"This hat is three years old..."

 

Sherlockians tend to wear a lot of hats within the Sherlock Holmes and Arthur Conan Doyle appreciation community. We volunteer, we step up, we care about people, places and things. I'm no exception, although I have cut my number of hats back in the last few years. Some hats are worn seemingly forever (Peter Blau and his monthly newsletter for 50+ years) and some only for a short time (me, writing a column for Sherlock's Spotlight Gazette for a year). My general rule of thumb is to volunteer for one year for any one specific task and then reassess year by year thereafter. Three years in any one role is generally my max. 

 

This month I am at a three year mark as co-editor for the ACD Society Terror of Blue John Gap annotation project. With the page ten annotations finished and coming to you soon, our project is exactly three years old and about half finished. Is it time for me to leave? The question has been twirling around in my brain since January. Am I going to continue wearing this hat?

When first approached by Ross Davies to co-edit (with the brilliant Nancy Holder) the very unusual project, I had to have a stern talk with myself about the ramifications of considering a seven-year run. It was hard to imagine staying in the work for seven years, despite the quality of the team members. Ross and Nancy are mega-quality teammates but my attention wanders and I don't want to find myself bored with something to the point I'm not producing my best work. If I find myself going through the motions, then I know it is time to get out of the way so someone with fresh ideas and energy can take my place. 

 

When looking back over the work we've done in the last three years, I see myself as having been somewhat as Watson described Holmes in "The Adventure of the Dancing Men":

Sometimes he was making progress, and whistled and sang at his work; sometimes he was puzzled and would sit for a long spell with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye.

The work has been interesting, fun and occasionally annoying. Every page of Doyle's manuscript has taught me something about his world and his writing. Working on the pages with a wide-range of annotators has taught me a great deal about how people work in our time and how we write today. We've worked with people that fascinate me and, in all honesty, we've had one or two who infuriated me a little. 

 

With humans being humans and the conditions in our world, I know I have to take a generous view with the people who volunteer for us. Most of the people we approach to write for the project say yes and then follow through. Now and again, one will say yes, and then forget about us entirely but it doesn't happen too often. A very, very small number never reply to our invitations at all. We are lucky. The rest of this year's work for the project is already in motion; we should finish this fourth year in a good way.  

 

I suppose in the process of writing these few paragraphs I've convinced myself to keep this hat. Perhaps ruminating here is a little like Sherlock Holmes talking to Watson:

 At least I have a grip of the essential facts of the case. I shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect your co-operation if I do not show you the position from which we start.

 

"To put colour and life into each of your statements..."

 

"You have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowing cinder with the tongs, and lighting with it the long cherrywood pipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather than a meditative mood - "you have erred, perhaps, in attempting to put colour and life into each of your statements, instead of confining yourself to the task of placing upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is really the only notable feature about the thing."

I sat down at the desk tonight to write about the ending of the Kick starter for Sherlock Holmes Into the Fire. I wanted to talk about how much fun I've had working with the marvelous writers who contributed to the book. Even with my grumbling about the countless rounds of editing, I've had a good experience with this project. I wanted to talk about how grateful I am for the opportunity to celebrate some of the work of Arthur Conan Doyle, the Round the Fire collection, and some marvelous new stories written in homage to that collection. I wanted to talk about how grateful I am for the many people who supported us via the campaign. I know how incredibly lucky I am. I hoped to write something full of  "colour and life."

And while I know I feel all these things, I simply can't find it in myself to touch the joy tonight. I look at the state of our country and the world and my heart is heavy. I think I have to regroup. Perhaps in a few days I'll find my way back to writing about the every day things that are wonderful in my Doyle- and-Holmes-and-Watson-saturated life. 

At the opening of "The Man with the Twisted Lip", Watson writes about how he and his wife attempted to help Kate Whitney in her sadness about her husband, "We soothed and comforted her by such words as we could find." I need some comfort from Watson's words tonight. I'm going to turn off the electronics and read, read, read. Perhaps  "...the footprints of a gigantic hound" will help tonight, or maybe, "...a very seedy and disreputable hard felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places." 

I'm not sure yet what I will read, but I know that sometimes Watson is the "...the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known." Sherlock Holmes can bugger off with his complaints about Watson's words. I like and need Watson's colour and life and comfort.

 

Sherlock Holmes Into the Fire: Illustrating Some of Those Qualities

"With due discretion the incident itself may, however, be described, since it serves to illustrate some of those qualities for which my friend was remarkable."-- Dr. John H. Watson, "The Adventure of the Three Students"

Many Sherlockians, myself included, enjoy writing about Sherlock Holmes; we try, like Dr. Watson, to illustrate some of the qualities for which Holmes is remarkable. Pastiche writers make up one niche of Sherlockian writing as an almost innumerable number of writers attempt to tell stories (with varying degrees of success) worthy of Holmes's abilities. A new worthy collection will debut later this week when the upcoming anthology, Sherlock Holmes Into the Fire becomes available for preorders. 

It has been ten months since I first wrote about the plan for seventeen writers to each craft a Sherlockian adventure inspired by one of Arthur Conan Doyle's Round the Fire stories. Much has happened in the meanwhile. Everyone involved in the project has worked hard to craft stories worthy of Holmes and worthy of our readers' time. A great number of hours have been spent editing the works to a high level and in building a pleasing framework to hold the writings.

The original Round the Fire Stories is an entertaining collection of odd and sometimes weird stories Doyle said "are concerned with the grotesque and with the terrible — such tales as might well be read 'round the fire' upon a winter's night." Bringing Holmes in to make sense of these oddities is a challenge for writers; a challenge our seventeen met with gusto.

I would like to say a lot more today but I will wait until later when the official launch happens. I don't want to say too much until I can say everything!  Today, I do need to practice  "due discretion" as Dr. Watson does. We like to illustrate his fine qualities, too.

His Human Love For Admiration

 

A flush of colour sprang to Holmes's pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience.  It was at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause.  The same singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depth by spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.--Dr. Watson, "The Adventure of the Six Napoleons"

Even though I've been reading it for twenty years,  I'm still interested when I read near the end of SIXN of Holmes's capability to be moved by praise from a friend. Watson goes so far as to say Holmes is not quite the reasoning machine we think he is; in fact, Holmes is human enough to have "a human love for admiration and applause." I like it when Holmes lets the more vulnerable parts of his humanity be on display. I can relate to the rarely seen vulnerable parts of his personality more than I can relate to the "reasoning machine."  I would like to be more of a reasoning machine, a machine without need for admiration, applause or praise. Sadly, I am also betrayed by my human love for admiration and applause.

The need for praise is something I think about often and I try to push back against it. The thoughtful Scott Monty once posted a quote from Epicteus  I can't quite get out of my head:

If you are ever tempted to look for outside approval, realize that you have compromised your own integrity. If you need a witness, be your own. 

I believe Holmes understood the power of being his own witness, the power of being centered in his thinking, the power of not needing to be understood; he knew how to function from a position of self-management, for better or for worse. He might have had a human love for admiration but he didn't have a need for it. How else could he say:

I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to under-estimate oneself is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers.

How freeing it must be to not feel the need for external praise. The love for admiration and praise is especially in my thoughts this week, several days on from having received Doylean Honors in Fiction for my book, The Genius of the Place. The time I spent writing the book was important to me and I am delighted others found meaning in the work and enjoyed reading it. I think every writer wants their work to be read and acknowledged. I am also delighted to receive public praise  for the book. However, I don't want to fall into the trap of thinking the work and therefore me only have value if praised. I don't want to be lusting after praise.

I use the word lusting because a part of a poem from Wendell Berry also lives in my head, and it makes itself known quite often:

...To the sky, to the wind, then,

and to the faithful trees, I confess

my sins: that I have not been happy

enough, considering my good luck;

have listened to too much noise;

have been in attentive to wonders;

have lusted after praise...

I don't think Holmes lusted after praise but he allowed himself to like it from time to time. I hope to be the same way someday. Today is not that day but I'll keep trying. Meanwhile, I'm damn well happy to have that little certificate. Ha! I am human after all.

The Congenial Surroundings of Baker Street

 

My friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man. -- Dr. John Watson about Sherlock Holmes, "The Adventure of the Three Students."

Ah, yes: the congenial surroundings of Baker Street, the nice suite at 221B.    Watson dates his statement above as 1895 so he and Holmes had been friends and companions for about fourteen years at that point.  I wonder when 221B Baker Street  stopped being just agreeable rooms and became home. Because, really, that is the gist of Watson's statement: Holmes is uncomfortable because he is not at home. I'm sure Watson's companionship made the temporary lodgings in the great University town more agreeable than they might have been otherwise but still Holmes was not in Baker Street where he obviously preferred to be.

It is interesting to me that North American English most often uses "homely" to mean unattractive in appearance, but, in British use, it most often refers to the cozy, the comfortable, and the unpretentious. I like to think 221B was cozy, comfortable and unpretentious after more than a decade of housing Sherlock Holmes, at times with and at times without Dr. Watson.  

While Watson was writing of Sherlock Holmes's actual  rooms, I can certainly relate to the sentiment  because my own version of the "congenial surroundings of Baker Street" is very important to my comfort, happiness and temperament. My version is mostly made of books about 221B Baker Street, its inhabitants, and the Literary Agent serving their interests. I do not feel at home anywhere but here, among these many books and papers.

Holmes liked his "homely untidiness" and I like my homely books. And while I'm fortunate to own a few books some consider to be less common and a little more expensive-ish than many others, the ones which mean the most to me are  run of the mill, probably in the homes of many, many people. It hardly matters how ordinary they may be; all that matters to me is that in their company is where my spirit feels the most comfortable, and has for almost twenty years.

Like all things, I know this comfort will pass. I don't know when but in the meanwhile, I intend to cherish it and these congenial surroundings. I know whatever is next will have its own comforts, too, although I can't imagine yet what they will be. After all, Sherlock Holmes eventually left the congenial surroundings of Baker Street and found a new life in his lonely house in Sussex. I always note: he writes the house is lonely; he does not say he is lonely. I think that perhaps his congenial surroundings of Baker Street taught him how to recreate the feeling elsewhere.  Maybe he can show me the way when my change comes.

 

 

IYKYK: The Compliments of the Season

 

I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. --"The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle"

It is that time again, the "compliments of the season" time.  During this festive time of year Sherlockians use the phrase as a happy greeting. It is one of the favorite lines among the many in our community language--a language built upon IYKYK. And isn't that knowing grand in its own small way? Sherlockiana may be a minuscule thing relative to the entire planet but that hardly matters. IYKYK and you can be a part of a community, small or otherwise, that is, in my experience, about 90% warm, welcoming, and fun. And if the other 10% is hurtful at times, it can be "worth many wounds - to know the depth of loyalty and love" when the 90% comes to your defense.  

Canon language is part of who I am now. At least twice in the last week, Sherlockian language has made me happy. First instance: Sometimes I forget and use it outside the community and the sound of Watson's words will often make another person stop, think about what I said, and then question me about it.  I was in a craft class where we were discussing some of the various end products, and specifically some which proved to be over done to the point of tackiness. I said something to the effect of "They should have listened to Sherlock Holmes; they obviously lacked 'the grand gift of the artist.'" The statement resulted in a nice conversation about Holmes and craft. I loved it. 

I also loved it this week when a fellow Sherlockian living  across the pond sent me a Christmas card with a funny pun. Of course the pun worked because he knew I would understand a pun derived from a "three-pipe problem." I have the card sitting on the mantle and I laugh every time I walk by it. Compliments of the season indeed--the warm fuzzy feelings will probably last beyond the season.

I know I'm being sentimental; unlike Holmes, I'm not "immune from sentiment" and no doubt he would hardly approve of what I've written here. He would find it to be a waste of time. He would think any study of his work should be "an exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner." Well, he is wrong about that. 

Just whisper "Norbury." IYKYK.

...

In Hot Water with Watson

 

 "Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old.  A Turkish bath is what we call an alterative in medicine - a fresh starting-point, a cleanser of the system."--Dr. Watson, "The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax"

 "Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath.  It was over a smoke in the pleasant lassitude of the drying room that I found him less reticent and more human than anywhere else."-- Dr. Watson, "The Adventure of the Illustrious Client"

Being a person who always wants a hot bath, I'm inordinately fond of Watson's talk about the Turkish baths in LADY and ILLU. I saw the Granada production pictured above long before I actually read either story. The idea of the two in the bath made me laugh every time I watched the episode. (Still does.) But, after reading the two stories many times over in the many years since, I've come to realize the Turkish bath means more to me: I think this bath business is a perfect example of Watson leading Holmes, something which doesn't occur too often in the Canon, especially not in the early days.

The timing for the bath mentions is not the early days; Holmes and Watson have been together for awhile by the events of these two stories. The date for ILLU seems as straightforward as Canon dating ever gets:  "... On the upper floor of the Northumberland Avenue establishment there is an isolated corner where two couches lie side by side, and it was on these that we lay upon September 3, 1902, the day when my narrative begins." The dating of LADY is, like most Canon dating, all over the place with the major chronologists arguing for dates between 1890-1901.

Like many of the chronologists, I choose to believe the events in LADY precede ILLU. I don't have any intricate reasons; Watson's words explaining why he wants a Turkish bath make more sense coming before Watson's declaration about the joint excursions to the bath house. 

Tracy's The Encyclopedia Sherlockiana  describes these baths as:

Turkish bath, a kind of bath introduced from the East, in which the subject, after having undergone copious perspiration in a heated room, is subjected to various processes such as soaping, washing, and massaging, and ultimately proceeds to an outer apartment called a drying-room where he is placed on a couch to cool.

Sounds wonderful to me. In my head canon, Watson encouraged Holmes to go and enjoy the benefits of his alterative medicine and Holmes agreed, apparently finding the experience enjoyable enough to make it a regular practice. Watson's alterative is certainly better for the body  (and spirit) than Holmes's seven-percent solution of the early days. I especially like the idea of Holmes being so relaxed he gets chatty and "more human." 

In the  idiom, to get "into hot water" usually means to get into trouble, and we know Watson follows Holmes often enough into that kind of hot water. I like the idea of Holmes following Watson into a good kind.  My thoughts about the baths and what they represent in the cooperation between Holmes and Watson are hardly new or important but they give me warm, fuzzy feelings, which are very welcome now when the days can often feel cold and hard. 

Not everything about Holmes and Watson has to be scholarly or incisive. Sometimes things can just be comfortable.

Now, I'm off to take a hot bath, grateful I am able to do so, and grateful to have my warm fuzzy Holmes and Watson feelings to go with because "...for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old," too. I hear you Watson. You have no idea what I would give to be on one of those side by side couches.

"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.