"IT'S A VERY PRETTY DIVERSITY OF OPINION."

 

Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the seat.

'Well, I have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon it the folk that we are in search of are to be found.'
'I think I could lay my finger on it,' said Holmes quietly.
'Really, now!' cried the inspector, 'you have formed your opinion! Come now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say south, for the country is more deserted there.'
'And I say east,' said my patient.
'I am for west,' remarked the plain-clothes man. 'There are several quiet little villages up there.'
'And I am for north,' said I; 'because there are no hills there, and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any.'
'Come,' said the inspector, laughing; 'it's a very pretty diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do you give your casting vote to?
'You are all wrong.'
'But we can't all be.'
'Oh, yes, you can. This is my point,' he placed his finger on the centre of the circle.

I've always loved the part of "The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb" when those involved in the search for the scene of the crime proposes a different direction to travel. Each one of these good people have the same goal but they want to go a different way to reach it--what a perfect depiction of the world of Sherlockians.

Sherlockiana is made up of some very good people with a common goal (to enjoy and spread the love for Sherlock Holmes & Co.) but as we all know, the how to reach the goal is varied and sometimes hotly contested. I don't get into arguments with people about their ways of celebrating Holmes. If it makes you happy, go for it. I will be here in my little corner quietly going about it in my own way.

I have a short list of my unpopular opinions but I seldom mention them to anyone else. In the course of my Sherlockian interactions this week, I was reminded of two of them:

Unpopular opinion #1-- If talking about the Canonical Holmes and Watson of the latter part of the long 19th century, they should be referred to as Holmes and Watson. 

The 19th century fellows being called Sherlock and John grates on my ears like the proverbial fingernails on a chalkboard. It is especially hard on my soul when I read fiction set in that era having Holmes and Watson calling one another by their given names. The 19th century fellows simply didn't do it. 

In an essay I read this week the author switched from Holmes to Sherlock half way through the text. I'm sure the author didn't see anything wrong with it (obviously, it was distributed that way) but I would not be able write it. I enjoyed the Enola Holmes 2 movie recently and plan to watch it again but I actually yelled at the screen when Lord Tewkesbury called Holmes "Sherlock." In the era where the film is set, I don't believe it would have happened.

I listened to two very nice programs recently via Zoom meetings and in each program, the presenter always called Holmes "Sherlock" but always referred to Watson as "Watson."  Why?

Maybe it is because "Sherlock Holmes" is used so many times in the Canon that we are comfortable using his first name, although if I remember correctly only two people call Holmes only by his first name in the Canon: Mycroft and Mr. Sherman from SIGN ("A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome," said he.) Note that even here, Mr. precedes the Sherlock. In the other instances, it is always "Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Sometimes I think the reason the use of Sherlock rather than Holmes has become so common is because of the BBC series. Maybe.

Why doesn't really matter, just as it doesn't matter that I don't like it. 

Unpopular opinion #2--A good Holmes and Watson story does not have to include what I think of as the *Five Golden Rings: Moriarty, Mycroft, Adler, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson.

[*As in you sing the same line over and over in a slower and exaggerated voice, On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me five golden rings...]

Twice in the last week, I heard a writer say, "I had to get Adler in there somewhere, so I..." Why? Why did they have to get Adler in there somewhere? I know these are beloved characters but I'm kind of weary of them being in almost every single story.  Sometimes it feels like product placement rather than a character necessary to move the story along in an entertaining way. 

I do not write the Golden Five (beyond perhaps referring to one of them in an abstract way) as my own little push back against the practice. Of course I laugh at myself when I do it because nobody cares if I do it or I don't do it. Well, nobody except me. I've written only six Sherlockian pastiches. I plan to do four more. I may stop there. As much fun as they are to write, I may be ready to move on. (As I've gone on about way too often of late, I've become quite enamored with Gothic horror.)

When I first tried writing a Holmes and Watson pastiche I found it to be an excruciating process because I wanted to avoid the things that make me sad when I read them: too much reliance on the Golden Five, too many deerstalkers, too many dressing-gowns, too many street urchins, etc. I like H/W pastiche written in a traditional style (ala Father Knox) but I believe it can be done well without the over-used trappings.

My first attempt at writing a fiction piece inspired by the Holmes Canon wasn't a pastiche at all. It was a **short story for In The Footsteps of Sherlock Holmes. It wasn't as painstakingly difficult to write like the pastiches have been. I start a new pastiche tomorrow. I hope I can find the right balance between tradition and freshness.

I suppose I will have to follow Holmes's lead (again) and get to the center of things without wandering off in too many different directions.

[**I've included that first short story below.]

---------------------------------------------

 

Spring the Wiser, A Memoir

"Lighthouses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules, with hundreds of bright little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wiser, better England of the future."
Sherlock Holmes, "The Adventure of the Naval Treaty"

   jacobjeers@blogspub.com 

                                             

BUSTED                                                                       

Dad was so mad tonight I thought I might be writing Dear Diary on paper instead of blogging. I was certain he would take my laptop away.  He was the kind of mad where he didn’t even say anything.  He just stared.  Mom cried a little and shook her head a lot.  They did that quiet thing where they tell you to go to your room and not come out until they are ready to talk to you.  I wish they would yell instead. I tried to explain why I left the bike beside the fence, but they wouldn’t listen.  Doesn’t matter anyway.  I know I sounded lame.  Summer vacation started today and I’m at home, in my room. Bike-less, and probably grounded for forever.

Posted by Jacob Marsh  8:30 PM May 29, 2019                                            0 comments   

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

So, grounded for two weeks, and my bike will not be replaced until I’ve saved a fourth of the money to get a new one.  Dad and I have been saving for the PS5—that money is going to the bike replacement too.  I get to keep the laptop for blogging, but I can’t play any games. Why didn’t I lock the stupid bike up?!  I should erase that stupid.  If mom reads this, I’ll be in trouble for that too.  I don’t care.  This stinks.

Posted by Jacob Marsh  3 PM May 30, 2019                                                 2 comments  

NOW IT GETS WORSE

Grandma called tonight.  She was like grandma always is, nice but clueless.  She told me to find something to occupy my mind while I’m grounded; she suggested I read some Sherlock Holmes short stories.  She said she knows I’m going to write novels when I’m grown (she said my blog proves it) and reading lots of different kinds of books is good for that kind of work.  Ridiculous. We were on FaceTime, so I didn’t roll my eyes.  Mom’s mad enough already.  Did I mention grandma is a little weird? She is crazy when it comes to Sherlock Holmes.  Yes, Sherlock Holmes.  Nobody reads Sherlock Holmes. 

Posted by Jacob Marsh  9 PM May 30, 2019                                                 8 comments

WORSE and WEIRDER

Grandma called again.  She told me she had a dream I could find my bike if I apply something called ‘The Musgrave Ritual’ to the problem of where it is.  How is this supposed to get my stolen bike returned? She told me to use Sherlock Holmes’s methods. What is she talking about?! I googled ‘The Musgrave Ritual’.  The thing reads like this:

Whose was it?

His who is gone.

Who shall have it?

he who will come.

What was the month?

The sixth from the first.

Where was the sun?

Over the oak.

Where was the shadow?

Under the elm.

How was it stepped?

North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by two, west by one and by one, and so under.

What shall we give for it?

All that is ours.

Why should we give it?

For the sake of the trust.

What does it mean?  I’ll read the story because I need grandma on my side.  She had Amazon deliver the book. The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. Oh, yay.  Like I couldn’t read it on-line. 

Posted by Jacob Marsh  11 PM May 31, 2019                                               27 comments  

RITUAL READING

Mom, who is still upset, clarified.  I’m not on-line except to blog.  I gave myself away with looking up the ritual. I do need the book.  I read the story, twice, late last night—what else is there to do but read? After a lot of blah, blah about messy rooms (grandma should note that I am already like Sherlock Holmes in that respect) the ritual finally mattered. It is an old riddle no one figured out for centuries which once decoded will supposedly lead to a treasure. A smart guy figured it out, got himself killed trying to steal it, and a woman, involved in the plot, went crazy and vanished.  In the end, the treasure wasn’t what they thought it would be, just some old coins and an old rusty crown. Not sure what I’m supposed to do with it. I doubt Grandma, batty as she is sometimes, wants me to get myself killed, go crazy, or vanish.  She said to use Sherlock Holmes methods and apply the ritual to the bike theft.  How? What methods? Argh. I’ll read it again.

Posted by Jacob Marsh  11:30 PM June 1, 2019                                            45 comments  

FOUND IT.  NOW WHAT?

This is what Sherlock Holmes said about his methods in the story: “You know my methods in such cases, Watson: I put myself in the man's place, and having first gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how I should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances.”

This must be what Grandma is talking about—putting myself in someone else’s place and imagining what to do next.  Imagining someone taking the bike while it was leaning unlocked against the park fence doesn’t take a lot of brain power.  Without seeing who took it, and with no way to know who was in the park that day, I don’t think I can find the thief.  I think I need to apply the ritual to finding the bike, not finding the thief.  I need to think like the person who solved the ritual. In the story, the lines of the ritual were matched to specific people, and specific places on the grounds of the estate in a certain month. Time to take it apart line by line.  The only estate I have in this mystery is the park. I need a map.

Posted by Jacob Marsh  12:30 AM June 2, 2019                                           53 comments  

THE BEGINNING—OBVIOUS

Whose was it? His who is gone. Who shall have it? He who will come. What was the month? The sixth from the first. 

No great stretch here.  It was mine.  I am ‘gone’ from the park.  I’m grounded, remember? I shall have it as soon as I can ‘come’ back to the park. The sixth month from the first is June.  Today is June 2.  Duh. I guess I’m supposed to go back to the park in June. I will be ungrounded, precluding any further disturbances, after June 12.  I have ten days to figure out where in the park to look. I’m not allowed on the net, so I’ll have to draw a map from memory.  I’m not sure how to get to the park on the 13^th without a bike—sort of far to walk.  Maybe I can talk mom into driving by then. Will I ever not be 15 and finally get a driver’s license?!  

Posted by Jacob Marsh  4:30 PM June 2, 2019                                              65 comments  

THE MIDDLE, NOT SO OBVIOUS

Where was the sun? Over the oak. Where was the shadow? Under the elm.

Sun. Oak. Shadow. Elm.  There are so many trees in the park.  How am I supposed to find this oak and that elm?  I’m only 15 and not a scientist (yet), but I know the sunshine and any resulting shadows change all the time.  To measure something with the sun and a shadow, I would need a specific day and a specific time.  For a while today I wondered if grandma is playing a trick on me.  (I was mowing, and it was hot, and I was mad.)  Now that I am cooled off, I know she wouldn’t.   I’m missing something.  What? The question pounds in my brain like a hammer.  I don’t know what to do now.

Posted by Jacob Marsh  5 PM June 3, 2019                                                   110 comments  

STUCK IN THE MIDDLE

Wow—all the comments.   Interesting to read but not much help in solving my problem.  I can roughly sketch the map I need for marking off the steps in the next part of the ritual, and then I’ll read the story again.  In fact, I’m going to read the entire book.  I can’t think of anything else to do. Does Sherlock Holmes have more than one method?

Posted by Jacob Marsh  11 PM June 3, 2019                                                 73 comments  

STILL STUCK IN THE MIDDLE

Here followers—look at the map while I read. Maybe one of you will have a comment that helps.  Thanks for the funny and supportive comments.  The rest of you can get lost. By the way, mom looked it up for me:  The park is 71 acres, has 1.2 miles of walking trails in the interior, and includes many hundreds of trees in many varieties, including multiple oaks and elms.  Just freakin’ great.

 

 

 

Posted by Jacob Marsh  12:30AM June 4, 2019                                            80 comments  

METHODS IN THE MIDDLE

I’ve read the twelve adventures in the “Memoirs” and for sure Sherlock Holmes has more than one method. There are many different references in the stories, but I remember these the most:

“See the value of imagination…we imagined what might have happened, acted upon the supposition…”

“One true inference invariably suggests others...”

“It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be able to recognise out of a number of facts which are incidental and which vital.”

“…make a point of never having any prejudices and of following docilely wherever fact may lead me…”

“…for nothing clears up a case so much as stating it to another person…”

“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.”

My favorite line from these twelve stories is not exactly a method but I like the idea: “Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.”

Sherlock Holmes also said, “You know my methods.”  I do know some of them.  Now—I need to think, and then, I need to state my case to another person.  I know dad will be up late tonight.  We may have some art in our blood.

Posted by Jacob Marsh  9 PM June 6, 2019                                                   83 comments  

LIGHT IN THE MIDDLE

Talked a long time with dad last night.  We decided I need to keep two things in mind in order to solve the problem of the too many trees —

1-Holmes solves the mysteries because he takes the time to look at little things and does not assume something is exactly whatever someone else thinks it is.  In the story about the missing racehorse he is the only one who knew the actual famous horse was standing right there unseen because someone put some paint on the horse to make him look different. 

2—The one time he followed an assumption without thinking though other possibilities besides the most obvious, he ended up with the wrong answer.  (Really odd story about a mask in a window and some confused people.  I probably won’t reread that one.)

I keep coming back to the horse. It was still the horse, but it looked different, so no one noticed. What if the oak and the elm look different than I expect them to look? I don’t think I need to look at a hundred trees.  What else in the park is an oak and an elm?

Posted by Jacob Marsh  10 AM June 7, 2019                                                 103 comments  

ART IN THE BOOK

Hey—all of you in the comments asking me about the guy who found the treasure, and the horse, check these out:

Mom looked online to read about the origin of the book, and she found the original art! Here is Bruton, the first man to solve The Musgrave Ritual, and Silver Blaze, the famous racehorse. 

 

And I have one clue, maybe, about the oak.  After Mom read my last post, she suggested I call the Parks Department and ask about the possibility of oak used in the park for projects or something special.  Yes, call. On the phone. I was horrified but I did it.  The parks person seemed surprised anyone my age was calling but she was very helpful.  I recorded exactly what she said:

“A $1.5 million renovation project transformed the former 4H building at Washington Park into a rustic lodge. The renovation was completed using the wood from a stand of old oaks forced to come down due to disease; the use of the ancient wood was very important in establishing a link to local history within the final structure.  Frontier Lodge was dedicated on September 10, 2000.”

BOOM. I have specific oak, not some random tree among hundreds. Now, I need the sun, a shadow, and an elm.  I shouldn’t say the sun because as I still don’t have a date and time to measure a shadow, I am probably looking for something else representing the sun.  I need to get into the park.  As Sherlock Holmes said at the beginning of ‘Silver Blaze’: “I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go.”

Posted by Jacob Marsh  9:48 PM June 8, 2019                                              186 comments   

“THAT WAS THE CURIOUS INCIDENT”—Sherlock Holmes, Silver Blaze

It is Sunday, and although I’m still grounded until Thursday, mom took me to the park today.  She gave me a half hour to look around.  I went directly to the Frontier building where I saw a sign about the renovation and the oak.  Certain I was in the right place, I spent all my time trying to find anything that might relate to the sun, shadow, and elm.  I found nothing. Nothing.  I went back to the car and told mom to go.

Mom backed the car out of the Frontier parking lot and instead of returning south to the main gate, she turned west to make the circular drive through the park.  We made the curve by the activity building and went south towards the horse arena.  I gritted my teeth a little when I saw the horse arena ahead—I was so annoyed. Why did I let myself get carried away because of some silly story about a horse?  I turned to look out the passenger window so I wouldn’t see any horses. 

And then I saw it. Yes, it.  I saw the sun.

The large metal windchimes, featuring a cascade of heavenly bodies, dangled off the overhang of the building I named shed on my map.  A larger gold metal orb, clearly intended as the sun, served as the anchor above a smaller earth orb of cobalt-tinted glass surrounded by silver metal stars.  I yelled at mom to stop and I jumped out of the car before she had it fully in park.  I could just reach the tin stars with my fingertips.  I looked carefully at the shed (actually Park Maintenance Storage according to the sign on the narrow door) and ran my hands over its wooded edge. The shed is clad with the same oak as the Frontier Building.

 “I don’t believe it!” I heard mom say as she came up behind me, reaching to touch the stars too. “Where is the shadow and elm then?”  

After several minutes of futile looking, I stopped, pulled out my phone, and read the ritual again.

Where was the sun? Over the oak. Where was the shadow? Under the elm.

“Mom!” I called as I watched her walk around the east picnic shelter near the shed. “We have to think.  The Musgrave Ritual does not say the shadow and the elm are in the same place as the sun over the oak.  I’ve assumed we were looking for the shadow of the oak landing under the elm.  What if it isn’t? What if it is a shadow in a different sense of the word?  What if it means to shadow, as in to follow something?”

“We were brought to this point for a reason,” she said. “The counting steps follow finding the shadow and the elm, right? We must know where to begin counting the steps. The spot to start counting must be near the sun and oak, or there would be no reason to look for the sun and oak. The shadow and the elm must be here somewhere.  We can look for a few more minutes and then it will be too dark.  We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

We looked a half hour more as the sunlight faded.  Mom sat on a bench under the shelter and called for me to join her.  We were in the dark. 

 Posted by Jacob Marsh  11 PM June 9, 2019                                                 203 comments

“ANY TRUTH IS BETTER THAN INFINITE DOUBT.”—Sherlock Holmes, The Yellow Face

Mom and dad had to work today, so we couldn’t get to the park until 5:30.  Dad brought us some sandwiches for dinner.  We ate under the picnic shelter near the shed, planning how we would split up to look for anything that might hold the key.  I gathered up our dinner trash and carried it to the bin near the north east corner of the shelter. I dropped the trash, and, as I turned, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks.  A sign attached to the south side of the Activity Building listed the names of the businesses and people who donated to construct the facility.  Number one on the list, the Angel donor of $10,000 presented in larger letters than the others, was none other than Elmhurst Electric.  Shadow Box Art landed at number three on the list with a donation of $1,000.  Here, then: the shadow under the elm.  I checked my phone—6:30 PM. Three hours until pitch dark.   Time to start counting steps.

How was it stepped?

North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by two, west by one and by one, and so under.

Should have been straight forward. Simple, even.

10x10=100 north, 5x5=25 east, 2x2=4 south, 1x1=1 west.

Except it didn’t work.  We tried it over and over.  The 100 steps north put us at the northwest end of the kiosk by the ballfield gate, 25 steps east put us at the northeast edge of the kiosk, four steps south took us to the middle of the east side of the kiosk, and one step west put our feet up against the side of the kiosk. There was nothing there.  Certainly, there was no bike. The ground had not been disturbed.  Shaded by the massive trees, the ground was bare except for some scattered branches and dead leaves.  How would we go “and so under?”

We gave up at 9:45. It was too dark to see anything anyway. It is near midnight now and I see 200 comments on yesterday’s post.  I’m too tired to read any comments tonight, and too frustrated to think about what to do tomorrow.  I’m going to sleep.

Posted by Jacob Marsh  11:47 PM June 10, 2019                                          217 comments

“Because I made a blunder, my dear...”—Sherlock Holmes, Silver Blaze

I said I was going to sleep at midnight but instead I read the book again.  I discovered I had forgotten one of the methods I found the most interesting, and posted here, only four days ago:

“It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be able to recognise out of a number of facts which are incidental and which vital.” I missed a vital part of the steps, the “and by”, as in “North by ten and by ten”.

 Do you see it?  I read it as ten by ten as in multiplication. I did not consider the “and”; it must mean addition.  North for ten steps plus north for ten steps.  Our new math:

10+10=20 north, 5+5=10 east, 2+2=4 south, 1+1=2 west.

I dug my badly sketched map out from under my bed and penciled the 36 steps.  Only a tiny portion of the map seems to matter now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If we begin at the donor’s sign, we go forward the 20 steps, use 10 steps to cross the circular drive, go four steps turning south, and then two steps back west towards the street. We should end in the space between the west picnic shelter and barn. Across the street from the sun chimes.   I know there are some trees of various size and kinds there, some large slate-looking squared-off rocks people often use as benches, and some traffic barrier boulders in a line along the drive.  We still must go “and so under.”  How?

Nothing to do now but wait for mom and dad to get home. 

Posted by Jacob Marsh  1 PM June 11, 2019                                                 240 comments

FOR THE SAKE OF THE TRUST

We found the spot immediately, but we walked it off anyway.  The steps led us to the exact spot I sketched on the map.  No bicycle miraculously appeared for us to find. Our step count dead ended into the middle of one of the slate benches. The ground around it had obviously been recently disturbed.  The soil, mounded up in several places, loose in others, showed traces of raking motions and footprints.

The heavy bench, easily 2’ x 4’, required two people to move—just like the trap door in the cellar where Brunton lost his life trying to find the Musgrave treasure.  As dad and I lifted it up a few inches, mom ran her hands underneath, scooping out a muslin drawstring bag from beneath it.   We eased the bench down and mom passed the dull white bag, dirty and damp, to me.  I turned it over, astonished to find words calligraphed on it in a strong black ink—

Jacob Marsh~For the Sake of the Trust

No treasure in the bag, of course.  In some way, I would have been disappointed if there had been.  The bag contained only a letter to me—from grandma.  The letter said she trusted all along I would solve the ritual she created for me because I have curiosity and intelligence, but it was not all for fun. She said I needed to learn a few things. She said to call her and explain three things I learned from our game.  I handed the letter to mom, who then passed it to dad.  “Well?” he said. “What are three things?” 

I felt like it was one of those cheesy teaching moments adults go on about, but I knew I had to do it.  Our conversation, on speaker so mom and dad could hear, was surprisingly short:

 “Grandma, I learned three things.  One: I need to pay attention to details because little things can really matter, especially a little thing like putting the lock on my bike.  Two: Mom and dad are on my side even when I mess up because they were with me on this even though I had lost my bike.  Three: I shouldn’t discount something I’ve not tried, because Sherlock Holmes stories are amazing.”

 “Excellent. Now go home and have a naval treaty moment,” she replied and then cut off the call.

I told mom and dad The Naval Treaty is a story in the book about a stolen document.  Mom asked me what it could mean.  “I don’t know.” I said.  “But I can hardly wait to get home to find out.”  Mom laughed and reminded me I needed to go home anyway because I am still grounded until the day after tomorrow.

Posted by Jacob Marsh  10:40 PM June 11, 2019                                          267 comments

I TAKE UP MY PEN TO WRITE THESE LAST WORDS—John Watson, The Final Problem

So many comments wanting to know what I found at home.  I’m leaving two clues here and you can sort it out.

Clue one—a clipping from The Naval Treaty wherein Holmes meets his client, Mr. Phelps, and Watson for breakfast after Holmes has worked all night trying to retrieve the stolen document:

“'Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps: curried fowl, eggs, or will you help yourself?' 'Thank you, I can eat nothing,' said Phelps. 'Oh, come! Try the dish before you.' 'Thank you, I would really rather not.' 'Well, then,' said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle, 'I suppose that you have no objection to helping me?' Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream, and sat there staring with a face as white as the plate upon which he looked. Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder of blue-grey paper. He caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then danced madly about the room, pressing it to his bosom and shrieking out in his delight. Then he fell back into an arm-chair, so limp and exhausted with his own emotions that we had to pour brandy down his throat to keep him from fainting. 'There! there!' said Holmes, soothingly, patting him upon the shoulder. 'It was too bad to spring it on you like this; but Watson here will tell you that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic.'”

Clue two—grandma:

Grandma can never resist a touch of the dramatic either and who knew she took Tai Chi classes in the park?

Posted by Jacob Marsh  8:40 AM June 12, 2019                                           302 comments