and a thriving practice; Holmes, of course, remains isolated and dedicated to the investigation of crime. He even has new sidekicks: “Mercer is since your time,” Holmes tells Watson. “He is my general utility man who looks up routine business.” Watson knows his place these days: “As an institution I was like the violin, the shag tobacco, the old black pipe, the index books, and others perhaps less excusable. [...] I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him.”

Holmes, meanwhile, is again caught cursing his slowness. (Though who else might expect themselves to sole the supernatural?) He exclaims that it is indeed time for his retirement. Everyone in The Creeping Man, it seems, is experiencing dark thoughts.

Some time after Michael Crichton passed away from cancer late last year at 66 years, he left behind an unfinished manuscript that was discovered amongst his files by an assistant. Just when the literary world thought they’d seen the last of Crichton, readers are now thrilled to land their hands on a brand new novel by him. An additional author was hired to complete the work, and it has recently been published as “Pirate Latitudes”.

Perhaps even more interesting for mainstream audiences is that Steven Spielberg is now on board to create a film based on the story. According to Spielberg, “Michael and I have had almost two decades of solid collaborations. Whenever I made a film from a Michael Crichton book or screenplay, I knew I was in good hands. Michael felt the same, and we like to think he still does.”

It is not hard to imagine the tremendous influence that Crichton has had on people during his lifetime, but what of his own influences? A dig through the archives reveals that a lot of his favourite literary works are rooted in the classics, and of course a healthy dose of science fiction. He long admired authors like Mark Twain and Arthur Conan Doyle for their writing styles and techniques, often citing them at the top of his list of favourites. Alfred Hitchcock was also often favoured by him – no surprise since Crichton’s work has consistently displayed a strong cinematic quality.

While Crichton was an English Literature student at Harvard, he did not fare very well. So much so, that one day he tried an experiment. He submitted an essay written by none other than the renowned George Orwell. The professor returned the paper with a paltry B-minus – one step up from Crichton’s C average. Following this incident, Crichton mused, “I thought, if George Orwell only deserves a B-minus, this was vastly too difficult a field for me. I aspired to be Orwell, and he was just scraping by at Harvard.”

Are you a fan of Michael Crichton’s work? How has he influenced you or your writing?

by Arthur Conan Doyle

he Adventures of Sherlock Holmes is a collection of twelve stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, featuring his famous detective and illustrated by Sidney Paget. These are the first of the Sherlock Holmes short stories, originally published as single stories in the Strand Magazine from July 1891 to June 1892.

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Somewhere in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co., at Charing Cross, there is a travel-worn and battered tin dispatch-box with my name, John H. Watson, M.D., Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid.

"With his cane he struck the ledge several times without leaving a mark."

The Problem of Thor Bridge is remarkable for that tin despatch box, the first mention of an item which would become a thing of lore in Sherlockian circles, and indeed in the fiction that would be written about Holmes by others. This interest in the Holmesian legacy lends the story from the off a more substantial character than that of many of the other stories in the Casebook. It reads in several ways like the earlier adventures – exciting, evocative and adroit.

The central mystery revolves around the marriage of the American gold millionaire Neil Gibson, perhaps the richest of all Holmes’s clients, to a Brazillian woman, Maria Pinto, whom he has come no longer to love. (What is this interest in mysterious South American women so late in Conan Doyle’s career?). The arrival at Gibson’s Hampshire estate of a beautiful new governess, Grace Dunbar, breeds resentment in Gibson’s wife, whom he treats brutally in an attempt to kill the love she still holds, unrequited, for her husband. (“If I have been harsh to her, even brutal as some had said,” Gibson says, “it has been because I knew that if I could kill her love, or if it turned to hate, it would be easier for both of us.” It’s not a defense Holmes has much time for.)

The distinctiveness of this set-up – and of the crime scene itself, a lonely patch of woodland with that memorable bridge, deserted except for the body of the lady of the manor – lends the story a richness, as does the excellent characterisation: Gibson, if in some ways a stereotypically brash American, is given a real ebb and flow of (a not entirely likeable) character; Sergeant Coventry, the local policeman Holmes allows to manage the case, is one of the canon’s more memorable incompetents; and the battle of wits between the story’s two women is striking.

Unfortunately, the women remain defined principally by their beauty. Watson, as ever the ladies’ man, is struck somewhat dumb by the sight of the governess: “I can never forget,” the good doctor breathes, “the effect which Miss Dunbar produced upon me.” The principal matrimonial failing of Maria, meanwhile, is to age and lose her looks: “It was only when the romance had passed,” sighs Gibson, “that I realized we had nothing – absolutely nothing – in common.” D’oh! Holmes’s hope at the end of the stort that a man who has driven his wife to insane jealousy “has learned something in that schoolroom of sorrow”, and will come to marry the lovely and faultless Miss Dunbar, rings a little hollow.

Still, if the women revolve around their man, their personal affiliations form the bedrock of the case – unusual in a Holmes story, which more ordinarily revolves around the type of dirt encrusted upon a man’s shoe. “We’ve got to understand the exact relations of those three people if we are to understand the truth,” Holmes insists, and perhaps his usual aversion to such psychoanalysis is the reason for, as he berates himself, his “wanting in that mixture of imagination and reality which is the basis of my art.” Whatever the cause, that feeling of the investigation being stretched just enough is a tricky one to evoke – more often a story will be overly drawn out or too easily resolved. This successful balance, and the emphatic manner in which Holmes ultimately tips it, is what makes The Problem of Thor Bridge, its Victorian sexual politics aside, a late mini masterpiece.

Pursuit to Algiers, the twelfth film to star Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes and Nigel Bruce as his boon companion Dr. John H. Watson, is a minor entry in the series, but a thoroughly enjoyable one. It’s the ninth Holmes picture directed by Roy William Neill, and his sure hand and professionalism are fully in evidence.

The film gets down to business in a wonderfully circuitous fashion, as Holmes and Watson are handed cryptic directions by a series of strangers. In each case, it takes Holmes a few beats to catch on, while Watson is oblivious the whole time. Eventually they are led to a group of men from an unnamed foreign country whose king has just been assassinated. They want Holmes to guard the life of the heir to the throne, Nikolas, who was educated in England. Holmes suggests that Nikolas pose as Watson’s nephew on a steamship voyage to Algiers. Once at sea, the film introduces a worthy cast of drawing room mystery characters, including a trio of sinister but quirky assassins.

Elements of Leonard Lee’s screenplay are taken from an otherwise unrecorded affair mentioned in the beginning of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s story “The Adventure of the Norwood Builder,” in particular the use of the steamship Friesland. And at one point in the film, Watson begins to share with his fellow dinner guests aboard the ship his adventure with Holmes that involved the “Giant Rat of Sumatra,” which is mentioned in Doyle’s story “The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire.” These references are similar to what Anthony Boucher and Denis Green would occasionally do in their scripts for the radio show The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, which was heard on the Mutual Broadcasting System, and, like the film series, starred Rathbone and Bruce. For instance, in one program, Holmes is willed a patch of land in gratitude for his successful work on a case, and he tells Watson he plans to retire there someday and keep bees. (In Conan Doyle’s stories and novels, the background of Holmes’s retirement in 1903 to the Sussex Downs, where he engaged in beekeeping, was never supplied.)

At times, Pursuit to Algiers comes dangerously close to being a musical, as one of the passengers on the ocean liner is a young and beautiful pianist named Sheila Woodbury (Marjorie Riordan), whom Dr. Watson makes a bit of a fool of himself over. It’s all in good fun, though, and Bruce’s “silly old goat” act is always fun to watch, even if his portrayal of Watson is a bit more ridiculous than Conan Doyle’s original conception of the character. Sheila plays several songs on the piano, including the beautiful “Flow Gently, Sweet Afton.” Watson even joins her at the piano toward the end of the picture for a lovely version of “Loch Lomond.” Director Neill always keeps things moving, however, and despite its minor status, Pursuit to Algiers is still a worthy entry in the Sherlock Holmes series.

So I haven’t bought a book since the end of October when I had a bit of a haul that I reported to you guys on a week later. I have to say that I can’t really moan about how difficult it has been because the main way through the issue so far has been being very busy and most of all… Avoidance!!!

Yes I admit I have not really been in many bookshops or charity shops (I know, it’s not normal) but there have been opportunities such as a visit to Foyle’s waiting for a late friend. Then there is the weekly Sainsbury’s shop with its tempting best sellers section (though one was bought for me while we were in there the other day) yes the answer for me has been avoidance. What has been promising though, if I do give up buying books for charity next year, has been that still books have been arriving (despite the woes of the flood) in some abundance in the last week or so thanks to the library, swapping and publishers.

Despite the fact that I have been reading some corkers and then been sulking at having to give them back I am still using the library much, much more than I was. It’s the perfect way of trying out authors or publishers (as you will see) that I am interested in and getting my mitts on books you have recommended.

• The Boat by Nam Le – So many of you recommended this how could I not pick this up? I think I am going to love it.
• The Tragedy of the Korosko by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – I am the biggest Sherlock Holmes fan but had never heard of this, not that it’s Holmes, and it’s a Hesperus book which is a publisher I must read more of since Lady Into Fox.
• A Dog’s Heart by Mikhail Bulgakov – Want to read some of this author, never have and like the idea of a beast created by mixing a stray dog and a criminal. Sounds gothic and dark and is also Hesperus Press.
• Betrayal by Marquis de Sade – Another author I want to try and a short Hesperus I can dip into.
• Girl in the Blue Dress by Gaynor Arnold – Long listed for the Man Booker and sounds a little sensational.
• The Drivers Seat by Muriel Spark – After reading The Girls of Slender Means lots of you recommended this.
• Wedlock by Wendy Moore – Some non fiction about ‘how Georgian Britain’s worst husband met his match’, sounds fabulous.
• The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter – Loads of you have said I should try this and after Atwood’s Good Bones I want to try some more twisted fairy tales.
• Jane and Prudence by Barbara Pym – Again many of you have raved about Pym and I have not tried one of her books.
• The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri – Yet again through your recommendations of the author. So all these are basically your fault, and if you are getting bored of lists it’s your fault too.

I have also re-activated my Read It Swap It account again and used my unwanted books to get books I really wanted. Ok it costs a bit for postal… that’s not buying books though is it and I have got some gems.

• The Spy Game by Georgina Harding – Has been on my wish list an age.
• Birds of America by Lorrie Moore – As am trying my hand at shorter fiction and short stories have heard Moore is the queen of this. Is that so?
• Perfect Happiness by Penelope Lively – After the review at Other Stories how could I not want to read this?
• Hotel World by Ali Smith – I actually gave this one away on Read It Swap It ages ago… why?
• A Partisan’s Daughter by Louis De Bernieres – After loving Notwithstanding I am keen to read much more from this author.
• Soul Mountain by Gao Xingjian – So many of you told me this was a must read when I asked about Asian fiction.
• The Little White Car by Danuta de Rhodes – Or actually by Dan Rhodes who’s Gold I love, love, loved and this sounds a wonderful tale of some crazy capers of two ladies.
• Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt – After swapping this I realised already had it but this is actually a much nicer copy with bigger type and that can matter can it not?
• Death of a Red Heroine by Qiu Xialong – Another Asian author recommended after I read the latest Xiaolu Guo novel.
• The Provincial Daughter by R.M. Dashwood – I am about to read The Provincial Lady and so reading about the daughter after might be fun, have heard great things about both from you all.
• The Thirteen Problems by Agatha Christie – Well I like reading books in order and this was the one I was missing and one which Eva said was one of her favourites.

Phew, that’s a bit of a barrage of book titles and some of my Read It Swap It’s haven’t arrived yet. I was going to add in the books received from publishers but think you might all be asleep if I do that so will follow up with part two later in the week. As ever your thoughts on my latest arrivals are most welcome and I will be delighted to hear what you think.

Alfredo Lara López explica sobre Holmes que “en aquellos años, los escritores como Doyle, y en menor medida los militares, influían sobremanera en la gente. Eran los equivalentes a las estrellas de Hollywood de hoy en día. Al no existir la televisión, ni la radio, todo el mundo leía sus historias y conversaba sobre ellas. Doyle triunfó como escritor cuando el detective se publicó regularmente en The Strand Magazine, ya que antes las historias de Holmes no habían llamado mucho la atención. Pero la gente al leerlo regularmente se dio cuenta de que era algo novedoso, y que traía un mundo completamente nuevo con él.”

Sherlock Holmes fue tan popular que literalmente le cambió el rostro a Londres. El espíritu de Holmes vive en el Londres de hoy, la estación de Baker Street, parte de ella construida durante la época victoriana, aún le rinde homenaje, decorándola con ilustraciones de uno de sus famosos viajeros. Holmes, tan inglés como internacional, es admirado por todo el mundo, y desde América hasta Asia el cariño por el personaje se puede ver en la enorme cantidad de sociedades fundadas. Alemanes, griegos, estadounidenses, incluso lo japoneses están entre sus grandes seguidores. Las sagaces conjeturas de los entusiastas aficionados del más grande de los detectives consideran el 6 de enero como el nacimiento ficticio de Sherlock Holmes.

A finales del siglo XIX el centro del Imperio Británico era Londres, el lugar más civilizado del mundo de esa era. Ya se utilizaba el telégrafo, inventado en 1836, se hacían varias entregas al día de telegramas, los líneas de la locomotora a vapor de 1814 se extendía continuamente, todos los inventos modernos surgían en esas décadas y Holmes ya los utilizaba, el fonógrafo, el motor del automóvil, la fotografía, el cinematógrafo… Londres disponía de un excelente suministro de alumbrado de gas antes de que los demás países empezasen años después ya con el sistema de tendido eléctrico. Londres fue la primera ciudad en disponer del moderno sistema de desagüe de cloacas. Aparecían las primeras maquinas de escribir, las técnicas quirúrgicas se sofisticaban, Louis Pasteur hacía grandes avances en el campo de las vacunas. En 1888 Holmes utilizó el teléfono, una novedad creada en 1876.

Sherlock Holmes también probó las drogas de aquella época, la cocaína y la morfina en una solución al siete por ciento. Todavía no se sabía que la adicción podía ser perjudicial y se la comprendía como esclarecedora para la mente. Como eran legales, muchas personalidades las consumían con regularidad, como el poeta Samuel T. Coleridge o la propia reina Victoria. Holmes se la inyectaba por vía intravenosa, así es como sus antebrazos se describen en los relatos con innumerables marcas de aguja. Sherlock Holmes únicamente las tomaba ante períodos muy largos de estancamiento entre caso y caso. El detective necesitaba resolver un enigma constantemente para no recurrir a los estímulos artificiales.

La vanidad y la arrogancia eran consecuentes de las costumbres inglesas. Mientras su exploradores seguían internándose en lo desconocido, un tercio del planeta ya pertenecía al Imperio Británico, y los mares eran dominados por ellos desde hacía más de un siglo gracias al almirante Nelson, entre otros. La velocidad de los viajes y de las comunicaciones mantenían a los ingleses a la vanguardia de las novedades que surgían. Sherlock Holmes, como detective y como hombre, fue producto de esta Inglaterra victoriana. Su reputación internacional era tal que en varias ocasiones no sólo trabajó para el gobierno británico (hay cierto ‘ilustre cliente’ que se creía era el rey Eduardo VII), sino también para las casas reales de Bohemia, de los Países Bajos y para Francia, que le concedió la Legión de Honor.

A diferencia de la policía norteamericana, los oficiales británicos cumplían su oficio desprovistos de armas. Y a pesar de que Sherlock Holmes trabajaba con ellos, desconfiaba de sus habilidades. En Chicago (Estados Unidos) fue fundada la Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency (Agencia Nacional de Detectives ‘Adam’ Pinkerton) en 1852, siendo su eficacia reconocida internacionalmente. Diez años después, Scotland Yard contaba para todo Londres, con sus tres millones de habitantes, con quince detectives únicamente.

La enorme cantidad de población concentrada en Londres era algo demasiado nuevo aún, y muy difícil de controlar. La diferencia entre la clase alta y baja era muy clara. Los indigentes iban a la capital desde las zonas rurales arrastrados irresistiblemente por las oportunidades que ofrecía Londres. Es así como las calles, los callejones y los albergues estaban repletos de mendigos. Una de las labores de los agentes de policía era evitar que tal presencia llegara a la alta sociedad. Los policías creían que las clases desposeídas eran las únicas que cometían delitos, tal como demuestran las crónicas policiales de los periódicos basadas en actitudes sociales completamente racistas. Lo interesante de Conan Doyle a través de Holmes es que demuestra que el crimen no es un asunto patológico, sino el resultado de un ambiente, el resultado de la personalidad individual, y supera la idea clásica victoriana de que el crimen es meramente producto de las clases pobres y de la gente de la calle. Holmes prueba que los grandes criminales pueden existir tanto en los barrios bajos y los callejones como en las mansiones y castillos de los más nobles. Con esa actitud Doyle se adelantó mucho a su época, y demostró que su mentalidad era más abierta que cualquier otro escritor o detective contemporáneo.

A pesar de los titulares sensacionalistas de hoy, las crónicas policiales han cambiado muy poco desde los tiempos de Holmes. Entonces la prostitución y su influencia corruptora eran muy generalizadas en Londres. La explotación infantil era muy común, y hasta el propio Holmes utilizaba las destrezas de unos niños de la calle conocidos como ‘los irregulares de Baker Street’.

El hábito de la clase alta inglesa de enviar a sus hijos a escuelas lejanas puede explicar el carácter solitario inglés. Como es del conocimiento general, los efectos de la niñez en la vida adulta fueron estudiados por Sigmund Freud (1856-1939), padre del psicoanálisis. Los aficionados creen que Doyle llegó a conclusiones similares al mismo tiempo de manera independiente. De los sesenta relatos de Holmes, al menos veintitrés de ellos contienen una figura paternal terrible que niega la figura del hijo. La idea de que el hijo llega a celar del padre, e incluso a odiarlo, es una de las teorías básicas del complejo de Edipo desarrollado por Freud.

Incluso para la mentalidad del londinense corriente las deducciones de Holmes eran formidables, pues estaban vinculadas a la ciencia. El detective, además de anteponer su propio sentido de la justicia antes que las leyes humanas, sujeta a tantos errores, tenía un sistema de análisis basado en la nueva disciplina de la medicina forense, que hasta para el lector medio más erudito era algo muy novedoso. Holmes comprendía que los primeros minutos de investigación son los más cruciales. Solía subir y bajar la acera alejado del lugar donde se cometió el asesinato buscando pistas ajenas y recreando mentalmente las circunstancias. Contaminaba lo menos posible la escena del crimen, buscaba en los sitios donde las pistas debían encontrarse junto con la clase de datos que eran, procuraba seguir una pista recién cuando obtenía la mejor prueba posible y tenía el axioma de que ‘Es un error capital lanzar teorías antes de tener datos’.

Respecto al origen de la inteligencia, el mismo Holmes estaba interesado en los motivos subyacentes de su propia habilidad. En Estudio en escarlata Holmes lo atribuye a un esfuerzo de trabajo y estudio, mientras que en “El intérprete griego” lo atribuye a la herencia, basado en que su hermano Mycroft lo poseía en un grado mayor que él. Doyle se adelantó a la investigación actual del origen de la inteligencia al analizar tanto los roles del conocimiento heredado como del adquirido.

Luis Emilio Reñé

Glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs with which I have endeavored to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficulty which I have experienced in picking out examples which shall in every way answer my purpose. For in those cases in which Holmes has performed some tour de force of analytical reasoning, and has demonstrated the value of his peculiar methods of investigation, the facts themselves have often been so slight or so commonplace that I could not feel justified in laying them before the public. On the other hand, it has frequently happened that he has been concerned in some research where the facts have been of the most remarkable and dramatic character, but where the share which he has himself taken in determining their causes has been less pronounced than I, as his biographer, could wish. The small matter which I have chronicled under the heading of “A Study in Scarlet,” and that other later one connected with the loss of the Gloria Scott, may serve as examples of this Scylla and Charybdis which are forever threatening the historian. It may be that in the business of which I am now about to write the part which my friend played is not sufficiently accentuated; and yet the whole train of circumstances is so remarkable that I cannot bring myself to omit it entirely from this series.
     It had been a close, rainy day in October. Our blinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer of 90 was no hardship. But the paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumor or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of Nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of the country.

                                                                                               < 2 >

     Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossed aside the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair, I fell into a brown study. Suddenly my companion’s voice broke in upon my thoughts.
     “You are right, Watson,” said he. “It does seem a very preposterous way of settling a dispute.”
     “Most preposterous!” I exclaimed, and then, suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement.
     “What is this, Holmes?” I cried. “This is beyond anything which I could have imagined.”
     He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
     “You remember,” said he, “that some little time ago, when I read you the passage in one of Poe’s sketches, in which a close reasoner follows the unspoken thought of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour de force of the author. On my remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity.”
     “Oh, no!”
     “Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in rapport with you.”
     But I was still far from satisfied. “In the example which you read to me,” said I, “the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the man whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clews can I have given you?”
     “You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful servants.”
     “Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my features?”
     “Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?”
     “No, I cannot.”
     “Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newly-framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in your face that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far. Your eyes turned across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands upon the top of your books. You then glanced up at the wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond with Gordon’s picture over there.”

< 3 >

     “You have followed me wonderfully!” I exclaimed.
     “So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying the character in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Beecher’s career. I was well aware that you could not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember you expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when I observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clinched, I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your own old wound, and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settling international questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it was preposterous, and was glad to find that all my deductions had been correct.”
     “Absolutely!” said I. “And now that you have explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as before.”
     “It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity the other day. But the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do you say to a ramble through London?”
     I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced. For three hours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changing kaleidoscope of life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet Street and the Strand. His characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail and subtle power of inference held me amused and enthralled. It was ten o’clock before we reached Baker Street again. A brougham was waiting at our door.

< 4 >

     “Hum! A doctor’s — general practitioner, I perceive,” said Holmes. “Not been long in practice, but has had a good deal to do. Come to consult us, I fancy! Lucky we came back!”
     I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes’s methods to be able to follow his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the various medical instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamplight inside the brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction. The light in our window above showed that this late visit was indeed intended for us. With some curiosity as to what could have sent a brother medico to us at such an hour, I followed Holmes into our sanctum.
     A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair by the fire as we entered. His age may not have been more than three or four and thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a life which has sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. His manner was nervous and shy, like that of a sensitive gentleman, and the thin white hand which he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of an artist rather than of a surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombre — a black frock-coat, dark trousers, and a touch of color about his necktie.
     “Good-evening, doctor,” said Holmes, cheerily. “I am glad to see that you have only been waiting a very few minutes.”
     “You spoke to my coachman, then?”
     “No, it was the candle on the side-table that told me. Pray resume your seat and let me know how I can serve you.”
     “My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan,” said our visitor, “and I live at 403 Brook Street.”
     “Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?” I asked.
     His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was known to me.
     “I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead,” said he. “My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. You are yourself, I presume, a medical man?”
     “A retired army surgeon.”
     “My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish to make it an absolute specialty, but, of course, a man must take what he can get at first. This, however, is beside the question, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I quite appreciate how valuable your time is. The fact is that a very singular train of events has occurred recently at my house in Brook Street, and to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was quite impossible for me to wait another hour before asking for your advice and assistance.”

Think before you speak. Good advice. Till I think of a specific focus for a blog, I record my daily angst in cyberspace.

Jesus lived in India- specifically he was buried as Yuz Asaf in Kashmir. Does it really matter? Organised religion is a means of conformance and an open incitement to hatred. Divisions are created and manipulated by people in power to fulfill their own agenda. Endemic violence seems to be the gift of the religious elite.

Alec Fart said, “My next idea is my own.” Readers beware, I follow my own trajectory. But I always manage to land in a safe spot.

THE MASTER SLEUTH

Sherlock Holmes is a much loved character in fiction. “The Sign of Four”, “The Valley of Fear” and his battle with Professor Moriarty in the still coldness of the Reichenbach falls in Switzerland are elements of the Holmesian canon that any avid reader of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is familiar with.

Forgive my sweeping generalisation, I assume a fan of Mr. Holmes is reading. If not, head elsewhere, there are a million other blogs.

Partha Basu has a different take on “The Curious Case of 221B- The Secret Notebooks of John H Watson, MD.” Racism, feminine wiles and sexual chemistry find their way in the Watson retake on Holmes.

Early morning in Mumbai, and there is no apparent manifestation of an inspiration for life. Sir Salman Rushdie in his creative copywriting wisdom created a Padma Lakshmi in his fiction and even married one.

Sex Me Up
Another debate – is inspiration solely carnal? And is it related merely to a material idiom?

While many Indians may believe that Yoga and Tantra are philosophical ideas and a means of self-restraint and higher understanding, some people in the West or now the West-inspired East can interpret it wholly in material terms – and as a stimulant for wordly success.

Speculative living cannot be discarded – what I and you or for that matter anybody else in the world does everyday is think, ideate and transmute his creative force and channelise it to (in simple terms) his personal advantage.

Thinking different
What distinguishes a “genius” from the vast multitude? Where do the answers lie? Einstein’s speculative and acknowledged intellect had a philosophical answer to the mystery of existence or the presence of a superior power.

“My religion consists of a humble admiration for this illimitable superior spirit that reveals itself in the slight details that we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble minds. That deeply emotional conviction of the presence of a superior reasoning power which is revealed in the comprehensible universe forms my idea of God.”

If this sounded like a verbal bouncer or as intractable as a proof for his relativity theories, in simple words – Einstein is humbly acknowledging a vast intellect lording over money-hungry, sex-starved, opinionated, feuding multitude including yours truly engaged in the daily rigmarole of existence.

Finding a reason to live – is to find some means to transcend the spirit or the body – if that is possible – and to go beyond the ordinary – if any of you believe that we need to go beyond the mundane. Till then I will keep consuming the world’s resources – which according to most sources are finite.

It may have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy.

"Two pistols were pointed at his head."

The Three Garridebs is proof, in case we needed it after the last few weeks, that Conan Doyle late in his career was still capable of spinning a tight tale. In the fashion that is customary for most Holmes tales in the context of the canon, the story’s relative success proceeds from its deft handling of Conan Doyle’s recurrent themes: the foreign past, the mysterious career criminal, the unlikely hermit. Even Birmingham – which we remember as the site of a hoax in The Stockbroker’s Clerk – serves a similar capacity here. Yet these elements are yoked together convincingly, and Holmes enjoys a sufficiently magnetic spell, which makes the satisfying whole much more than the sum of its potentially rather tired parts.

One of the keys to this renewed vigour is the unusual premise: Holmes is approached by a Mr Garrideb, who has in turn been approached by a Mr Garrideb, on the matter of the will of … yet another. The latter two Garridebs are Americans – and we get a good deal of evocative Americana (Conan Doyle seems particularly fond of Chicago, which of course was a favourite haunt of both Altamont and the Red Circle) – and the will of the one has tasked the other with finding two more Garridebs, with whom to share a $15 million fortune. The name, however, is uniquely rare, and the search has therefore come to London – and to Holmes’s client.

This ruse is quickly seen through by the detective (long inured to the lure of unlikely fortune): “I was wondering, Watson,” he says in the mischievous form he spents much of this tale, “what on earth could be the object of this man in telling us such a rigmarole of lies.” Naturally Holmes discovers the object – and naturally it involves an exotic past and a lack of honour amongst thieves. What is remarkable about the solution is that it hangs together so well. One must buy the idea that Holmes’s client is a total hermit, but agoraphobes are not uncommon. Proceeding from that fact, all the others slot into place rather nicely.

Holmes, too, feels more like his old self than he often does in the Casebook. In 1902, we are told, he refused a knighthood for services rendered – alas, we never learn what those services were. What we do learn about him, however – or perhaps what Watson learns – is one of the warmest moments in the canon. When a bullet grazes Watson’s leg, Holmes jumps to his side: “You’re not hurt, Watson? For God’s sake, say that you are not hurt!” Watson’s thoughts are worth quoting in full:

“It was worth a wound – it was worth many wounds – to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment,a nd the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that revelation.”

All the reader’s years of following the pair, too, may well be rewarded in this moment. And Holmes’s next expostulation? “You are right. It is quite superficial.” The Three Garridebs is indeed lovely stuff for the faithful.

If you’re only going to read one page-turner about violent Mormonism this week, make it “Under the Banner of Heaven,” which is seriously fascinating. But after you’ve finished reading that, pick up the first Sherlock Holmes novel.

In an effort to become an obnoxious, hair-splitting Holmes purist in time for the the movie’s release on Christmas day, I just finished reading “A Study in Scarlet,” Arthur Conan Doyle’s first novel starring the supremely logical 19th-century British detective. I didn’t expect it to have anything to do with my 21st-century, non-mysterious, illogical, 90% American (10% Canadian!) road trip.

And yet, when one has a blog to update, it’s remarkable what can be connected to one’s own life.

Brigham Young confronts his innocent victim in an early illustration of "A Study in Scarlet."

So, today’s fact of the day: A full third of “A Study in Scarlet” is devoted to a lurid tale of Mormon feuding and forced plural marriage in and around Utah! That’s a topic that I dilettantishly became interested in a few months ago after visiting to Salt Lake City’s Temple Square and viewing of a full-length feature film about Joseph Smith, along with various encounters with Mormon culture around the American West.

After introducing Dr. Watson (who has just returned from medical duty in Afghanistan), Holmes, and the particulars of a most unusual murder case, the narrative shifts from cozy 221b Baker Street to an “arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long year served as a barrier against the advance of civilization.” It also shifts from Watson’s precise, curious first-person narrative to a sanctimonious omniscient narrator with a flair for the florid.

Here’s Doyle’s setup of the confrontation between the vile Brigham Young and the noble father figure of the story-within-a-story.

One fine morning, John Ferrier was about to set out to his wheatfields, when he heard the click of the latch, and, looking through the window, saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His heart leapt to his mouth, for this was none other than the great Brigham Young himself. Full of trepidation — for he knew that such a visit boded him little good — Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. The latter, however, received his salutations coldly, and followed him with a stern face into the sitting-room.

And this is before the straight-up murdering begins.

On an American speaking tour some 36 years after the book’s publication, Doyle made his first visit to Utah, where an offended correspondent contacted him at the Hotel Utah and requested an apology for his depiction of Mormons. The author hedged, writing that “all I said about the Danite Band and the murders is historical so I cannot withdraw that tho it is likely that in a work of fiction it is stated more luridly than in a work of history. It’s best to let the matter rest.”

I have a feeling it will “rest” in the movie, too, which is not based on a particular Holmes story and would have no reason to include this bizarre little American interlude. But a girl can dream: Maybe in the inevitable sequel, Robert Downey Jr.’s martial-arts-master version of Holmes can time-travel his way to 21st-century Utah for an ass-kicking confrontation of his own.

Editorial Akal publicará el próximo jueves 19 de noviembre el volumen 1 de “Sherlock Holmes anotado”, que comprenderá las novelas ordenadas por su fecha de edición original. La traducción corresponde a Silvana Appeceix, y se reúne el texto en 912 páginas, con un total  de 295 ilustraciones, a un precio de 60 €.

Klinger ofrece casi 1.000 notas cuidadosamente investigadas que ofrecen amplia y precisa información histórica sobre la Inglaterra victoriana y eduardiana, además de detalladas explicaciones sobre las teorías sherlockianas más importantes. Amén de ello, ha recopilado infinidad de ilustraciones contemporáneas y fotografías de época que incluyen el trabajo de los primeros ilustradores norteamericanos, el del inmerecidamente olvidado artista alemán Richard Gutschmidt y todos los legendarios dibujos de Sidney Paget para Strand Magazine. El volumen incluye por último una extensa bibliografía y una tabla cronológica que presenta sencillas referencias a las fechas más destacadas de las vidas de Holmes, Watson y Conan Doyle.

Leslie S. Klinger es considerado una de las máximas autoridades sobre dos iconos de la Inglaterra victoriana como son Sherlock Holmes y Drácula (de este último también tiene una edición anotada). Su “Sherlock Holmes anotado”, que fue publicado originalmente por W. W. Norton entre 2004 y 2005, ganó el premio Edgar a la mejor obra crítica o biográfica, amén de conseguir otras muchas nominaciones en el ámbito de la literatura de misterio.

Fuentes: Círculo Holmes y Librería Estudio en Escarlata

Livraria PORTO DAS LETRAS: acesse www.estantevirtual.com.br/acervo/livrariaportodasletras

    Dedico este “post” à minha amiga Maria Valéria Rezende, pelas nossas conversas sobre Marx

“O resultado geral a que cheguei e que, uma vez obtido, serviu-me de fio condutor aos meus estudos, pode ser formulado em poucas palavras: na produção social da própria vida, os homens contraem relações determinadas, necessárias e independentes de sua vontade, relações de produção estas que correspondem a uma etapa determinada de desenvolvimento das suas forças produtivas materiais. A totalidade dessas relações de produção forma a estrutura econômica da sociedade, a base real sobre a qual se levanta uma superestrutura jurídica e política, e à qual correspondem formas sociais determinadas de consciênia. O modo de produção da vida material condiciona o processo em geral da vida social, político e espiritual. Não é a consciência dos homens que determina o seu ser, mas, ao contrário, é o seu ser social que determina sua consciência. Em uma certa etapa de seu desenvolvimento, as forças produtivas materiais da sociedade entram em contradição com as relações de produção existentes ou, o que nada mais é do que a sua expressão jurídica, com as relações de propriedade dentro das quais aquelas até então se tinham movido. De formas de desenvolvimento das forças produtivas essas relações se transformam em seus grilhões. Sõbrevém então uma época de revolução social…”

      Em 1859, Karl Marx conseguiu publicar alguns capítulos mais ou menos em estado legível das suas primeiras investigações sobre o capital, que ele começara a esboçar dois anos antes: Contribuição para a crítica da economia política (cuja tradução pode ser encontrada no volume dedicado a ele em “Os Pensadores”, organizado por José Arthur Gianotti, responsável também pela tradução, com a colaboraçãode Edgard Malagodi). Como acontecia muito comumente em Marx, quando ele publicou, já estava “alhures”, o texto já se tornara algo superado (no sentido pessoal, claro), e ele estava pronto para se dedicar ao Capital.

     O trecho que transcrevi é do prefácio que escreveu, sintetizando sua trajetória até os limites da grande obra da sua vida (cujo primeiro volume só apareceu em 1867, como desenvolvimento extremo das idéias da Contribuição).

      Esse texto de Marx é da maior importãncia: temos a base das suas principais idéias sobre o capitalismo e além disso, ele estava no centro do Império. Como narra o doutor Watson, voltando do Afeganistão, muito doente e combalido: “… senti-me naturalmente atraído por Londres, essa grande cloaca para a qual todos os vagabundos e ociosos do Império são irresistivelmente drenados.” ( UM ESTUDO EM VERMELHO). Marx, o homem do “tudo que é sólido desmancha no ar”, esperando que as contradições do capitalismo, tal como as diagnotiscava no seu centro, a capital-cloaca do império Britânico. Se pensarmos que, no mesmo ano Darwin publicou A origem das espécies temos uma espécie de ano-chave, cabalístico. E foi justamente em 1859 que nasceu Arthur Conan Doyle.

    Ao contrário de Agatha Christie, o criador de Sherlock Holmes não foi generoso na quantidade de histórias do seu herói (que foi um peso na sua vida e ele estava sempre disposto a matá-lo): seis coletâneas de contos e quatro romances; porém, a quantidade de material que um dos mais famosos personagens da cultura ocidental (e certamente o mais conhecido detetive), ao lado de Ulisses, Quixote, Hamlet e poucos mais, gerou é  incontável.

       A coleção Sherlock Holmes- Edição Definitiva- Comentada e Ilustrada, que agora chega ao sexto volume, pela Zahar, ajuda a compreender o mito Holmes, que ultrapassou o seu criador e os textos originais: nela, o gênio da dedução da Baker Street 221-B e seu parceiro Watson são tomados como seres reais, e todo o aparato de notas e informações é baseado nessa premissa lúdica e muito atraente para quem vive da bênção da leitura segundo Harold Bloom: “mais vida em tempo ilimitado”.

     Foi com os filmes estrelados pelo magnífico Jeremy Brett (ver foto acima; onde vemos que na sua composição de Holmes ele deixou qualquer clichê para trás e deu-lhe um toque “Hannibal Lecter”;  outro talentoso Holmes moderno foi James D´Arcy, porém logo o substituíram por Rupert Everett que deu um show de canastrice), numa série de televisão memorável, e também devido a essa coleção que fiz as pazes com Sherlock Holmes. Quando era garoto, tive a maior decepção com As aventuras de Sherlock Holmes (como explico na resenha abaixo). Mais tarde, lendo os romances, considerei Doyle um escritor medíocre, muito inferior à criadora de Poirot e Miss Marple. No cômputo geral, seu personagem valia mais como paradigma incessantemente reinventado.

      O sexto volume proporciona a oportunidade de reler justamente o “nascimento” de Holmes & Watson, UM ESTUDO EM VERMELHO  (1887), e constato que minha paixão pelo tipo de mistério arquitetado por Agatha Christie atrapalhou na avaliação dos talentos de Doyle. É certo que a história é fraca, o mistério incolor, as deduções cabotinas e nada convincentes. Holmes informa aos policiais da Scotland Yard, após a descoberta de um corpo numa casa deserta: “… o assassino foi um homem. Ele tinha mais de um metro e oitenta de altura, estava na flor da idade, usava botinas grosseiras de bico quadrado e fumava um charuto Trichinopolo. Veio para cá com sua vítima num fiacre de quatro rodas, puxado por um cavalo com três ferraduras velhas e uma nova na parte dianteira direita.  Com toda probabilidade, o assassino tinha um rosto avermelhado e unhas notavelmente compridas na mão direita. Estas são apenas algumas indicações, mas podem ajudá-los.” A não ser para impressionar o leitor, em que essas informações minuciosas, mas realmente inúteis, poderiam ajudar a polícia? Esse lado CSI oitocentista de Sherlock Holmes permanece o aspecto que mais me desaponta e irrita.

     Por outro lado, como é talentosa, colorida e bem-humorada a narração do Dr. Watson! Como resistiu ao tempo! Vemos de forma sintética o primeiro encontro dos dois, como começam a dividir os aposentos na Baker Street, as diferenças de temperamento, a fixação dos hábitos e manias do detetive, sua gangue de menores de rua, que se espalham por uma Londres-Babel. Há, ademais, todo o flash back ambientado em Utah, entre os mórmons, que explica o porquê dos assassinatos cometidos pelo vingativo Jefferson Hope (eu não dava grande valor a essa parte, porém agora a acho excelente e cheia de suspense). Levando isso em conta, até as vaidades de Holmes, ciosamente contabilizadas pelo seu parceiro (ou “discípulo”), que importância tem se os crimes (dois americanos são assassinados) são pouco interessantes e se os métodos para desvendá-los pareçam truques? São truques de um bom prestidigitador literário, é preciso que se faça a devida justiça a esse autor que foi um dos responsáveis por manter a era vitoriana como um fetiche absoluto na imaginação popular e na indústria cultural.

     Antípoda a Marx,  Holmes é o homem da ordem, da manutenção da lógica do capitalismo: “O fio vermelho do assassinato corre através da meada incolor da vida, e nosso dever é desemaranhá-lo, isolá-lo, e expor cada centímetro dele.”

     Temos, também, na fixação do Cânone Sherloquiano, as deliciosas notas em que, além das muitas informações da época, fanáticos pelo detetive analisam exaustivamente cada momento do livro, propondo interpretações e soluções para os desacertos e contradições (pois eles abundam, e os fanáticos pela obra são os primeiros a apontá-los), que são quase  um segundo livro para se ler.

_____________

 (resenha sobre os dois primeiros volumes da coleção da Zahar, publicada em “A Tribuna”, em 05 de agosto de 2006)

  Após a “Obra Completa” de Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930) envolvendo Sherlock Holmes, em três compactos volumes, pela Ediouro (nota de 2009: a editora Agir fundiu os três volumes num só), a Jorge Zahar lança agora uma iniciativa bem mais ousada: a tradução dos cinco volumes de uma enciclopédia sherloquiana, sob a responsabilidade de Leslie S. Klinger: Sherlock Holmes- Edição Definitiva – Comentada e Ilustrada. Por enquanto, há dois volumes no mercado e eles são uma verdadeira delícia para o amante da ficção, ainda que não exatamente pela qualidade da ficção de Conan Doyle.

    Pois, ao reler –no primeiro volume—As Aventuras de Sherlock Holmes (1892), senti a mesma e frustrante decepção que tive aos 12 anos diante da mesma coletânea inaugural de casos do mais cultuado detetive do mundo: histórias medíocres, mistérios pífios, demonstrações ocas da pretensa acuidade de Holmes, embora –então, como agora— o dr. Watson escapasse milagrosamente ileso do desastre. Isso sempre determinou uma antipatia invencível pelo personagem até que ele foi admiravelmente encarnado por Jeremy Brett (secundado por um igualmente mais-que-perfeito Edward Hardwicke como Watson). A magistral caracterização de Brett (similar à perfeição com que David Suchet encarnou Poirot) operou uma necessidade de reavaliar o fascínio e o carisma de uma das personagens fictícias mais célebres, imitadas, pastichadas, verdadeiro ícone cultural.

    E a essa expectativa a edição de Klinger atende fartamente: vastamente documentada, com anotações à margem do texto (é preciso que se faça justiça ao trabalho editorial, de primeira qualidade), ela se fundamenta num pressuposto fascinante: a crença na existência efetiva de Holmes & Watson, crença compartilhada há mais de um século por muita gente.

    No caso de Klinger, pouco importa se essa crença é simulada, produto de uma brincadeira intelectual, um auto-ilusionismo. O que importa é que ela funciona e faz da sua coleção um empreendimento importantíssimo para a literatura e a ficção, num momento em que a obsessão por histórias baseadas em fatos reais, reality shows e outras fórmulas acabam encenando pelo mundo afora uma espécie de morte da imaginação. Klinger vem reinstaurar o prazer de descobrir o “amigo imaginário”, aquele que nos dá acesso ao nosso próprio código pessoal. E o leitor de 40 anos, mesmo não se convencendo muito com relação a Arthur Conan Doyle, lembra-se de outras portas de acesso a esse mundo: Júlio Verne, Mark Twain, Agatha Christie, Robert Louis Stevenson.

    Pena que as aventuras de Sherlock Holmes ficam a dever, mesmo com o poder de persuasão do genial Jeremy Brett ou com o aparato de Leslie S. Klinger: por exemplo, na famosa e paradigmática Um escândalo na Boêmia, há uma ridícula aparição do cliente (o rei da Boêmia), que faz o leitor cair na gargalhada, não há mistério algum e ainda Holmes é derrotado, depois de encenar uma tola farsa; em A liga dos Cabeças Vermelhas há até um certo clima na narrativa do cliente, mas todas as ações de Holmes para solucionar o problema tiram o charme do conto, que fica como um protótipo distante dos seriados televisivos (Holmes seria um CSI hoje em dia); e, só para dar mais um exemplo, que raio de mistério seria Um Caso de Identidade?: no próprio ato de se contar o problema, qualquer leitor percebe a solução.

    Mesmo assim, e que se perdoe o paradoxo, vale a pena mergulhar nos volumes de Sherlock Holmes- Edição Definitiva, um presente para a memória afetiva de quem norteou sua formação pela leitura de livros.

____________________________________________________

serviço: Sherlock Holmes- Edição Definitiva- Comentada e Ilustrada. Organizador: Leslie S. Klinger. Primeiro volume: As Aventuras de Sherlock Holmes.495 págs. Segundo volume: As Memórias de Sherlock Holmes (1893). 427 págs. Tradução de  Maria Luiza X. de A. Borges. Editora Jorge Zahar.

Data
Title: The Return of Sherlock Holmes: Season One [or, season three of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, with a new title]
Year: 1986
Network: ITV
Episodes: 7, at c. 52 minutes
Creator: John Hawkesworth (developer)
Directors: Howard Baker, Peter Hammond, David Carson, John Bruce, Patrick Lau, John Madden
Writers: John Hawkesworth, T.R. Bowen, Jeremy Paul, Alan Plater, John Kane; based on stories by Arthur Conan Doyle
Starring: Jeremy Brett, Edward Hardwicke
Music: Patrick Gowers

My reaction
Synopsis: a private investigator solves mysteries
How I saw it: mostly streaming online (from Netflix), over the past couple weeks
Concept: Great.
Story: Good. Not really any bad episodes in this batch (although the first couple aren’t great). A few of them are great.
Characters: Great.
Dialog: Good. The quality of the adaptations are much better than I remember The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes being.
Pacing: Good.
Cinematography: Indifferent.
Special effects/design: Great.
Acting: Great. I’m surprised to find I’m not disappointed by the re-casting of Watson. And Brett’s even better than before.
Music: Great.
Subjective Rating: 8/10 (Great). Again, I have to point out that this is not My Sort of Thing. I’m not a big fan of mysteries – especially crime drama – and as a rule I hate period drama. But I absolutely love this show.
Objective Rating: 9/10 (Very good).

Never read a graphic novel before? Haven’t read a comic book in years?

Here’s some brand new stuff that came out the week of November 4 that I think is worth a look-see for someone with little to no history with comics. That means you should be able to pick any of these up cold without having read anything else. So take a look and see if something doesn’t grab your fancy. If so, follow the publisher links or Amazon.com links to buy yourself a copy. Or, head to your local friendly comic book shop.

Disclaimer: For the most part, I have not read these yet, so I can’t vouch for their quality. But, from what I’ve heard and seen, odds are good they just might appeal to you.

The TOON Treasury of Classic Children’s Comics – $40.00
Edited by Art Spiegelman & Françoise Mouly
352 pages; published by Abrams ComicArts; available at Amazon.com

The TOON Treasury of Classic Children’s Comics is an unprecedented collection of the greatest comics for children, artfully compiled by two of the best-known creators in publishing and the field of comics–Art Spiegelman and Francoise Mouly.

This treasury created for young readers focuses on comic books, not strips, and contains humorous stories that range from a single-page to eight or even twenty-two pages, each complete and self-contained. The comics have been culled from the Golden Age of comic books, roughly the 1940s through the early 1960s, and feature the best examples of works by such renowned artists and writers as Carl Barks, John Stanley, Sheldon Mayer, Walt Kelly, Basil Wolverton, and George Carlson, among many, many others.

Organizing the book into five categories (Hey, Kids!; Funny Animals; Fantasyland; Story Time!; and Wacky & Weird), Spiegelman and Mouly use their expertise in the area of comics to frame each category with an introductory essay, and provide brief biographies of the artists. The TOON Treasury of Classic Children’s Comics is essential reading for kids of all ages.

Great for kids, and the supplemental essays and historical context should make this entertaining for parents, too. The artists mentioned in the blurb were masters and are still huge influences to modern comic and graphic artists. And it’s sturdy enough for repeated reading. The publisher link above includes a great preview that shows just how charming and delightful this stuff will be to experience. Lots of fun!

Donald Duck and Friends #347 – $2.99
By Fausto Vitaliano & Andrea Freccero
32 pages; published by Boom! Kids

The Quack is back in this first BOOM! Kids issue! He’s no double “o” seven, he’s Double Duck! Donald shows us his dashing, adventurous side as a secret agent on a mission to stop a dangerous ice-melting machine and save the world from rising oceans! This is a Donald Duck like you’ve never seen! A brand new start at a brand new company for one of the world’s most iconic characters and longest-lived, most-published comic book series!

Speaking of those influential artists, you can pretty much draw a direct line from Carl Barks to this new issue (translated from the original Italian edition). Another great comic for kids. Here’s a 5-page preview.

Sherlock Holmes, Vol. 1: The Trial of Sherlock Holmes – $24.99
By Leah Moore, John Reppion & Aaron Campbell
168 pages; published by Dynamite Entertainment; available at Amazon.com

Arthur Conan Doyle’s classic detective Sherlock Holmes returns in all-new adventures! Sherlock finds himself involved in a mystery that has him fighting for his very life and Watson putting the pieces together to either save his friend or condemn him! Written by Leah Moore and John Reppion with reverence and a modern edge, artist Aaron Campbell completes the Victorian mood under the striking and iconic John Cassaday covers. Also contains bonus material such as script pages, annotations, a cover gallery, and a complete Sherlock Holmes short story by Arthur Conan Doyle with new illustrations.

I’ve been looking forward to this. It’s supposed to be a pretty faithful take on Sherlock Holmes. There’s a 10-page preview at the publisher link above.

Like A Dog – $22.99
By Zak Sally
128 pages; published by Fantagraphics Books; available at Amazon.com

One man’s heartfelt and irreverent record of his time on this rock, Zak Sally’s unflinchingly veracious book, Like a Dog, is both direct and oblique, which we find rather miraculous considering the messy and murky waters of human experience it manages to navigate. Like a Dog is among the few comic book testimonials burdened by the yen to understand and articulate the mundane and the magnificent. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself laughing and crying as you claw your way through each hard fought page!

Of all of Sally’s creative pursuits (including a career in music spanning 15+ years), Like a Dog is the one he’s been working a lifetime toward. This hardcover book collects the best of his acclaimed short stories from the past 15 years, created in between band tours and recording sessions, published in his Eisner-nominated self-published seriesRecidivist (the first 2 issues of which are reprinted here in their entirety) and in publications like Mome, The Drama, Your Flesh, Dirty Stories, and more.

Like a Dog spotlights Sally’s uncanny ability to create emotional havoc out of claustrophobic images, situations and dialogue. Stories like “Don’t Move,” “The War Back Home,” and “Two Idiot Brothers” share little in common on the surface but are united by Sally’s forbidding style, creating a sense of dread that permeates almost every page.

Sally also turns his eye towards nonfiction in Like a Dog, including “At the Scaffold,” the story of the imprisonment and trial of Fyodor Dostoyevsky for allegedly subversive behavior, and “The Man Who Killed Wally Wood,” a story about Sally’s brush with a former publisher of the legendary comic artist (who, contrary to the title of this strip, took his own life after a long battle with alcoholism). It also includes two collaborations: “Dread,” written by NEA Fellowship recipient, Edgar Award finalist, and O. Henry Award winning author Brian Evenson (Altmann’s Tongue); and “River Deep, Mountain High,” co-created with fellow cartoonist Chris Cilla.

Like a Dog also includes extensive “liner notes” by the artist, previously unpublished material, an introduction by John Porcellino (King Cat), and other surprises.

I really loved Zak Sally’s Sammy The Mouse, so it sounds like I have a good reason to buy this. And so do you. To give you an idea of what’s in store, there’s a neat Flickr video of someone flipping through the book, which serves as a de facto preview of sorts, and there’s also a 10-page preview as a PDF file.

Stumptown #1 – $3.99
By Greg Rucka & Matthew Southworth
40 pages; published by Oni Press

Superstar writer Greg Rucka (WHITEOUT, DETECTIVE COMICS) embarks on his first creator-owned series since the Eisner Award-winning QUEEN & COUNTRY!

Dex is the proprietor of Stumptown Investigations, and a fairly talented P.I. Unfortunately, she’s less adept at throwing dice than solving cases. Her recent streak has left her beyond broke—she’s into the Confederated Tribes of the Wind Coast for 18 large. But maybe Dex’s luck is about to change. Sue-Lynne, head of the Wind Coast’s casino operation, will clear Dex’ debt if she can locate Sue-Lynne’s missing granddaughter. But is this job Dex’s way out of the hole or a shove down one much much deeper?

I’ve been seeing some good reviews for this. Looks like really nice work! Here’s a 4-page preview. And while it hasn’t officially launched yet, here’s a website for the series.

Burn – $9.99
By Camilla D’Errico & Scott Sanders
160 pages; published by Simon & Schuster’s Simon Pulse; available at Amazon.com

Burn was once human.

He also had a family and friends, until a metallic angel of death took everything from him. This mechanical monster, Shoftiel, was one of many living machines made to help humanity that revolted and declared war on their creators. It tore through Burn’s home and wreaked havoc on his city until the buildings collapsed, crashing down upon them.

Emerging from the rubble, Burn and Shoftiel discover their once separate bodies have become one — neither human nor machine, but a freak union of both. Internally their minds are caught in a raging battle for control. Just as mankind must struggle against the sentients for survival, Burn must find the strength to overcome Shoftiel’s genocidal programming to retain whatever’s left of his humanity.

Here’s a 5-page preview (you have to click through a bunch of “who cares” before you get to the actual story).

Hablando de cuentos de misterio (estoy leyendo y escribiendo un par), el día de hoy vi el trailer de lo que será la versión cinematográfica más reciente de las aventuras del famoso detective del 221 de la calle Baker.  Mi opinión respecto a dicho trailer y respecto las novelas de detectives en general, en una entrada próxima. Mientras tanto, dame tu opinión:

Holmes had read carefully a note which the last post had brought him.

"I chanced to glance at Holmes and saw a most singular intentness in his expression."

The Sussex Vampire is notable for the manner in which Conan Doyle allows Sherlock Holmes the last word. The author, of course, was in later life a great believer in the supernatural and occult. Holmes, naturally, is far more sceptical: “The world is big enough for us,” he says. “No ghosts need apply.” This is why the Granada adaptation of this case, in which the master is asked to investigate an apparent case of English vampirism, got it so disastrously wrong: the point of this story, unusually for Conan Doyle’s more flamboyant concepts, is not the sensationalism of the set-up but the rationalism of the denouement.

That is not to say the story is particularly good: there are a number of unanswered questions about the actions of the characters which probably don’t have any sensible answers. What struck me about the story, though, was its similarity in many ways to the Road Hill case as written about by Kate Summerscale in The Suspicions of Mr Whicher: set in 1896, there is here, as was not apparent in The Three Gables, a properly Victorian modesty. Outsiders aren’t welcome, and the scandal must not get out. As usual, the other fall-back position is the exotic history of one of the house’s inhabitants.

The lady of the house is from Peru, and her resultant inscrutability is key to the story’s success (or otherwise). If we can believe that, alien as she is, she may well hold “this horrible, this incredible secret” of vampirism, we will be gripped. If, as modern readers are likely to feel, we find Conan Doyle’s insistence on the strangeness of the Latin unconvincing, we are simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. Holmes, too, is not as obfuscatory as he sometimes is, aiming almost all of his questions in the direction of his client’s elder son.

For all that, however, Holmes’s method is at the centre of the story – as if the occultist author is testing the rationalism of his character. Conan Doyle’s integrity is too great simply to use Holmes as a fall-guy, however, and thus the great detective’s methods are vindicated. He protests that Watson “has given an exaggerated view of my scientific methods.”  Certainly there is imagination at work, too – “It has been a case for intellectual deduction,” Holmes explains, allowing that his method is essentially to make up a story and then see if it fits. As most notably in Silver Blaze, however, this concoction of a theory, and then the testing of that theory “point by point by quite a number of independent incidents”, is of course a fundamentally scientific method.

The telegram with which this story opens is replied to in its final lines. Characteristically, Holmes’s response is terse, matter-of-fact and without sensationalism. It is to Conan Doyle’s credit that he allowed his characters such strong and consistent voices, even when he himself might have disagreed.

Arthur Conan Doyle creador de Sherlock Holmes, espera que desde su tumba actores como Robert Downey Jr. y Jude Law, puedan revivir honrosamente a este idolo de los detectives modernos. Chequen el trailer y vean como Robert Downey se come el papel de Jude Law.

La novela policial es probablemente uno de los géneros más nuevos y jóvenes de la literatura. Su nacimiento suele atribuírsele a Edgar Allan Poe, que en 1841 escribió el relato corto “Los crímenes de la calle Morgue” (The Murders in the Rue Morgue) en Graham’s Magazine, protagonizado por el detective aficionado Auguste Dupin. Sólo dos relatos más escribió Poe sobre Dupin, pero que contribuyeron a la creación de los relatos policiales, “El misterio de Marie Rogêt” (The Mystery of Marie Rogêt) entre 1842 y 1843, y “La carta robada” (The Purloined Letter) en 1844.

Una novela fundamental del género es La piedra lunar (The Moon Stone), de William Wilkie Collins, publicada en 1868 y protagonizada por el sargento Cuff. Otras historias policiales antecedentes son las escritas alrededor de 1880 por el escritor Émile Gaboriau, que gozaba de buen éxito en Francia con sus personajes del inspector Lecoq y Père Cabaret.

Verdaderamente se debe reconocer al crecimiento de la criminalidad con el nacimiento de la novela policial, pues ambas surgieron a la par. La Revolución Industrial y el crecimiento de las ciudades fomentaron nuevos tipos de crímenes, y no es casualidad que por esa época se fundaran los cuerpos policiales en Inglaterra y Francia. Respecto a España, el auge de este género no se dio de la misma manera, debido a la falta de un cuerpo de policía tan bien estructurado como en esos otros países mencionados. Aún así, el género también se desarrolló y creció. La primera novela corta policial es considerada El clavo, escrita por Pedro Antonio de Alarcón en 1854 inspirándose en los cuentos de Poe, y La incógnita, de Benito Pérez Galdós, en 1889. Recién se escribiría una novela policíaca larga en 1909 titulada ¿Quién disparó?, de la mano de Joaquín Belda.

Pedro Antonio de Alarcón

Pero el verdadero impacto llegó a la península a principios del siglo XX, cómo no, con cierto memorable superdetective victoriano. Tan clara fue su influencia en España como lo demuestran las más de cincuenta ediciones diferentes, publicadas en ediciones baratas a lo largo de esa época. La primera publicación oficial en España data de 1906 con Estudio en rojo (A Study in Scarlet). Aunque diversos coleccionistas poseen publicaciones españolas que se creen anteriores, pero que no pueden fecharse con seguridad, como en el caso de Aventuras de Sherlock Holmes por parte de Mundial, publicada en Barcelona quizás en 1900. De todas maneras, también alrededor de 1900 tenemos otra obra como es el caso de La diadema de berilos [y otros relatos], que se publica en la colección “La novela policíaca”, impresa en Barcelona por Tipografía J. Comas.

Ilustración para "La liga de los pelirrojos"

La totalidad de las historias que existían en aquella época fueron publicadas dentro de Las aventuras de Sherlock Holmes entre 1907 y 1908 en catorce volúmenes.

La primera edición al catalán se da entre 1908 y 1909, con traducción de Salvador Vilaregut, para La oficial: Literatura Sensacional del número 1 al 30. Aunque también existen dudas de que esa fuera la primera catalana, pues en épocas tan remotas no todos los libros estaban regularizados. Así, los expertos han encontrado una historia quizás más remota, que adaptaría “La banda moteada”, en De tots colors, titulada “Els mestres contistes” (El pañuelo manchado) dentro de El mocador tacat aventura de Sherlock Holmes.

La popularidad hizo que saliera en España abundante cantidad de material de Holmes: catorce novelas más se adaptarían al castellano en 1908, y seis más en 1909. Otras seis en 1912, cinco en el año 1913, tres más en 1914 y por último trece más en 1915. Sin olvidar que en 1911 surgirían en la península los apócrifos Holmes, como en la serie de libros Memorias íntimas de Sherlock Holmes; en la Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid constan 19 volúmenes, que serían editados en Barcelona, pero impresos realmente por Tipografía El Anuario en Buenos Aires, así pues casi seguro que el autor de estos pastiches fuera realmente argentino. O también tenemos las que escribió Enrique Jardiel Poncela durante los años veinte, titulada Siete novísimas aventuras de Sherlock Holmes, y en los treinta saldrían las aventuras de Harry Dickson, el Sherlock Holmes americano (sobre el cual volveremos en otra ocasión).

Para terminar con este repaso, Sherlock Holmes disfrutaría de una traducción oficial y completa de todas sus historias de la mano de Amando Lázaro Ros en Sherlock Holmes, Obras Completas de Conan Doyle, por Aguilar en Madrid en el año 1953.

Luis Emilio Reñé

Wednesdays have a holiday feeling for me lately, because I’ve gotten back into the rhythm of going to the comics store once a week. I was lured back by the lovely retro-newspaper Wednesday Comics, which came out once a week for 12 weeks in full color, looking the way you wish the Sunday comics page looked. Though those were lovely eye candy, most of the stories inside ultimately disappointed. What’s made me stay, however, is that comics have amazing range. Sometimes poignant, sometimes badass, sometimes just fun. I love the genre-bending that tends to go on. I love hanging on the slow progression of a story that comes out in serial, and then rereading it in a big slurp when the whole thing has come out.

I read and write in a lot of forms, and I find that sometimes I need to change my focus to give me a fresh feeling in a world that’s pretty dense with words. Comics have been doing that for me lately.

I just got home from the comics store clutching Cinderella: from Fabletown with Love–for those who aren’t in the know, we’re talking here about Cinderella, super-spy, and it’s everything I hoped it would be. There’s a nice interview with Chris Roberson, the writer, here.

But I’m far from the only one who feels the magic of Wednesday. Paul Cornell, at the awesome Clockwork Storybook blog (chock full of writers so cool it makes me want to cry), writes, in the post I linked at the beginning of this paragraph:

That Wednesday feeling, where one hangs around I Fanboy (I hope they note I’ve dropped the comma I kept putting in their name, like they were the fan equivalent of I, Claudius), Millarworld and other forums, waiting for the first reviews to wander in, when one can pop into a comic shop, and actually see it sitting there on the shelf (right next to the Avengers titles, hmm, that’s good) is just one of the many lovely things about writing comics. … I think the feeling is quite an ancient one, akin to what Conan Doyle and Dickens and all the other writers of serials for magazines must have felt.

(As an aside, Cornell’s talking about Black Widow: Deadly Origin #1, which he wrote, and which I also picked up this week. (It’s easy to sell me a comic–just write one about a badass female super-spy or assassin or warrior.))

I think he’s dead on with his analogy to the old serial novels. When I’ve read books like The Three Musketeers, I’ve tried to imagine what it would be like to get fed the thing chapter by chapter, to get the story in nibbles and then reread in gulps to make sense of it, to speculate excitedly with my friend about the surprises to come. Those stories work better that way. They’re epic, too big to read quickly or alone.

Comics have this quality, too. I look at Sandman sitting on my shelf, or Y: the Last Man, or any number of others, and I think about what huge, weird, and lovely stories these are. Long live the serial, and all hail Wednesday.

“I don’t think that any of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmes opened quite so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that which I associate with The Three Gables.”

"He swung a huge knotted lump of a fist under my friend’s nose. "

The Three Gables in truth starts not so much with a bang as a sterotype: Steve Dixie, the “negro” who barges in on Holmes and Watson and proceeds to inflict upon them threats of violence and tortured minstrel grammar, is one of the most embarrassing characters in the canon – and quite at odds with Conan Doyle’s earlier treatment of African-Americans in The Yellow Face (although admittedly closer to his treatment of Tonga in The Sign of Four). We only need Dixie to burst into a rendition of Old Man River and all would be complete.

This incongruity is part of the fabric of the whole story – another which, along with The Mazarin Stone, Meyer’s Watson will dismiss as a forgery. It would be happy if such were the case: many of the stories collected in The Casebook, as the last stories an increasingly weary Conan Doyle would every write about Holmes, reek of fatigue and laziness. So, for instance, the central story here, revolving as it does around femmes fatale, sex and impropriety, feels far more like a story of the period in which it was written than the one in which it was set; likewise, Holmes’s presence is thin and at times poorly characterised – the moment he pulls a woman into a room by the arm feels most unlike the gallant-if-aloof detective we’ve come to know. Small details, too, echo this larger malaise – Lucerne is not in Italy.

“I suppose I shall have to compound a felony as usual,” Holmes breezily declares at the story’s end, and as he often does lays down his own particular – and extra-legal – kind of justice. The mystery preceding this dispensation, however, is so potted and ill-constructed (Conan-Doyle has done many ‘missing document’ mysteries, but this is by far his most soft-headed) that the reader has long since given up. It simply doesn’t feel like our Holmes. 48 short stories into our acquantance with him, this is a little much to take.

Was hat Kartoffelbrei von Pfanni mit Hörbüchern gemein?

Hm, selbst nach langer langer langer Überlegung komme ich auf keinen gemeinsamen Nenner.

Unter dem Motto:

Pfanni macht die kalte Jahreszeit spannend

startet Pfanni ihre Hörbuchreihe und bittet drei Hörbuchklassiker kostenlos zum Download an.

Die Aktion geht von Oktober bis Dezember 2009 und startet mit dem spannenden Hörbuch:

Arthur Conan Doyle – Die verschwundene Braut Teil 1 (28.10.) + Teil 2 (29.10.)

Edgar Allan Poe – William Wilson & Das verräterische Herz Teil 1 (12.11) + Teil 2 (26.11.)

Robert Louis Stevenson – Der Flaschenteufel Teil 1 (10.12.) + Teil 2 (24.12.)

Die Hörbücher werden im MP3 Format angeboten, Downloadzeit – wenige Minuten.

Ein guter Anlass mal wieder Kartoffelbrei zu kochen……