strange and random happenstance

The Return of Captain John Emmett by Elizabeth Speller
Published by: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Publication Date: March 4th, 2010
Format: Hardcover, 448 Pages
Rating: ★★★★★
To Buy

Laurence Bartram survived the Great War, his wife and child did not. In the years since he has become more and more recluse ostensibly working on a book about churches while hiding away in his garret of an apartment. A letter from someone out of his past is about to bring him back into the world. Mary Emmett, attractive and nymph like younger sister of his former classmate John Emmett has reached out to Laurence as perhaps the only person in the world who knew her brother well. This past winter John killed himself after a stay in a sanatorium and Mary wants to know why. Laurence insists that he is not the right man to make these inquiries on her behalf because he lost touch with John long before the war and he wouldn't possibly know where to begin. Yet his affection for Mary and what might have been reluctantly enlists his help, and she does have a suggestion for a starting point. John left three bequests in his will to people other than his family. A Captain William Bolitho, a widow named Mrs. Lovell, and a Frenchman the solicitors were never able to find, a Monsieur Meurice. With these three names Laurence starts to piece together a horrific event that happened during the war. An event that still has ramifications as those who were present start turning up dead. Sadly Laurence realizes that John Emmett has ended up being more important to him dead than alive... just as he is to a mysterious figure in a coat and hat who is following him.

The Return of Captain John Emmett is a good old fashioned ripping yarn that is reminiscent of the golden age of detection when Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, and Margery Allingham were writing murder mysteries that the world devoured. Just as I have imbibed the books of these "Queens of Crime" I couldn't put down Elizabeth Speller's book about Laurence Bartram. Phone calls went unanswered, emails were not replied to. I once again started to lament my inability to just absorb books into the very fibers of my being à la dark Willow in the season six finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But as much as I wanted to reach that grand unveiling, feverishly reading page after page, I almost didn't want the denouement to come because then this marvelous caper would be concluded. With each page I kept thinking back to the day I found this book at my local used bookstore and all I could think was, who could ever sell this awesome of a book? It had everything you could want! Atmospheric London right after the war, unrequited love, mysterious deaths, suicides that might not be as they seem, mistaken identities, adultery, murder, paternity issues, poetry, villains, heroes, humor, insane asylums, quaint rural pubs, love... everything! Seriously, there are some people lacking discernment in Madison. But there loss was my gain. As it always seems to be.

What the meat of the book hung off of was the amazing character development. Each and every person was such a unique individual. While I think it might be a sin to say that the protagonist Laurence wasn't my favorite, he just wasn't. Laurence means well, he's stolid and trustworthy and so sweet in how he always gets the wrong end of the stick, much like another favorite detective of mine, Inspector Morse, who also just stumbled into answers versus actually solving them. But my heart is forever with Laurence's best friend Charles. Firstly, Charles is a rabid Agatha Christie fan, even if she had only written one book when this book was set, a slight historical accuracy oops. Yet Charles' love of mystery fiction doesn't force the book into the cliched Watson and Holmes shtick that so many golden age mysteries suffer from. Instead it manifests in his rapid love of the case and his suggested reading materials to Laurence. Who doesn't love a sidekick with a reading list? Plus, having Charles around would be wonderful, he always has a cousin who knows all the gossip, plus a car to get around. Sorry Laurence, you are trumped in every sleuthing category by Charles. Yet that's why I love this book, it's like Watson is the accidental protagonist for once! But these are just two of the amazingly multi-faceted characters. From John Emmett's father and his very Mitford-esque nature, to the fiery red-head Mrs. Bolitho who was a nurse during the war and has very progressive political ideas. Not one character was flat and lifeless, they just emerged from the page fully formed and instantly became my friends. People versus characters.

Though the heart of the book is how Speller deals with the more difficult topics of what war does to someone. How to some, like the newspaperman Brabourne, it's just a phase in a life that will be reminiscences to his grandchildren, where to Emmett, it forever changed him and lead him to his grave at that folly in the countryside. Then there is Laurence, who has shut himself off from the world and become a recluse. This investigation Laurence undertakes helps to bring him back to the world and out of his shell. Because of a simple letter asking for help he is slowly reentering the world. The strong characterization of each individual in the book lets Speller examine the effects and tolls on myriad people, all who are different and unique. Life is a house of cards and one wrong rotten thing can ruin it... for some. Speller shows us clearly the difference of life during wartime and life after wartime, making this an interesting examination of the Great War. Sometimes things just happen in a war that you could never, ever see yourself doing under normal circumstances. And when the war ends, it's about coming to terms with what you did. How can life ever become what it was? But sometimes we can not be held accountable for everything that happens. We cope, we deal in our way. For some it's poetry, for others photography, some prefer isolation, and for others still, it is surrendering to your base animal instincts. Yet Speller handles all these sensitive issues and more without being preachy. She has created real people and through them we understand.

And what we have to understand most of all is that the Great War's biggest repercussion was that it was a great demystifier. Prior to being sent to their deaths among dirt and disease, these young men believed it was noble and patriotic to die for your country. But the Great War was just hell on earth. Literally. You were forced to do your duty because otherwise, well, otherwise you were dead. The most terrifying aspect of the war was that if you tried to desert because of cowardice, because you literally could not face going over the top, then you were killed by your own men. All told, the number of soldiers shot for cowardice was very small in the grand scheme of things, but to have to kill one of your own because they acted on what every single one of them was surely feeling, it's a betrayal to your own beliefs, surely. Something one might never get over. In recent years more and more literature, film, and television, has focused on shell shock and the mental repercussions of the war. But here Speller is able to show us both sides of the argument. She delves deep into that which supposedly had to be done for the greater good. Yet here the repercussions spin a complex yarn of a tale, a mystery that you'll want to go back to again and again. In fact, every time you see it on a shelf at a bookstore you might just want to pick it up to pass it along to someone who hasn't yet had the honor of reading it.  

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: A Fall of Poppies, Agatha Christie, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Elizabeth Speller, Laurence Bartram, Murder, Nancy Mitford, Shell Shock, Sherlock Holmes, Suicide, The Return of Captain John Emmett, Watson, WWI

Sherlock Holmes: The Will of the Dead by George Mann
Published by: Titan Books
Publication Date: November 5th, 2013
Format: Paperback, 336 Pages
Rating: ★★★
To Buy

Watson has left his wife in the capable hands of her mother and has returned to 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson had warned him that Sherlock was in quite a state, which often happens when he has no case to focus his mind on. Luckily for both Watson and Holmes a case is about to walk in the door. Peter Maugham has come to Sherlock Holmes because the will of his Uncle Theobold, who died after a tragic fall, has gone missing. The will has long been known to divide his substantial assets to his three nephews and his niece. Without the will the assets will go to the eldest nephew, Joseph, whose own sister fears for her two cousins and herself if this were to happen. Therefore finding the will is paramount. Though in trying to locate the will, Holmes also realizes that Theobold Maugham's death wasn't an accident, so the disappearance of the will may a have nefarious meaning. And when the son of Theobold's disinherited sister, Hans Gerber appears, he instantly becomes the chief suspect. Older than Joseph, he would inherit the vast estate, and he's making sure his relatives know that this new world order is to be accepted at all costs. Yet no one is willing to accept this change and soon things become dire as Peter Maugham is murdered! The inspector in charge from Scotland Yard, Charles Bainbridge, seems to be less useless than most police officers in Holmes's mind, but he is stretched thin, with his boss not wanting to sign off of Theobold Maugham being murdered, and with the wealthy of London being plagued by large iron men who are breaking into their houses and stealing their most precious possessions. If Holmes can wrap up the Maugham case, perhaps he'd be willing to lend Bainbridge a hand with these devilish iron men?

By now, being readers of this blog, you should have realized I'm a big fan of George Mann. His Newbury and Hobbes series is definitively what Steampunk is to me. He has helped shaped this new Victorian era for me so it seems only logical that he would eventually get around to writing a book in homage to the author and character that shaped the Victorian era in literature the first time around. I'm talking about Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock Holmes. Reading George's work you can see how he is indebted to Conan Doyle and even if the world's greatest consulting detective were to never grace the pages of his books George has a way to evoke the spirit of Sherlock Holmes with these new steam-powered adventures. This natural progression of combing these two worlds sees it's fruition in The Will of the Dead. It doesn't hurt that this book is able to be enjoyed within the context of the Newbury and Hobbes universe or as a stand-alone. Those who haven't read George's previous work won't know that Charles Bainbridge, one of the first police officers to not completely offend and exasperate Holmes, is a staple of those other adventures, because he blends so well into this new story. This is a wonderful tribute to the enduring legacy of Sherlock Holmes and Arthur Conan Doyle and will hopefully capture George a few readers he might otherwise not have caught, this book handily being shelved in the "mystery" section of Barnes and Noble where that certain type of reader would never bother to go the few aisles over to "science fiction and fantasy." But more than anything this book has tried to derail my well thought out reads for this month by making me want to delve back into the world of George's books. Or at the very least read Sherlock Holmes: The Spirit Box! 

The Will of the Dead is an odd little book in that it's precariously balanced between straight up Sherlock Holmes adventure and Steampunk and there's a part of me that wants to tip the scales one way or the other. I get that this is a nice introduction to Steampunk for those who aren't inclined to pick up a book in this genre and lean towards the traditional gaslight mystery, but this was an opportunity to fully mesh Holmes with Steampunk and instead it came off as a dalliance. The thing is, Steampunk goes well with Holmes. It's just one of those facts of life, like peanut butter and jelly. It just is. Even Guy Richie got this when making his films with Robert Downey Junior. So it's disconcerting that instead of forming a cohesive Steampunk whole George instead creates a traditional adventure running alongside a Steampunk one. The two stories never meet and make a satisfying whole. Each story is great on it's own, but that's just it, it's on it's own. If George had wanted to do this he should have approached the book more like the traditional adventures and written them both as short stories and added in that little extra story from The Casebook of Newbury and Hobbes to complete the book. This would have worked better in my mind then some story that tries to bridge the gap and instead just seems to emphasis the gap versus closing it. But perhaps my persnickety self just had issues that despite how different the two cases were they ended up being concluded in similar manners. I should point out though that I don't think this is a fault of George's; it's a fault of Conan Doyle! Conan Doyle often had similar endings and themes, in fact I created my own shorthand to categorize the stories when reviewing them back in October and there were many stories categorized similarly. But still, wouldn't it be better to go further and better than the creator? Perhaps one day that will happen, because I don't think George is about to stop writing about Sherlock Holmes...

As for tipping the scales towards Holmes versus towards Steampunk, I think George could have easily gotten away with this. I have read A LOT of writers failing to make even the most easy of stories convincingly part of the Holmes canon. In fact, big, best selling authors who have been endorsed by the Conan Doyle estate haven't created such a compelling mystery as George does here with the death of Theobald Maugham. But what I really liked is how he wrote the mystery in a very traditional way but omitted the most tedious of Conan Doyle's habits, such as the clients retelling their plight in front of the fire at 221B Baker Street. Instead we are given little testimonial vignettes that get us inside the heads of other characters while also deepening the mystery. This is a genius idea and is one of many ways that George maintains the original feeling of the adventures while also switching it up. I particularly like how Holmes's inscrutability visibly annoys Watson and how he occasionally calls Holmes out or at least elicits the sympathy of his readers, who have also, over the years, tired of some of Holmes's shtick. And this is why it annoys me that the book could have all gone this way, because it would have so worked! As for the omissions of the Steampunk? Well, just having Bainbridge there would be the link! By then including the aforementioned short story at the end readers not familiar with Steampunk could see the way stories like Holmes's could be developed into something new. Plus, a riveting little short story at the end? I didn't expect that little bonus, and though I had read the story previously, I found myself instantly captured by the narrative once more, sitting there with Bainbridge on the edge of his seat. That's how you convert them to Steampunk! Bait them with a tantalizing story after telling them the story they were expecting in the best possible way.

I have the need here to go on a bizarre tangent; it's on the naming of characters. The naming of characters is an art. The perfect name will become enshrined on our hearts, like Harry Potter, Jane Eyre, Veronica Hobbes. These are just perfect names. They flow, they are original, they are iconic, like the name Sherlock Holmes itself. An interesting aside, but did you know he was originally named Sherrinford Hope? Now that just doesn't ring true for the world's most famous consulting detective now does it? So that shows that even the best of authors have crazy ideas every once in awhile, Sherrinford Hope, really!?! There is a subcategory to naming characters in which the name strikes a cord with us, maybe because we know someone with that name, or with a similar name. This is always disconcerting seeing that name out of context, and it's even weirder if it's your own name! But what if the character is named similar to someone famous or iconic? Apparently that's the real reason for us not knowing about the adventures of Sherrinford Hope, because Sherrinford was a famous cricketer. Hans Gerber gave me no end of annoyance in The Will of the Dead. Let me set the stage. It's a few weeks till Christmas, I'm reading a book with a German character named Hans Gerber, which EVERY TIME I read it morphs into Hans Gruber, he of Die Hard fame. Yes. Hans Gruber as played by Alan Rickman was incongruously walking around Victorian England. Of course there's a chance that this was on purpose and George put it in as a joke? Please say it's true, because otherwise, well, I have weird images in my head right now. End mini rant.

Reading SO MANY books centered around Sherlock Holmes I have started to become some sort of Sherlock Holmes purist. Well, to an extent. My basic approach is anything is fair game so long as it doesn't go against canon without explaining it. For example I just started reading The Beekeeper's Apprentice and Laurie R. King takes time out to explain why her Holmes will appear different than the canonical Holmes as set down by Watson. This is totally fine with me, I was given a reason, I was told up front not to lose my shit when something different appeared, fair play to Laurie R. King. As for Steampunk seeping to the canon, again, it's George Mann, it's to be expected, and therefore enjoyed. It's the little details that are gotten wrong that crawl under my skin. George nails everything pretty well but there is one detail that has gotten under my skin and it's driving me up the wall. So Watson married his first wife, Mary Morstan in 1889. According to George's website and the timeline of the Newbury and Hobbes universe The Will of the Dead takes place in the 1880s. It's important to know that it's the 1880s because if it was later George could be referencing Watson's second wife that we know next to nothing about. The same can't be said about Mary, as she was an integral part of The Sign of the Four and we know her history, mainly that she's an orphan. Her mother died shortly after her birth and her father, well, to say what happened to him would ruin a decent story... but the key here is she is an orphan. In other words SHE CAN NOT BE VISITING HER MOTHER! Every time Watson said that Mary was off visiting her mother I got a little nervous twitch right below my eye. Seriously, to get everything so spot on and have this one thing just there. Yes... I might be taking this too seriously, but still, Holmes wouldn't let it slid so why should I?

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Arthur Conan Doyle, Bainbridge, Canon, Die Hard, George Mann, Laurie R. King, Newbury and Hobbes, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlocked, Steampunk, The Sign of the Four, The Spirit Box, The Will of the Dead, Watson

Arthur and George
Based on the book by Julian Barnes
Release Date: March 16th, 2015
Starring: Martin Clunes, Arsher Ali, Charles Edwards, Art Malik, Emma Fielding, Pearl Chanda, Hattie Morahan, Timothy Watson, Hilary Maclean, Matthew Marsh, Ciarán Owens, Michael Hadley, Sandra Voe, and Geraldine Alexander
Rating: ★★★
To Buy

Arthur Conan Doyle has just buried his wife. Yet he feels he is unworthy of the outpouring of condolence letters and sympathy because while he loved Louisa as best as he could, his heart for sometime has belonged to another. He is mired in guilt and can not seem to put pen to paper. In his copious correspondence his secretary, Woodie, finds a letter that might just invigorate him. People are always writing him assuming that he is equally adept at crime solving as his greatest creation, Sherlock Holmes, is. But this letter from George Edalji is different. Here is a true miscarriage of justice brought about by small town bigotry. If the evidence alone didn't speak for itself, meeting George and seeing this innocent man suffer is enough to make Sir Arthur swing into action. Surprisingly there is much push-back against his investigation. Many shadowy figures don't want the Edalji case brought up. They all site that it was a clear case. George is a degenerate who is out of place and maimed livestock and sent horrific letters to his family and threatened little girls because that's what he is. Arthur sees none of this, while Woodie is a little more skeptical. Yet once they arrive at the scene of the crimes in Wyrley, they start to realize that it's not just about proving George innocent, it's about finding the guilty party. The guilty party who might still be in Wyrley and might take against the great Sir Arthur trying to root him out. Yet the bluff and brash author won't back down from idle threats. For the first time in a long time he has a purpose and the vigor has returned to his life. Woodie sees this, and if it wasn't for Sir Arthur's well-being, he'd view the risks as too parlous. Because there is no doubt that in investigating George's case they are putting their very lives on the line.

If you are looking for a straight up adaptation of Julian Barnes's novel this is thankfully not it. That flawed self-indulgent pseudo-biography has been plundered for it's successful core and made into a story that is more akin to the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. While loosely based on true events this adaptation isn't a slave to them. Unlike it's source material, this miniseries understands that adapting truth into fiction should also be fun and entertaining. It should be about Conan Doyle racing through the woods in the pursuit of a killer, not his premature ejaculations. There is fun to be had in taking the truth and spinning it into a fiction that makes good viewing for a Sunday night in. The biggest shift from book to miniseries is that we are given closure. The crimes perpetrated and attributed to George Edalji aren't solved by Conan Doyle in reality, but what kind of mystery is that I ask you? We viewers want some finality, some closure, some feeling of an ending; which we are given here. But oddly, despite how much I disliked the book I wonder if giving this adventure a "satisfying" ending is maybe doing the truth a disservice. The ending makes the whole story lose something of it's reality. Yes, it's more enjoyable, but perhaps they had a duty to make it more believable. There could have still been a more concrete ending while sticking closer to the truth. The diversions they made were occasionally so over-the-top that I found them to rank among the less believable of Conan Doyle's stories. This also did a disservice to how much work Conan Doyle actually put into George's exoneration. He used the tools available to him, mainly the press, but here he used the tools of Holmes and in that regard was more bumbling, less productive. But then again, since his death Arthur Conan Doyle has become a larger than life character, so why not just go with it?

But I don't think that the changes to the truth were intended to undermine it, but just to make it more in line with what mystery aficionados of today expect. The diversions made seemed to serve one goal, to pump up the mystery. We viewers have become very demanding in our blackguards. We want them to have an apparent purpose, to be relentlessly evil, and to have just that edge of crazy that makes hunting them down dangerous. In other words, a creep factor. Oh, and extra points if their lair is full of "otherworldly" symbols and dead bodies, or to be more accurate, parts of dead bodies. This production did all this. You get a hint that the creep factor is rising when the killer is found in a picture the family took outside the vicarage, if you look in an upstairs window. Almost like the ghosts that Conan Doyle believed in so fervently appearing after film is developed. The killer had left their mark indelibly on what should have been a happy and joyful family snapshot. But the scene that really left an impression on me was when Conan Doyle was racing through the woods and stumbled on what could be called a demonic fairy ring, with candles all in a circle and George's sister's doll taking pride of place in the center. This shows us that our perpetrator is truly unhinged. The mounting crimes, dead animals, and progression to actual murder don't actually need the final reveal of the shed of death later to confirm what we already know, Conan Doyle has found a villain worthy of his efforts. He has found Wyrley's own Jack the Ripper.

The creepiness of the culprit wasn't the only thing upped in the production, so were the conspiracies. In actuality Conan Doyle faced bigots and bureaucracy. Here the bureaucracy is more faceless. Nameless men trying to warn him away. Police giving ominous warnings. You get the idea, the standard trope to outsiders when visiting a closed community. While this fed into the mystery this is one clear cut instance that I think they should have stuck closer to the truth. Just look at the world today. Seriously, look at it. The bigots, the hatred, the anger spewing forth not just from the random crazies on the street but from our elected or hope to be elected officials. This is the world we live in and it was like that over a hundred years ago as well! To try to downplay this hatred as organized yet mysterious versus the systematic hatred of the "other" is like trying to deny the truth. It is far more terrifying to live in a world with this directed and specific hatred than a nebulous hatred of this other. In the book, despite George repeatedly saying that this isn't about race, it so clearly is. Or, in this interpretation, it is to an extent... because in the end they make it clear that George was right. The initial attacks against him before the corrupt system became involved were a specific hatred of him for being such a good and favored student. While there is something satisfying in the personal vendetta, here, well, it downplays the real evil. As is oft quoted the idea that all it takes for evil to survive is for one good man to do nothing, well, there's a lot of people doing nothing here, and that is more terrifying than one lunatic with a grudge.

Yet I am very grateful for one change. The downplaying of personal guilt. They quickly get Arthur's guilt over his wife dying and his loving another quite quickly with a few lines of dialogue and a few insights, and that's that. While yes, guilt and his need for diversion did lead Conan Doyle to take on George's case in the first place, it really bogged down the book. Hundreds and hundreds of pages of it. There's only so much self-flagellation you can endure before you grow to hate a character as much as they apparently hate themselves. While this might be the spark, the impetus, by concentrating on the crime we are given a more balanced narrative. I know I didn't sign up for a treatise on self-denial and self-loathing, did you? Some people might like that in their books and movies, I do not. See, I view my reading and watching as something to entertain me. It's escapism, not torturous inner soul-searching. A mystery should be a mystery first and foremost, and the miniseries of Arthur and George is exactly that. A mystery. So if you're looking for something more, something deeper, perhaps the book might be for you? Personally I don't see how the book could be for anyone really, but then again, best sellers lists and must read books often baffle me as to how they ever became as such.

This review of this dramatization wouldn't be complete if I didn't touch just a little on the acting. Oh poor Charles Edwards, always the Watson, never the Holmes. Charles Edwards is probably best known now as Edith's ill-fated beau on Downton Abbey, but to me he is the true Arthur Conan Doyle from his portrayal of him in Murder Rooms. While being the creator of Sherlock Holmes, he played Watson to Joseph Bell's Holmes. Skip forward fifteen years and here he is playing Watson to Conan Doyle's Holmes, in the form Woodie, Conan Doyle's personal secretary. I can't help but feel a little sad at this. He's such a fabulous actor and here he is playing second fiddle again. Not to mention that I read in an interview that Martin Clunes thought that this format of Conan Doyle solving crimes could really work... aw Martin, do you not know of Murder Rooms? Or are you just trying to break Charles Edwards's heart? But even if I do love me my Charles Edwards, there can be no denying that Martin Clunes is the perfect actor to play Conan Doyle later in life. He has that bluff athleticism and bluntness that makes Conan Doyle a more socially acceptable Doc Martin. And was I the only one inwardly giggling and kind of cheering for joy just to hear him talk about the death of his wife Louisa? Yes, I know it's not the Louisa I hate... but still, I have to take my fun where I can find it. As for George, Arsher Ali was well cast, because there is no getting around the fact in print or in film, I can't stand George. And as luck would have it, I really can't stand Arsher Ali. He is SO GOOD at playing someone unlikeable and a bit of a stuck up prick, seriously, watch The Missing and him chain smoking near his child with cystic fibrosis and you'll get where I'm coming from. But these three did not the miniseries make. Filling out the cast with other top notch actors from Art Malik to Emma Fielding to Hattie Morahan made this an enjoyable little mystery that while not overly memorable, will give you something else to think about for a few hours, and thankfully none of that time will be spent thinking about Arthur Conan Doyle's dick. 

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Arthur and George, Arthur Conan Doyle, Charles Edwards, Doc Martin, Downton Abbey, George Edalji, Jack the Ripper, Julian Barnes, Martin Clunes, Murder Rooms, Mystery, Racism, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlocked, Watson

The House of Silk by Anthony Horowitz
Published by: Forge
Publication Date: November 1st, 2011
Format: Hardcover, 294 Pages
Rating: ★
To Buy (different edition than one reviewed)

Watson has always hesitated sharing this story. He felt it was too shocking and would destroy the fabric of society. But as a world war rages he once again puts pen to paper. Holmes is gone and he feels this story needs to be told, though he will request that it is withheld for one hundred years so that hopefully society will not be as scandalized. The adventure started as many did, as Holmes and Watson sat in front of the fire of 221B Baker Street. A Mr. Carstairs arrived wishing for their assistance. He was an art dealer who inadvertently got on the wrong side of a thuggish Irish gang in Boston called "The Flat Cap Gang." He has reason to believe one of the two ringleaders has followed him to London to exact revenge. Holmes and Watson quickly resolve his problem as the man, the supposed Keelan O'Donaghue, ends up dead and the case is closed. But in actuality it is just the beginning. In finding "Keelan O'Donaghue" one of the Baker Street Irregulars has gone missing. Usually this wouldn't be a cause for concern, but there's something about the way young Ross reacted to seeing Mr. Castairs at the crime scene that has Holmes wondering. As Holmes digs further into the case of Ross he starts to hear mention of "The House of Silk." Holmes is certain that if he could only find out who or what this organization is that everything would fall into place. But even Mycroft warns him to back away, and soon Holmes is in grave danger. Whomever they may be, The House of Silk doesn't want Holmes exposing them and eliminating one detective, no matter how famous, is a small price to pay in their eyes.

There is no doubt that Anthony Horowitz is talented. If his only legacy was Foyle's War he'd be good as gold. But he also helped adapt Midsomer Murders for television as well as Poirot, not to mention the wonderful mini-series Injustice he created, they are all wonderful fare. But for me he's polarizing. For every right move he makes, he makes a wrong one, like marrying Sam to that numskull Adam. That sin alone deserves some sort of punishment, like being slapped silly with a large fish. Sam was meant to end up with Andrew! But then again, Julian Ovenden doesn't seem to be able to catch a break, he loses Sam and then Lady Mary on Downton Abbey chucks him for Matthew Goode. So for all my love of Anthony Horowitz, there's some hate in there as well, and a lot of that hate is now centered on The House of Silk. This predictable mess of a mystery doesn't deserve to be endorsed by the Conan Doyle Estate, it needs to be burned in effigy as a crime against the legacy of Sherlock Holmes. There are so many good books out there that are reimaginings and continuations of Holmes it baffles me that this is the one given the seal of approval, that little mark of Sherlock in his deerstalker hat with the shadow of Conan Doyle and his walrusy mustache. The most mind-boggling thing about The House of Silk is how Horowitz seems to purposefully set out to undermine all other non-canonical books. It's not enough that he's "official" but that everyone else has to be wrong. He is forcibly trying to change every preconception other writers have given Holmes over the years. Holmes doesn't outlive Watson, Mycroft is also equally indestructible, living to an old age despite his corpulence, which Horowitz takes glee in elucidating. Horowitz is the new voice of Holmes and he won't let there be any ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Horowitz spends too much time randomly answering questions that have popped up over the years without regard to anything but his whim. Holmes wasn't at Watson's wedding, Watson had three children in his second marriage, Mary died of typhoid fever, and on and on, just throwing out little tidbits that will appeal to those with an obsessive desire to know everything about these characters. Yet these little glimpses would have worked had Horowitz proved he actually knew Holmes and his canon. It becomes quickly apparent that Horowitz is a dilettante when it comes to Holmes so therefore all these little insights come across as self-indulgent crap as he tries to leave his mark on a greater writer's legacy. The canonical issues would drive any true fan to distraction. While I wouldn't say I'm an obsessive, I would say that the least he could have done was got it right in order to earn that badge of honor from the Conan Doyle Estate. The scenario that drove me most round the bend was when Horowitz repeated almost verbatim the scene of Holmes baffling Watson with his "mind-reading" abilities that was originally in "The Adventure of the Cardboard Box" but was reused in "The Adventure of the Resident Patient." It wasn't reusing this scene for a third time that annoyed me most, it was what came after. One of the key parts of this original scenario was Watson and his newly framed picture of General Gordon and his contemplation of framing his portrait of Henry Ward Beecher to make a matching set. Yet in the bizzaro world of Horowitz where things like canon don't matter, the portrait of General Gordon came with the flat! Excuse me? Antony Horowitz broke canon, one that was doubly stated, just so that Holmes could have a throw-away line about how the walls of 221B Baker Street don't actually reflect him because he didn't chose any of the hangings. Where did I put that giant fish...

But canonical issues aside (yeah I agree that sounds unlikely), but seriously, even if we are able to do this, it can't change the fact that Horowitz isn't able to capture the voice of Conan Doyle through Watson. He isn't able to do what a children's author did with a story about mice. Wrap your mind around that if you will. Here Watson is a whiny little bitch. I kid you not. In the canonical books he's all stoic and I'll grab my service revolver and follow you into the gates of hell, while being a little melodramatic about the whole thing, and maybe once or twice staying by the fire to tend to his war wounds. Here it's all whining and whinging and oh his aches and pains. I actually wanted to punch him in the shoulder and be like, "how's your wound now bitch?" Yet it's not just about his overnumerous physical problems that I take umbrage, it's the fact that Watson is so overly loquacious and verbose, leading to the whole book feeling overwritten. If I ever thought that Watson was long winded before, I take it all back. Bring back the real Watson and get rid of this imposter! This upstart who thinks it's cool to mention all his old cases again and again. Guess what? Watson doesn't do that in actuality, he only mentions old cases occasionally, and if he does mention other cases, it's ones we've never read about, he's never so self-referential and meta. Gaw, make it stop. Yet it doesn't stop. The sloppiness with the canon and with Watson even carries over to all aspects of The House of Silk and it's writing. The book's internal chronology doesn't even work! How could Carstairs marry his wife six months before he even met her?

Repeatedly saying to myself "but if Horowitz had just..." isn't going to change anything. It's not going to magically make an editor who happens to be fluent in the canon of Sherlock Holmes appear and fix the book, because there is no way to fix this book. And there's a part of me that thinks a lot of the sloppiness might have been done on purpose. That maybe the muddle was there for a reason. At one point there's a meta aside wherein the characters discuss the tangle the two cases are making and how they seem to be getting more entwined versus less. Yes, this did piss me off, this signalling that Horowitz knew how he was infuriating me. But more importantly it shows that the muddle was on purpose. So, why would an author purposely muddle his book? Because he couldn't be bothered to create a half decent mystery and is throwing as many fish at you of the herring variety so that you won't notice this deficiency. Guess what "Tony." It. Did. Not. Work. Your book is 294 pages. You introduced the character of Ross on page 52, less than ten pages later, on page 61 I had the entire mystery solved. I had to read a further 233 pages of obfuscations and interferences and Watson's whining to have my deduction validated. Seriously, this isn't how you write a mystery. You don't read about a quarter of a book and go, oh, so this, this, and this happened, that's it. A book shouldn't be as easy to solve as a mystery on TV which can usually be deduced by the casting choices. I wanted something, I don't know, that actually made me invested in the book, that made me want to flip to the next page, that wasn't just the desperate need to make it end.

As for the mystery itself... we are supposed to find it shocking. That, after all, is the gimmicky reason that Watson withheld it for one hundred years, despite the fact that Holmes's arrest and various other incidents would have made the papers and would have therefore had to have been included in the original canon but are somehow overlooked. And the saddest thing is that the mystery isn't shocking. The book seems to be nothing more than a reflection of the British press of today. Because this is nothing more than the cover-up of another sexual abuse scandal wherein high ranking government officials are using orphans and street kids to satisfy their disgusting pedophiliac desires. Seriously, google "child sexual abuse UK" and there are over a dozen notable cases of these "rings" uncovered just within the past five or so years! Yes, this is horrifying. Yes this should be shocking, but the sad truth is that with it constantly being on our television screens and in our newspapers we have become desensitized to it but at the same time hyper-aware so that I could solve the mystery of The House of Silk in a matter of minutes. There have been other narratives of similar cases in books, films, and television. Heck, even the Inspector Morse spin-off Endeavour's pilot was about such a sex ring. This is sadly something that happens in the world, and if it's happening now it must have been happening than, so all in all, not much a mystery, just a sad reflection of reality, which most of us could do without when we are reading to escape. Plus, this has added a whole creepy undertone to the Baker Street Irregulars that I could have done without. Though the final thought I am left with is, would this case really have effected Holmes so? Would he have been moved? This Holmes was, the canonical Holmes, that's highly unlikely.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Anthony Horowitz, Arthur Conan Doyle, Baker Street Irregulars, Canon, Endeavour, Foyle's War, Inspector Morse, Julian Ovenden, Midsomer Murders, Mystery, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlocked, The House of Silk, Watson

The Final Solution by Michael Chabon
Published by: HarperCollins
Publication Date: November 9th, 2004
Format: Hardcover, 131 Pages
Rating: ★★
To Buy (different edition than one reviewed)

Sherlock Holmes is retired to the South Downs where he doesn't concern himself with more than his bees and not falling over some detritus in his house and dying ignominiously. But one day he is intrigued when he sees a young boy with a parrot on his shoulder walking down the railway tracks. He observes the boy is about to urinate on the third rail and rushes as fast as his feeble frame will allow him to stop this dangerous pursuit. The boy doesn't answer to his shouts, yet the parrot does, issuing a long string of numbers in German. Curiouser and curiouser. It turns out that the young boy Linus is a Jewish refuge living at the Vicarage, which the Panickers also run as a boarding house. There the parrot has excited some of the residents and his strings of numerals are believed to be more than random. In fact the parrot's abilities are of interest to more people than just those in the South Downs... could the numbers in fact mean something to the war effort? When one of the Panickers's lodgers is brutally murdered and the parrot goes missing with young Reggie Panicker as chief suspect, the local police think perhaps it is time to consult the great detective himself. Holmes agrees to help. Not out of concern for Reggie Panicker or for the war effort or to stop a murderer, his bees are all that he really cares about. He agrees to help to reunite the young boy with his parrot. Because if ever there were two creatures more in need of each other it is this young boy and his bird. If he happens to solve the murder and the mystery of the numbers along the way, well, that's why he was at one time the greatest consulting detective in the world. A world which has now radically changed.

I'm fairly confident that The Final Solution became the "must read" book for me almost ten years ago because of a really good blurb in the Bas Bleu catalog. The problem with the Bas Bleu catalog is that they are masters of writing the perfect precise that makes you not just want to, but need to read the book they are selling. I have had Bas Bleu backlash many a time, most memorably with Agatha Christie's Endless Night. Yet the Endless Night debacle was in my future at this point, and so I excitedly curled up on a summer's day on my side porch to delve into The Final Solution; where I instantly felt I needed to be reading the book with a dictionary constantly open. My initial feelings were that Chabon was a little too self-impressed with his ability to obfuscate his story while simultaneously being a bit of a show-off. For some reason, despite what should be viewed as negatives, because a writer shouldn't try to make his book inaccessible, I was left with this impression that The Final Solution was a masterpiece that I just couldn't fully understand or appreciate. Flash forward almost a decade, with all the expanded knowledge and vocab that time can bring to a voracious reader and I now see the truth. This is a self-indulgent novella that exudes smug self-importance. Just because a book is dense and impenetrable to the point of incomprehensibility doesn't mean it's good and you are the problem in the equation. It means you need to look closer at the book and realize that the dense narrative might be hiding the author's smug self-satisfaction in plain sight. The purposeful use of obscure and highfalutin language combined with the "gimmick" to never actually state outright that this book is about Sherlock Holmes and only deal in allusions and asides makes this book smack of pretension and alienates the reader. A book should service the story NOT the ego of the writer, and hence this book is a failure.

Finally being able to see beyond the veil of academic and writerly gimmickry you see that all it did was mask the problems of the story. The major problem is that this isn't an ode to Conan Doyle but more posturing by Chabon. The LEAST Chabon could have done is capture the essence of Holmes in the slightest. Instead this book seems to intentionally set out to be the exact opposite of all things Holmes and Conan Doyle. Conan Doyle is a writer that is only occasionally melodramatic when writing as Watson, but he is never superfluous. If he is writing as Holmes, as is the case in two of his short stories, the language is terse and to the point. The Final Solution, being in the waning days of Sherlock Holmes, would obviously be written from Holmes's POV, and therefore would necessitate Holmes's narration style. Yet here Chabon luxuriates in description and verbiage. The actual plot could be summed up by Holmes or Watson in a couple of sentences, but it's spun out for 131 pages! This wallowing in the unnecessary and insignificant might be a nice idyl for a writing exercise, but not for a story which suffers under these pretensions. Plus, I don't know if it's just me, but there's a reason Conan Doyle didn't write Holmes into his dotage, aside from being sick of writing him, and that's because no one wants to see the great and mighty struggling to get out of a chair. Yes it might be interesting if handled properly, like the recent film Mr. Holmes, but here it isn't handled properly or reverently like it should be. It's all just Chabon showing off. But what got under my skin more than anything was that while he peppers the book with allusions to Holmes's great works at the end Chabon doesn't understand Holmes. He got him so wrong. "The business of detection has for so many years been caught up with questions of remuneration and reward that although he was by now long beyond such concerns he felt, with surprising vigor, that the boy owed him the payment of a smile." Holmes rarely took any form of payment! I can think of one, maybe two times that entered into it, in ALL of his adventures. All SIXTY of them. As for a reward? He liberally gave all the credit away to different police officers. Gaw! Just SO WRONG!

The Final Problem could have been a sweet little story about a boy and his parrot, but the need to make the story ostensibly about Sherlock Holmes, though remember he's never directly named, derails the tale and drags it out. To make a book of only 131 pages seem overly long is a true talent that Chabon should be congratulated on. Instead of focusing on the relationship of the boy and his bird, we suffer through long reminiscences of what it is to be old and dying. Oh, and not just dying, but to die in an ignominious way. To die sprawled out in an inglorious way that would be very embarrassing for one's reputation, though technically you shouldn't care because, you know, you're dead. The reason I think The Final Solution would have been more successful concentrating on Linus is that you forge a connection with the boy. You never really make a connection to Holmes. Holmes is a character of wonder and magic, and to make him old and feeble, it stripes the character of what connection the reader had. Dwelling on his various daydreams of death doesn't help us connect either. There is only one time you feel a connection to Holmes and the man he was and that's when he journeys back to London in search of Linus's bird. London was the epicenter of Holmes's world. This is a city that bowed down to his greatness and the villains were in constant fear of him. Now London is no longer the place he rules but a place he no longer recognizes. With the onslaught of the Germans he expected to see the city in ashes, and one wonders if perhaps he actually wished this to be true. That London, without the great Sherlock Holmes, had ceased to exist. That it's very lifeblood no longer flowed because of his exodus. Instead there is destruction, but more then that, new buildings, new life, all the new that he doesn't know. He knew this city like the back of his hand, every alley and every bolthole. To see that the city moved on, changed while his knowledge didn't, is the first and only time in the book you feel what it's like to be Holmes, the pinnacle of the previous discarded century.

Going back to Linus and his parrot, I can not express how much a story concentrating only on the two of them would have succeeded. Their relationship is a connection between two souls. When you are young and form a connection to an animal something magical happens. It's not that you're just kindred spirits, you are each others soul mates. Chabon so eloquently describes this connection with the looks exchanged between the two, the way the boy mummers to his parrot and the way the parrot ruffles Linus's hair, that it's almost painful in it's beauty. I had this relationship once with my little cat Spot. We met when I was only eight and we were together for twenty-two years. He was my best friend, my confidant, my better half. He was everything and I see that relationship mirrored in this book. This is the heart and while to an extent it is also the driving force of the narrative, it's too often relegated to the sidelines to actually keep your interest. But to look at their relationship further, I can't help but think about how this bird is truly a service animal. The boy is effectively a mute and is therefore viewed as developmentally disabled by many of the people in the community where he lives. So much study has gone into the aid animals can give to children who are autistic or have learning disabilities, and here we have a story that shows the depth of these connections and how they work yet it is constantly pushed aside. The most interestingly narrated chapter in the book is when the parrot's POV is explored. Here we get more insight into his relationship with Linus, but again this is second fiddle to the importance of the crime committed. Chabon, I am totally calling you out. You set this up so well and had such an opportunity and you wasted it time and time again to indulge yourself and not serve the story or the characters. Get with it already. Edit, rewrite this and get back to me.

Yet the biggest flaw in the book has nothing to do with the story, it has to do with the illustrations. Jay Ryan created a memorable and unique cover, but his interior illustrations leave something to be desired. They feel unfinished and childish, which is the exact opposite of the story whose language is so polished it almost blinds you and is very adult in nature. Seriously, only an adult could have the vocabulary to get through this book not to mention the themes of aging, persecution, espionage, and murder. I am a graphic designer and have done many illustrations. Illustrations are different than regular drawings, they are there to accompany and add insight to the text. They REFLECT the text. Image and words in a symbiotic relationship that is balanced. Here it's not balanced. Stupid childish drawings that you could argue were to capture the childishness of Linus, but I refute that argument. Linus doesn't live in the world of a child and the things he's seen make him unique. Therefore dumbing down the illustrations doesn't enhance his viewpoint, it harms it. While the style of writing and the narrative annoyed me to no end, there is a beauty in the images that Chabon conjures up. There is a lushness in the text that is completely derailed by these technical and awkward images. This isn't how the words make this world appear. If anything these images are 100% the exact opposite of what I see in my mind's eye while reading this book. While most people will probably just flip to the next page ignoring the images, I can't. They are a stumbling block that brings down the book even lower in my estimations. Quite literally you start the book thinking it will be amazing, a five star tour de force. Then Holmes is introduced and mishandled, then the drawings start showing up, then this, then that, and you are left with a book that could have been something magical, but isn't. Not in the least.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, Bas Bleu, Endless Night, Illustration, Michael Chabon, Mr. Holmes, Novella, Parrots, Pretentious, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlocked, South Downs, Spot, Watson, WWII

The Return of Captain John Emmett (Laurence Bartram Book 1) by Elizabeth Speller
Published by: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Publication Date: March 4th, 2010
Format: Hardcover, 448 Pages
Rating: ★★★★★
To Buy

Laurence Bartram survived the Great War, his wife and child did not. In the years since he has become more and more recluse ostensibly working on a book about churches while in his garret of an apartment. A letter from his past is about to bring him back into the world. Mary Emmett, attractive and nymph like younger sister of his former classmate John Emmett has reached out to Laurence as perhaps the one person in the world who knew her brother well. This past winter John killed himself after a stay in a sanatorium and Mary wants to know why. Laurence insists that he is not the right man to make these inquiries on her behalf because long before the war he lost touch with John and he wouldn't possibly know where to begin.

His affection for Mary and what might have been reluctantly enlists his help, and she does have a suggestion for a starting point. John left three bequests in his will to people other then his family. A Captain William Bolitho, a widow named Mrs. Lovell, and a Frenchman the solicitors were never able to find, a Monsieur Meurice. With these three names Laurence starts to piece together a horrific event that happened during the war, an event that still has ramifications as those who were present start turning up dead. Sadly Laurence realizes that John Emmett has ended up being more important to him dead then alive... just as he is to a mysterious figure in a coat and hat.

The Return of Captain John Emmett is a good old fashioned murder mystery that I could not put down. Phone calls went unanswered, emails were not replied to. I had a desperate need to just absorb this book into the very fibers of my being a la evil Willow in Buffy. In fact, I thought of the day I found this book at my local used bookstore and all I could think was, who could ever sell this awesome of a book? It had everything you could want! Atmospheric London right after the war, unrequited love, mysterious deaths, suicides that might not be as they seem, mistaken identities, adultery, murder, paternity issues, poetry, villains, heroes, humor, insane asylums, quaint rural pubs, love... everything!

What the meat of the book hung off of was the amazing character development. Each and every person was so unique and individual. While I think it might be a sin to say that Laurence wasn't my favorite, I mean, he was stolid and trustworthy and so sweet in how he seemed to always get the wrong end of the stick and he just stumbled into answers versus actually solving them, but my heart is with his best friend Charles. Firstly, Charles is a rabid Agatha Christie fan (even if she had only written one book when this book was set, not more, a historical accuracy oops). Yet Charles' love of mystery fiction doesn't go into too much of the cliched Watson and Holmes shtick that so many golden age mysteries suffer from. Instead it's manifest in his rapid love of the case and his suggested reading materials to Laurence. Plus, having Charles around would be wonderful, he always has a cousin who knows all the gossip, plus a car to get around. Sorry Laurence, you are trumped in the sleuth category in every category by Charles. Yet that's why I love this book, it's like Watson is the protagonist! But these are just two of the amazingly multi-faceted characters that are too many to be mentioned. From John Emmett's father and his very Mitford-esque nature, to George Chilvers, the power hungry possessive son of the owner of the secure facility that John Emmett was locked in, to the fiery red-head Mrs. Bolitho who was a nurse during the war and has very progressive political ideas. Not one person was flat and lifeless, they just emerged from the page fully formed and instantly became my friends.

Though the heart of the book is how Speller deals with the more difficult topics of what war does to someone. How to some, like the newspaperman Brabourne, it's just a phase in a life that will be reminiscences to his grandchildren, where to Emmett, it forever changed him and lead him to his grave at that folly in the countryside. Then there is Laurence, who has shut himself off from the world. This investigation he undertakes helps to bring him back to the world and out of his shell. Because of a simple letter asking for help he is slowly reentering the world. The strong characterization of each individual in the book let Speller examine the effects and tolls on myriad people, all who are different and unique. Life is a house of cards and one wrong rotten thing can ruin it... for some. Sometimes we can not be held accountable for everything that happens. We cope, we deal in our way. For some it's poetry, for others photography, some prefer isolation, and for others still, it is surrendering to your base animal instincts. Yet Speller handles all these sensitive issues and more without being preachy. She has created real people and through them we understand.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Agatha Christie, Bolitho, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Elizabeth Speller, Golden Summer, Laurence Bartram, Murder, Nancy Mitford, Shell Shock, Sherlock Holmes, Suicide, The Return of Captain John Emmett, Watson, WWI

The Red House Mystery by A.A. Milne
Published by: Vintage Books
Publication Date: April 6th, 1922
Format: Paperback, 211 Pages
Rating: ★★★★
To Buy

Antony Gillingham has a propensity to change jobs as it suits him. He is financially secure enough to take on any job that pleases him from tobacconist to waiter to experience more of the world; and then, when he's done, he tells his boss precisely what he thinks of him and goes onto his next adventure. The first time he met Bill Beverley he was working as a tobacconist, after their next encounter at a restaurant where each was there in a very different capacity, a friendship was formed, wherein Bill realized that the moniker madman perfectly suits Antony. Antony was following one of his whims when, seeing a train station he liked, he disembarked and decided to stay in the small town. He quickly finds out that he is not a mile away from the Red House, where his good friend Bill is currently staying.

Up at the Red House, it's owner Mark Ablett, with the help of his cousin come secretary, Cayley, is hosting a riotous house party. Bill is one of the number of guests, who range from quite fetching young ladies to a rather famous actress. Mark loves to have his life filled with the bright young things at his Red House. On the same day that Antony decided he liked the look of a train station, Mark informs his guests that his disreputable brother is about to make an appearance at the Red House. When Antony unexpectedly shows up he finds all the guests out and Cayley banging on the office door. What they find behind that door is the dead body of Mark's brother, Robert. Antony was planning on this being his vacation, but he feels a sudden change of occupation presenting itself... he's never been a detective. With a dead body and Mark missing, now might be the best opportunity he will ever get, with Bill being the Watson to his Holmes.   

After the last few books I read for this summer's reading spectacular, I was feeling a little burnt out. The detectives were a little too quirky or a little too self involved. Originally I had not planned on reading The Red House Mystery, but I was feeling this desperate need for something different. A mystery written by the man known more for Winnie-the-Pooh then locked room mysteries seemed like it would fit the bill. And indeed it was the perfect antidote to bring me around. The introduction alone wherein Milne deftly skewers the plot contrivances of his fellow mystery writers and promises to avoid all their pit falls was well worth the price of this book. Thankfully this tone carried throughout the book and made it a fast and fun read.

A.A. Milne goes about avoiding the faults of other writers by clearing the decks. Instead of extraneous characters out the wazoo, we get a sparse mystery about two guys humorously trying to find out how their suspect committed the crime. There are no lovestruck ninnies or plethora of suspicious servants. There are no last minute surprises that come out of nowhere. While other writers have done a quick nod and wink to Holmes and Watson, Milne goes all out and embraces this trope and has Antony and Bill openly referring to each other by their designated roles. Milne believes in the fact that a detective must Watsonize (I'm totally going to use this word all the time now), because without that, how are we, the reader, to be brought along and given the evidence to solve the crime? Therefore Bill becomes Watson, though a rather clever one, and Antony dons the famous mantle of Holmes... or at least he smokes a pipe a lot.

Yet, the question becomes, how does this book sustain itself? You have the obvious good guys and the obvious bad guy and lots of time spent trying to one up each other. Also, to be frank, the mystery, well, it's not overly obvious, but it is not that taxing on the little grey cells. So why does this book work then? Because of the characters. Antony and Bill's camaraderie and witty banter belongs to the works of Wodehouse. The two of them sitting on a bowling green thinking out all the facts before them is more interesting then all of Inspector Grant's internal monologues combined. This humor just gives the book such a freshness that it should be considered one of the staples of the Golden Age of Detection... it has a lot more going for it then some of those other books!

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: A. A. Milne, Golden Age of Detection, Golden Summer, Inspector Grant, PG Wodehouse, Sherlock Holmes, The Red House Mystery, Watson, Watsonize, Winnie-the-Pooh