"It's no use, John Clay."...or one other

 

It's no use, John Clay.

'I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.'--Sherlock Holmes to Jabez Wilson

 'It's no use, John Clay,' said Holmes blandly; 'you have no chance at all.'-- Sherlock Holmes to John Clay

The two quotes above from "The Red-Headed League" are on my mind tonight. Actually, they have been on my mind since Saturday. On Saturday, I attempted to write an annotation for an upcoming project led by the lovely Madeline Quiñones. She asked me several weeks ago to send a fairly brief note about John Clay; she knows John Clay is one of my favorite Canon characters. I agreed immediately. Why, I can write pages about John Clay, I thought at the moment. I gave Madeline an idea of where I would focus my writing and I promised to have it to her soon. 

The problem is: I can write pages about John Clay. Writing 200-300 words about John Clay is proving difficult. On Saturday, I hoped to give an opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. I planned to bring the thing to a conclusion by Monday. Well, here it is 9:30pm or so on Monday night and I've not written a brief annotation about John Clay.  Sherlock Holmes may solve his puzzles in such a timely manner. I am not as good at it. I think. I overthink. I write. I rewrite. I delete. I start over. Maddening, all round. Only 200-300 words should be child's play.

I know I'll eventually sort out how to scrunch up what I want to say about John Clay into the proper form. And hopefully say it in a thoughtful and interesting manner. The words always come eventually.

In the several years I've spent writing things about Sherlock Holmes, I've only failed to finish one of them. Generally when I start a piece, I carry it through to the (sometimes bitter) end. While I try to think about scrunching John Clay, maybe you would like to read the brief paragraphs of the only Sherlock Holmes story I ever started and then abandoned. The odd thing about the story (started in December 2020) is that it begins with words about John Clay. Of course it does.

The Adventure of the Mysterious Miser ©

by Margie Deck

Sherlock Holmes pulled his long cherry wood pipe from the rack, lit it with a tong, and turned to me with a smirk on his long thin face. I braced myself for what he might say, as neither that pipe nor the smirk ever preceded an evening of pleasant conversation. “Watson, I have said it before,” he began, “and I will say it again.  My career has degenerated. I may well be at a crisis point. Each day I am challenged less and less. And now, I am subjected to those who find it amusing to bombard me with farfetched and false cries for help.” He tossed a telegram in my direction.

            I retrieved the paper from its landing point on the chair and moved over to the light to read it. I read it, and then read it again.  I now understood his disputatious mood.  “Holmes,” I said, “surely this is a prank from a friend?”

            “As you know well, I have no close associations except for yourself. Certainly no one who might think I would tolerate a prank,” he said with some asperity.  I could not disagree with him nor actually could I imagine anyone in our ranks brave enough to attempt to trick Sherlock Holmes.

            “The recent press related to that red-headed business has brought out the local lunatics, Holmes. Your success in capturing the villain John Clay has others clamoring for your attention in any way possible.  It is the only explanation. Should I throw this away?”

            Suddenly he put the pipe down and leaned forward in his chair. “No, wait. Read it to me.”

            I held it to the light again and read it aloud to him. It ran in this way:

           Dear Mr. Holmes—

          I hope you will forgive this intrusion. I need your assistance in finding the real name of a man, more than likely long dead, for whom I only know a pseudonym. I also need to find his employee, who may also be dead, and the employee’s youngest son—I do not know their real names either. I realize I sound foolish, but my mother’s recent death has left me with more questions than answers and I do not know where else to turn. I will call upon you at ten in the morning on Friday next if it does not inconvenience you.

          My name is John Edward Mudie although it may mean little to you. You might know me better if I tell you that I am one of the children of “Belle” (actually, Cara Mudie, Mrs. Stephen Paul Mudie, of Upper King Street, Bloomsbury) described so cleverly by Mr. Charles Dickens as a “brigand” in his small volume A Christmas Carol.

          I need your help to identify the real “Mr. Scrooge”,“Bob Cratchit” and “tiny Tim Cratchit.”

          —--JEM

Well, JEM, maybe someday I'll get back to you and your story. At the moment, all I can say is: It's no use...you have no chance at all.

"My dear Bram Stoker" Indeed

Letter to Bram Stoker (20 august 1897)/The Author Conan Doyle Encyclopedia

Aug 20 /97

My dear Bram Stoker

I am sure that you will not think it an impertinence if I write to tell you how very much I have enjoyed reading Dracula. I think it is the very best story of diablerie which I have read for many years. It is really wonderful how with so much exciting interest over so long a book there is never an anticlimax. It holds you from the very start and grows more and more engrossing until it is quite painfully vivid. The old Professor is most excellent and so are the two girls. I congratulate you with all my heart for having written so fine a book.

With all kindest remembrances to Mrs Bram Stoker and yourself

Yours very truly

A Conan Doyle.

I've been rereading Dracula this past week as part of my two-person long-distance book club with Sherlockian, bookman, and artist Jeff Decker, BSI. (Jeff is actually rereading the book as part of his in-person book club and I'm tagging along for the fun of it.) Once again, the power of Bram Stoker's work in the novel amazes me.  I'm always surprised anew when I read it. Count Dracula, as we think we know him, is such a part of our culture (especially this time of year) that it is easy to forget what Stoker actually created. The book is a triumph of planning, execution, and art. As I read last night, I wished I could write to Stoker to thank him for his work. I then vaguely remembered reading about Arthur Conan Doyle writing a letter to Stoker congratulating him for the excellence that is Dracula.

Today, I went looking for Doyle's letter. As always, the indispensable Alexis Barquin and The Author Conan Doyle Encyclopedia came through for me with images and text. I like Doyle's words in this letter.  I think he could clearly see and appreciate the work Stoker put into creating his masterpiece. In Paul Chapman's fascinating Birth of a Legend, Count Dracula, Bram Stoker and Whitby, he notes Stoker's idea for the novel "...was to prove rather exceptional and would ultimately take over six years to plan, research and write." At the time of the letter writing, I doubt if Doyle or Stoker could have imagined what would become of that six years of work. Doyle lived long enough to see some of the power Sherlock Holmes holds in the public imagination. It is a shame Stoker did not live long enough to see the power of Count Dracula on that same public imagination.

I especially like how Doyle notes the quality of the characters of Van Helsing, Mina and Lucy.  I think that despite the menacing and unforgettable presence of the Count himself, Stoker's full cast of main characters are not over-shadowed by him in the book. They are all memorable and effective.

In Stoker's world, these ordinary people face extraordinary horror but yet they step up, push back, and eventually defeat an almost indestructible monster. Stoker shows us who these people are in a relatable and believable way. I feel like I know them well. They seem real to me, like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.

Although the world remembers the Count, I think what I will remember most from this book is a line about Dr. Seward from Mina Harker's journal. With the words he gave to Mina, Stoker reminded me of something important: "How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men--even if there are monsters in it."

The world has its fair share of monsters today; I'm comforted to think there might still be a number of good men, too. Thank you for that, my dear Bram Stoker.

 

 

 

"I do not wish to be ungrateful to Holmes..." or Doyle

 

"I do not wish to be ungrateful to Holmes, who has been a good friend to me in many ways. If I have sometimes been inclined to weary of him it is because his character admits of no light or shade. He is a calculating machine, and anything you add to that simply weakens the effect. Thus the variety of the stories must depend upon the romance and compact handling of the plots. I would say a word for Watson also, who in the course of seven volumes never shows one gleam of humour or makes one single joke."--Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Memories & Adventures

The photo above is, of course, a mash-up. I did it awhile back (items out of copyright, thankfully) as a visual representation of how Doyle, Holmes and Watson live together in my head. As I've said before,  only Holmes and Watson lived there for many years as my life was only Sherlockian. Now it is Doylean as well. Most of the time, the three fellows have a pleasant cohabitation, although it  is sometimes disturbed by small things, like some family interactions are.

If Doyle were here right now, I would defend Holmes and Watson against the statement I've quoted above. If Holmes threw no light or shade, the vast--vast almost to the point of immeasurable--world of Sherlockiana would not exist. There is an army of Watsonians (of which I am part) ready to defend the good doctor against a ridiculous charge of being humorless; an Army also  ready to defend the idea Holmes, as we know him, could not exist without Watson.  And if Doyle were here right now, I would give him an earful about the interview where he said "I get letters addressed to his rather stupid friend, Watson,..." Rather stupid friend, indeed.

The old Doyle words from above are well-known, long talked about, sometimes forgotten. I don't hold them against Doyle. My respect for the man's work goes far beyond a few statements I might disagree with. I am grateful for the chance to live in his world in a small way; his writings are a big part of my life. I am especially grateful for the chance to write fiction with his characters. I've always mostly assumed the greater Sherlockian world felt the same way: for better or worse, Doyle is the respected founder and we are thankful for him.

You can imagine my surprise, then, when recently a Sherlockian fiction writer let me know, in no uncertain terms, how little he thought of Doyle; he told me he had no respect for Sir Arthur because of several things we know about Doyle's personal life and some of his words, including the "rather stupid friend" remark. Of course the writer is perfectly entitled to his opinions. The exchange reminded me I should not make assumptions about "the greater Sherlockian world."

I've thought about the conversation quite a few times. I've realized Dr. Watson is so real in the writer's mind, Doyle's ugly words are seemingly about a real person; Doyle is dissing the writer's good friend. Sometimes playing the Sherlockian game results in blurry boundaries. Doyle's choices were his own, too, and I'm not able to hold any of them against him: he had his life to live in his own way in a far different time. 

In today's world we hear of cancel culture, and sometimes in the Sherlockian community, we are  challenged to either accept a flawed human and all their foibles in order to have access to that human's Sherlockian work or to let the human and the work go. The lines can get very blurry then as well. I don't even pretend to have the answers. Sometimes I choose the flawed human, sometimes I choose the letting go. My instincts tell me which is best for me at the time; I seem to just know. It is as Sherlock Holmes said,

 "It was easier to know it than to explain why I know it. If you were asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact."

I can't believe the words of Sherlock Holmes, using them at times as part of my moral compass, and yet not have respect for Doyle. They are his words, too, after all. And I'm grateful for them.

"My Collection of M's is a Fine One"

 

"My collection of M's is a fine one," said he.

 

"My collection of M's is a fine one," said he.  "Moriarty himself is enough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan the poisoner, and Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews, who knocked out my left canine in the waiting-room at Charing Cross, and, finally, here is our friend of to-night."

 Sherlock Holmes mulling over his M book always comes to my mind when I briefly consider cleaning out my Dropbox folder of Holmesian files. As I share a Dropbox with my better half, my folders begin with M, including the biggest folder in my Dropbox, Margie SH Archive. I started saving some things in this folder many years ago, long before I knew Holmes and his creator were going to be such a big part of my life, and long before I had access to the kind of resources now easily available on the internet. Every now and then, I get the foolish idea I should simply delete most of the things in the file. 

There is nothing rare there. Some of the files have not been opened in a decade. And, yet, when it comes to deleting them, I can't make myself do it. There was a time when I deleted with abandon but something happened awhile back to my brain and now I'm stuck. I have, to some degree, the same problem Holmes had, as described by Watson in "The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual":

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics, which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish, or in even less desirable places.  But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them, for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy, during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving, save from the sofa to the table.  Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner.

My butter dish is 98% spotless (The husband sometimes leaves toast crumbs!) and my files are all sorted into categories in specific folders in a timely manner, but they can not, on no account, be deleted. Sometimes a duplicate will turn up when I've forgotten I saved the same document or photo four or five years ago. I have trouble deleting the duplicate. A few old things I have can't be found too easily anymore, like a monstrous and wondrous spreadsheet which begins with:

"Just the Facts"  Canonical Database version 10.1      © 2004-2012  Joseph E. Dierkes

Welcome to the latest version of the Canonical Database!   This is a genuine work in progress, and future versions with even greater accuracy and more detail will be made available as time permits. Be sure to visit this website often to check for the latest updates.  It was created with Microsoft's Excel 97 software, is named "Just_the_Facts_V10.1.xls", and is sorted into "Doubleday Order"  (the order as given in "The Complete Sherlock Holmes" vols 1 & 2).

I realize a serious collector would look at my files and say with a justifiably haughty sneer, "Amateur." True, but still. It is my stuff and I want it. I try to keep the main folders to a minimum:

 The system is not perfect. Somewhere along the way, I lost my files for The Sound of the Baskervilles for 2007-2014. I want to cry when I think about it. I don't know what happened. The ones titled My Special Projects and  Reference Materials actually need to be about a dozen more separate folders but it all starts feeling too messy if I add any more separation. I keep trying for the neatness Watson longed for.

These files don't include any of my fiction writing/editing projects, or any work I've done for The Arthur Conan Doyle Society. Those files are in a separate Margie Writing Archive. I guess I should be grateful I don't have to keep all this stuff on paper. I know there are Sherlockians with mountains of paper files. I envy them in many ways. But, as said before, I am an amateur. My M files won't be going to any library archives anywhere.  They will just be here, making me happy. 

Holmes ends his thoughts about his M file with "...here is our friend of to-night." My files have my Sherlockian friends in them--papers, photos, quizzes, blog posts, etc. It makes me feel good anytime I look in the files and I see names I care about. 

Whenever I feel too much darkness around, I can open an M file and get a 7% solution of happy, like this:

I think Watson would understand. I have a feeling a certain dispatch box wasn't exactly small.