"Halloa, Watson! What is this?"

 

 

 

What it is, dear Mr. Holmes, is something you are familiar with: a hiatus. While your hiatus lasted a long three years, I plan to come back to these pages in three months. I hope the readers who have been so kind to visit this blog over the past several years will forgive a Doting On Doyle brief absence. 

 

As I've gone on about far too long, I've spent the last year working on Sherlock Holmes into the Fire. The project has taken more time than I could have ever anticipated but it will be out very soon. 

 

The work on the three volumes of FIRE coupled with some family health issues has left me behind from where I wanted to be with the writing of two new story collections. 

 

I've decided the only thing to do is to stop as many other activities as I can until I feel caught up (whatever that means) on the new books. With any luck, July, August, and September will prove to be just the time I need to get back on schedule.

 

Many thanks to those who have supported my fiction writing and this blog. I will return with some new work in hand, hopefully interesting enough to "...just fill that gap on that second shelf."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seclusion and Solitude Were Very Necessary

I knew that seclusion and solitude were very necessary for my friend in those hours of intense mental concentration during which he weighed every particle of evidence, constructed alternative theories, balanced one against the other, and made up his mind as to which points were essential and which immaterial. ---Dr. Watson, about Sherlock Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles

The need for Sherlock Holmes to be alone and think is mentioned many times in the Sherlock Holmes Canon. I can't think as well as Holmes, of course, but I understand his need for quiet solitude in order to think in a deep and productive way. Due to varying circumstances, I've not made the quiet alone time  for myself to think and work for several months now and my lack of finished work and general moodiness are the results. 

When I first read biographies of Arthur Conan Doyle I was amazed at the mentions of how he could work in a room full of people, keeping track of the conversation while his pen moved swiftly. If I remember correctly, Jerome K. Jerome also mentioned this working style of Doyle in his memoir, My Life and Times. He, too, was amazed by Doyle's ability. 

However, even for Doyle eventually stress took its toll, and he found himself in a different state:

"His moodiness became evident in his work habits. In Southsea and South Norwood, he could write in a crowded room. Now, when he entered his study at Undershaw, the children were instructed to tiptoe past the door." (Teller of Tales,208)

Doyle had problems at the time of a magnitude I can hardly fathom but I still understand the dark feelings. I often feel very discombobulated when I enter my study, and wish the world would tiptoe by for a while. I realize I may sound somewhat foolish typing this today since my last blog post concerned the need to find my way back into more Sherlockian activity. I think both things can be true. 'Tis a matter of balance. 

Thinking of balance puts me back to how to think and work like Holmes because Watson did say Holmes had an  "admirably balanced mind." Well, most of the time he had such a mind. We know that he too was prone to dark periods of inactivity and bad habits. He always found his way back to balancing things out. I suppose I will sort it out, too, but it won't be today.

Today, the study door is open, my dogs are here wanting to be taken outside to play in the sunshine we've rarely had of late, and for the moment they seem to have the right idea.  Homes believed in the "the beautiful, faithful nature of dogs." I did say I want to think like Holmes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"He greeted me back to what had once been my home."

 "He greeted me back to what had once been my home."

OK, yes, yes, I have mixed a quote from "The Adventure of the Creeping Man" with artwork from "The Adventure of the Empty House." Odd, I know, but the combination is representative of my situation at the moment in relation to my good friends, Dr. John H. Watson and Mr. Sherlock Holmes. 

We are all familiar with the events that unfold when Sherlock Holmes suddenly appears in Watson's waiting room after three years "dead" and immediately takes up Watson as a comrade in arms again. They spend an interesting night watching Baker Street from across the way. One of my favorite quotes comes from that evening:

In the dim light I saw his head thrown forward, his whole attitude rigid with attention. Those two men might still be crouching in the doorway, but I could no longer see them. All was still and dark, save only that brilliant yellow screen in front of us with the black figure outlined upon its centre. Again in the utter silence I heard that thin, sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement.

Watson has Holmes beside him but he is still not clear on what is happening in Baker Street, nor is the place he is watching his home any longer. It is achingly familiar, of course, as is the man by his side in the empty house but the relationship is not quite what it once was, and certainly Baker Street is not home again, yet. But, he wants to be a part of it again; he wants to hear those thin sibilant notes, to have a little excitement related to Sherlock Holmes. I'm feeling much the same way about my relationship with Holmes, Watson and, in many ways, the greater Sherlockian world at the moment. 

Due to unexpected family obligations, I've been somewhat distant from Holmes, Watson, and their living community for weeks and weeks. I've hardly read a word, hardly written a word, hardly had a Sherlockian conversation. I've attended one Sherlockian event since BSI weekend in January. I'm not entirely certain I've attended more than one Sherlockian zoom since then.  If not for housekeeping on the manuscript for Sherlock Holmes Into the Fire and the Terror of Blue John Gap project, it might be realistic for me to say I've not been "Sherlocking" at all. 

I'm not up to date on any meetings, publications, videos, podcasts, or even gossipy arguments going on in the greater Sherlockian community. I feel very separated from it all. I'm ready to come back home. The family issues are not entirely solved or returned to normal, but they are getting closer to being so. I need to have one of those moments like Watson had at the opening of CREE:

It was one Sunday evening early in September of the year 1903 that I received one of the Holmes's laconic messages: 'Come at once if convenient — if inconvenient come all the same...With a wave of his hand he indicated my old arm-chair, but otherwise for half an hour he gave no sign that he was aware of my presence.  Then with a start he seemed to come from his reverie, and, with his usual whimsical smile, he greeted me back to what had once been my home.

Watson said he had become one of Holmes's habits. Their world is one of my habits. It is a rut I long to return to, convenient or otherwise. Here's hoping I find my way back before too much longer. I look forward to being greeted back to what had once been my home, too.

 

 

In That Case We Must Begin Again

 

In that case, we must begin again...Good heavens, Watson, what has become of any brains that God has given me? Quick, Man, quick. It's life or death - a hundred chances on death to one on life. I'll never forgive myself, never, if we are too late!'' ---Sherlock Holmes, "The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax"

During the events of "The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax" we watch as Sherlock Holmes struggles to find the lady before it is too late. He puts his various methods to work, finding he "...must begin again..." a few times before he sorts out the answers. He is not indulging in a "touch of the dramatic"--it really is a matter of life or death. These ideas of beginning again and matters of life and death are rolling around in my thoughts. Last week we had a family member  saved by an observant person who happened to be walking across a parking lot and saw the non-responsive family member slumped over in a car. The kind stranger called 911 and started CPR. The family member survived his medical event despite flat-lining for several minutes. The presence of an observant person with methods changed everything. 

As I suppose is human nature when these sorts of things happen, I'm thinking about the natural order of things. One is here one minute, gone the next. Sometimes, if you're very fortunate, you get a second chance, precious time to begin again. I've been at a crossroads for a few weeks since submitting Sherlock Holmes Into the Fire to the publisher; I've been trying to decide what I'm going to do for the foreseeable future. I have to begin again in my own small way. Since Holmes and Watson seldom lead me astray, I look to them:

Holmes: "The work is its own reward.  Perhaps I shall get the credit also at some distant day when I permit my zealous historian to lay out his foolscap once more - eh, Watson?" 

Watson: "When one considers that Mr Sherlock Holmes was in active practice for twenty-three years, and that during seventeen of these I was allowed to co-operate with him and to keep notes of his doings, it will be clear that I have a mass of material at my command.  The problem has always been, not to find, but to choose.  There is the long row of year-books which fill a shelf, and there are the dispatch cases filled with documents, a perfect quarry for the student not only of crime, but of the social and official scandals of the late Victorian era. "

I'm still here (for the moment) and there is a mass of material in this house about Holmes, Watson and the late Victorian era. I'm interested in the many notes about Holmes doing things, and it is time to choose something from the quarry. I'm going back to work, hopefully in an observant and methodical manner. Time to layout the foolscap. I have an idea to create a little of the late Victorian era in a new book. Maybe it will come to fruition. Again, as Holmes said, "I shall sit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration. I'm a believer in the genius loci." 

I've found one very specific piece of inspiration to sit and look at while I think--

Here's hoping for many more days, filled with second chances.

 

"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.