Book review

A Study in Scarlet, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, 1887

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Yep, that’s right – A Study in Scarlet, the first story to feature Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, was published in Beetons Christmas Annual, although you will struggle to find anything remotely Christmassy about it! This is the Holmes and Watson ‘origin story’, explaining how they meet (introduced by a common acquaintance), came to live together (they both needed somewhere slightly cheaper to live, and decide quite casually to share the rent with one another) and all about Dr Watson’s background (military doctor wounded in Afghanistan). Almost nothing on the other hand is revealed about Holmes’s background. He emerges fully formed – the meticulous, brilliant private detective with the ability, almost like magic, to use microscopic or incidental details to discern peoples’ lives, occupations and histories.

The short novel is divided into two very distinct narratives. Part I is entitled “The Reminiscences of Watson” and subtitled “Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, MD, Late of the Army Medical Department.” This gives the story the appearance of a biographical sketch, with the added authority of coming from an army doctor, so surely trusty-worthy. Perhaps this air of authenticity was part of the reason why people went on to conceive of Holmes are being a real life figure?

Watson, having returned to London from service in the Second Anglo-Afghan War, bumps into an old friend, Stamford. 

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air—or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.

Watson explains he has been invalided out of the army and is looking for a more affordable place to live. Stamford mentions an acquaintance who is in a similar position, and might be interested in sharing. This is our first introduction to the great detective:

“…a fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse.”

Stamford’ description of Holmes is ambivalent – his recommendation of him as a flat-mate is hardly glowing:

“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough.”

He takes Watson to meet Holmes in a hospital laboratory, where Holmes (although he doesn’t work there, and seems to have set up shop spontaneously) has just developed a test to detect haemoglobin, for use in criminal investigations. Thus Holmes’s credentials as an eccentric, brilliant scientist are established. Without prompting Holmes greets Watson with the comment “You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive.” This is the first instance of Holmes’s deductive and observational powers, which were to become such a popular feature of the stories.

The two confirmed bachelors set up home together, and quickly become close friends. Holmes is unquestionably eccentric, but Watson is never judgmental, even when he suspects Holmes of drug-taking. It takes Watson some time to work out what Holmes does for a living – Holmes is as usual unnecessarily mysterious about the question. Of Watson himself we really learn little beyond the initial self-portrait – but his role is nevertheless established as the witness of Holmes’ brilliance and as the representative of the reader – always a few steps behind Holmes, struggling to keep up and work out what is apparently so obvious to the great one. Holmes remains enigmatic – there is no mention of any other friends or family, or his previous career.

Holmes is asked to help the Metropolitan Police with a murder investigation. He takes Watson along with him to the scene of the crime, for reasons that are never really established – perhaps he just thought it would be interesting, or an opportunity to get to know one another. Here we first see Holmes’s method in action – a meticulous observation of the house and garden, which appears to reveal much more to Holmes than is apparent to Watson. Another trope is thus established. Inspectors Gregson and Lestrade are introduced (unusual for the Met to allocate two inspectors to a murder; it is interesting to see how Lestrade went on to become a fixed part of the Baker Street universe, whereas Gregson faded into the background, until being spectacularly resurrected in Elementary). Gregson and Lestrade are competitive but largely there to underline even further how astonishingly clever Holmes is by comparison.

The corpse is identified as an American, Enoch Drebber. There is no wound on the body. Documents conveniently left at the scene confirm Drebber is visiting London with his secretary, Joseph Stangerson, an immediate suspect. One a wall, ominously written in blood – apparently not the victim’s – is the word “rache”. This it eventually turns out is the mother of all red herrings. Moving the body, a woman’s gold wedding ring is discovered.

Realising the murderer attempted to return to recover the ring, Holmes sets a trap, advertising its discovery in a newspaper. At the same time he sends telegrams to the US seeking confirmation of his theories about the crime and those involved. A little later Drebber’s secretary is found murdered at his boarding house, again with the word “rache” appearing at the scene. Lestrade also finds a small pillbox containing two pills. Holmes tests the pills on a disposable dog that conveniently just happens to have been in residence at Baker Street. (This is Conan Doyle not trying very hard. Yes, Holmes has to be shown that of the two pills in the box one is lethal, the other harmless. But to have a sick dog on hand just waiting to be put down is pushing the bounds of credibility). The first pill produces no evident effect, but the second kills the hound. Holmes is able to produce and capture the murderer moments later using his trademark ‘sudden reveal’ technique.

Part two of the novel, The County of the Saints, consists almost entirely of a flashback devoid of Holmes or anything Baker Street related. The narrator recounts the story of two people, John Ferrier and a little girl named Lucy, the only survivors of a party of settlers in early nineteenth USA. They are close to death from dehydration and hunger when they are discovered by a large party of Mormons on their way to Salt Lake City. (Warning – one can easily fall down an internet rabbit hole looking into the early history of the Mormons. They were viciously persecuted, which given the founding principles of the USA is a bit ironic). Ferrier and Lucy are rescued on the condition that they become Mormons, and with few choices open to them, they agree. Ferrier prospers, and adopts Lucy as his daughter. Years later Lucy falls in love with a man named Jefferson Hope. Hope is not a Mormon, and a relationship with him is not allowed by her community. Ferrier is given one month to change her mind or face what it is suggested are fatal consequences. Lucy must marry either Joseph Stangerson or Enoch Drebber, sons of members of the church’s Council of Four (and, you will have spotted, the men murdered in part one).

Lucy, Hope and Ferrier try to escape, but are hunted down. Ferrier is killed, and Lucy is dragged back to Salt Lake City and an enforced marriage, with only Jefferson escaping through sheer luck. Lucy pines away and dies, and Hope vows to seek revenge on her and her father’s killers. He hunts them for decades, chasing them across Europe until finally tracking them down in London, where he exacts his revenge by forcing Drebber to choose between a fatal pill and a harmless one. Stangerson is then despatched before the pill choice can be offered. Once captured Hope freely confesses all, knowing he has a conveniently weak heart and is close to death – indeed, he expires the next day, a smile on his face. Holmes then leisurely reveals how he had worked out the identity of the murderer and how he had used his Baker Street Irregulars, his “street Arabs,” to help with the case. Watson is outraged that Gregson and Lestrade are given credit in the newspapers for solving the case, and decides to document the investigation himself. Surprisingly, Holmes does not object.

To what extent does Holmes emerge in this novel fully formed? Almost completely is the short answer. All the features of a traditional Holmes story appear in the summary above. Admittedly, the portrait of Holmes’s weaknesses is over-done. Early in the novel Watson lists the subjects in which Holmes is an expert, and those in which he has little or no knowledge, including astronomy, and the astounding fact that he did not realise that the earth travels round the sun, a fact that is, according to Holmes, of no interest of value whatsoever.

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it….

You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

The idea that Holmes was ignorant of simple facts that a schoolchild would know, simply because he needs the space in his memory for more important facts, was quietly discarded by Conan Doyle, and rightly so. But the wider picture, of Holmes being an expert in a wide range of subjects, and having a vast brain ‘attic’ where facts can be stored and retrieved, is a core part of the character.

One other common feature of the Holmes stories is his frustrating refusal to tell Watson and any detectives involved in the case about his deductions until the case comes to fruition. Sometimes this is more a case of neglect that a conscious decision to be obtuse, but here the refusal to share is clearly deliberate:

I’m not going to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a conjuror gets no credit when once he has explained his trick, and if I show you too much of my method of working, you will come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all.

Watson is deferential as always:

I shall never do that,” I answered; “you have brought detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world.

Mrs Hudson has yet to be introduced – here the gentlemen are looked after by an anonymous servant – and of course Moriarty, Mycroft and Irene Adler were all to come, but the Study in Scarlet is otherwise the template which all future Holmes stories were to scrupulously follow.

Is it an enjoyable story, or just a curiosity piece? Certainly the second part of the novel, largely devoid as it is of anything Holmes related, comes in for a lot of criticism from readers (see Goodreads, for example). I actually found the scenes in America more interesting than those in London – the part one murders are pretty pedestrian, solved by Holmes with the minimum of effort. Origin stories are always interesting, offering insights into the way the novelist originally conceived of the characters, but here the interest is actually how incredibly consistent Conan Doyle was with his characterisation of Holmes and his detection techniques.

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Book review

The Hound of the Baskervilles, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, 1902

Sir Charles Baskerville is found dead of a heart attack, his corpse disfigured by an expression of horror. Next to the corpse the footprints of a gigantic hound are found. There is a sinister curse on the Baskerville family dating back to the brutal abduction of a local girl by one of Sir Charles’ ancestors. The girl died escaping from Baskerville Hall and her abductor was killed by a demon hound which has haunted the family ever since. The curse has now returned to the Baskervilles once more. Can Sherlock Holmes work out what’s going on and save Sir Charles’s heir from the curse?

The Hound of the Baskervilles - Wikipedia

Thus begins the atmospheric classic The Hound of the Baskervilles, the third of Conan Doyle’s four full-length Holmes novels. The formula that Conan Doyle used to construct his detective short stories was well honed by this point, but did not lend itself comfortably to being adapted to novel length. This in part explains why structurally the novel is a mess. But I really don’t want to write a review explaining why The Hound of the Baskervilles is a flawed mystery story, not least because that kind of deconstruction of the novel has been done before. Instead I wanted to focus on at least one of the reasons why the novel works in spite of its plotting weaknesses. Much of its undeniable impact is down to the strong evocation of place created by Watson’s descriptions of Baskerville Hall and the moor.

Watson and Sir Henry, Sir Charles’s successor, newly arrived in the country, travel down to his estate on Dartmoor. They have good reason to feel apprehensive about what they will find. This is Sir Henry’s first visit to Baskerville Hall. He is aware of the family curse, and has been troubled by mysterious events while staying in London which add to the sense of foreboding.

We first see the moor from Watson’s train carriage window:

“Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood there rose in the distance a grey, melancholy hill, with a strange jagged summit, dim and vague in the distance, like some fantastic landscape in a dream. “

The formal squares of the rural landscape break down into jagged, vague shapes as the train progresses from the farmed countryside to the dream-like moors. The other-worldly quality of the landscape is something Watson returns to time and again.

Our first sight of Baskerville Hall, ancestral home of the Baskerville family, is soon upon us. The point of view narration as Watson provides an almost minute-by-minute account of his journey gives an immediacy to the narrative:

The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upward through deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on either side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart’s-tongue ferns. Bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. Still steadily rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge and skirted a noisy stream which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the grey boulders. Both road and stream wound up through a valley dense with scrub oak and fir…. a tinge of melancholy lay upon the countryside, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year. Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed. The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation—sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.

This is fine descriptive writing of a quality not often found in the short stories, where there is rarely the room for Watson to be expansive about landscape or place (although to be fair some of the descriptions of foggy London streets are very evocative). Again the emphasis is on the melancholy atmosphere of the countryside, in which the dying vegetation provides a suitable setting for the scenes that are to follow.

The road in front of us grew bleaker and wilder over huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now and then we passed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone, with no creeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into a cuplike depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs which had been twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Two high, narrow towers rose over the trees. The driver pointed with his whip.

“Baskerville Hall”

(One might reasonably expect a crash of thunder at this point, but sadly, no.) Patched, twisted, stunted, bent – this landscape is described using the language of sickness or illness, and stands in stark contrast to the ordered, productive fields which had come before.

Inside, Baskerville Hall is equally striking, a fine setting for a murder-mystery:

It was a fine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with huge baulks of age-blackened oak. In the great old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed round us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak panelling, the stags’ heads, the coats of arms upon the walls, all dim and sombre in the subdued light of the central lamp...the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place of shadow and gloom. It was a long chamber with a step separating the dais where the family sat from the lower portion reserved for their dependents. At one end a minstrel’s gallery overlooked it. Black beams shot across above our heads, with a smoke-darkened ceiling beyond them. .. A dim line of ancestors, in every variety of dress, from the Elizabethan knight to the buck of the Regency, stared down upon us and daunted us by their silent company.

Again this is impressive descriptive writing. Unusually Watson is not now writing for the magazine readers who follow his accounts of Holmes’s achievements but for Holmes himself, stranded back in London dealing with a tricky blackmail case (or so we are told). So attention to detail, even if it is not immediately clear whether it is relevant to the case or not, is key, and Watson completes his commission diligently. The detailed layout of the Hall is to prove an important aspect of the mystery.

The setting of The Hound of the Baskervilles is a key element of its enduring success as a novel. Holmes fades into the background for much of the narrative, allowing Watson more time to expand his observations and at least start to unpick the mystery.

P.S. On re-reading this post in draft I am conscious that it is mainly extracts from the novel, with little by way of commentary or analysis. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but I don’t think I can call it a review. I will however let it stand, because the extracts are fine writing, and if they prompt anyone to go on and read the novel itself (free online, or otherwise) then that can’t be a bad thing.

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Book review

The Valley of Fear, by Arthur Conan Doyle, 1914

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The Valley of Fear‘ is last and the least well-known of Conan Doyle’s four Holmes novels (the others being ‘The Study in Scarlet’, ‘The Sign of the Four’, and The Hound of the Baskervilles’). It features a brief appearance by that Napoleon of crime, Professor Moriarty. We last saw Moriarty some 20 years earlier in the 1893 tale ‘The Final Problem‘, Conan Doyle’s unsuccessful attempt to kill Holmes off.

The novel opens with Holmes receiving an encrypted message from an informer within Moriarty’s criminal network. A follow-up message intending to provide the encryption key instead informs Holmes he has changed his mind, for fear of discovery. Nevertheless Holmes is able to decrypt the message. It is a warning that a murder plan is underway, naming the intended victim, a Mr Douglas of Birlstone Manor. Minutes later, Inspector Macdonald arrives with news that the victim identified in the note has been killed. Holmes deduces this is all Moriarty’s work, but his suspicions are dismissed by the officer.

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Book review, Conan Doyle, Detective, Detective fiction, Holmes, Holmes and Watson

Supplementary: The Mystery of Sherlock Holmes

If you read the comments on my recent post about ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’ you may have seen I postulated that there is a paradox at the core of how we perceive Sherlock Holmes. On the one hand he is (and so far as I can make out, always has been) enormously popular; on the other his stories are formulaic and (in the words of Bookertalk) “preposterous”.download (3)

The case for the prosecution  is easily made. The Holmes stories are rigidly structured – Holmes and Watson are chatting, Holmes casually tosses over a letter he has received from his most recent client, telling him they will call at a certain hour which precisely arrives at the moment their initial assessment of the case has concluded.

“DEAR MR. HOLMES:—I am very anxious to consult you as to whether I should or should not accept a situation which has been offered to me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if I do not inconvenience you. Yours faithfully, “VIOLET HUNTER.”
“Do you know the young lady?” I asked.

“Not I.”

“It is half-past ten now.”

“Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring.” (The Adventure of the Copper Beeches).

Holmes performs his parlour trick of determining the visitor’s background – “Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else.” – (The Red-Headed League)

The game is then afoot, and Holmes quickly resolves the mystery by dint of some off-camera background research, investigations using a disguise or two, and a good dose of luck. I pointed out in my previous post that the resolution of each case is often not what the client hoped for. Of the twelve stories in ‘The Adventures’, one case fails completely (A Scandal in Bohemia), in another the client is murdered and the murderers escape (The Five Orange Pips) and in yet another Holmes solves the mystery but decides not to reveal the solution to his client (A Case of Identity).

Beyond this rigid structure, there are other issues. Apart from Holmes and Watson few other characters are brought to life – certainly not in the way they are in Sherlock for example, where they are given complex and interesting back stories. The writing is nothing out of the ordinary, and the author frequently ‘cheats’ by way of undetectable poison or by withholding information key to the resolution of the case until the last moment. Some if not many of the situations are indeed preposterous – for example in ‘The Adventure of the Speckled Band’ a  bell pull is installed in the victim’s bedroom, but it is not connected to anything (did people have bell-pulls in their bedrooms anyway? Perhaps the senior aristocracy who needed help dressing, but not in a small household as in this story).

The case for the defence would probably point out that the Holmes stories are some of the best loved in literature. Holmes has inspired many other writers, film-makers and artists, and the rich range of secondary characters in the books, from Mrs Hudson to Irene Adler, Lestrade, and of course not forgetting Moriarty may indeed be sketched briefly but are powerfully brought to life. The defence would also mention Conan Doyle’s virtual invention of the detective story, the cleverness of many of his plots, the inventiveness of Holmes’s deductions, and the strength of his enduring relationship with Watson. Descriptive writing may not be Conan Doyle’s strength, but London is brilliantly evoked.

Thus far a fairly balanced case. But I think the enduring power of the Holmes stories lies elsewhere. Holmes was one of the earliest super heroes.  He has enormous strength – he can straighten a bent poker. He is utterly fearless. He has almost super-human powers of observation, deduction and intelligence, and well as a vast array of scientific and other information at his fingertips. He fights for the poor and the oppressed as well as the prosperous. He is a master of disguise, and sometimes wears a cloak. He lives among us, but apart. The country would fall without him. Yes, he’s Victorian Batman.Sherbat.jpg

And we all love a good super hero. The MCU franchise is not the most successful series of films in Hollywood history for nothing. What is more we need heroes. In Victorian England the readers of the Strand magazine would have felt threatened by trade unions, rising crime, the poor, suffragettes, and Germans, not in any particular order. Today we fear rising crime, lawlessness, terrorism, Trump. We still need Holmes out there stopping the bad guys, which is why we still have him.

Being a conscientious blogger I always try and find out if what I think is an original observation is just a cliche, and no surprise – I am not the first person by a long way to draw this parallel. Apologies, but I think the point still stands. Incidentally I don’t think it is important to get hung up on the specific super hero – the point is he plays the same role in society, offering hope to the vulnerable and scared. Which is why Holmes has developed such a rich life outside the Conan Doyle stories, and why he will remain a source of fascination and inspiration for many decades to come. Inevitably the original source material might look a little jaded in this context, but that would be to miss the point. Which I think, in my previous post, I did.

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Conan Doyle’s ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’ contains 12 short stories, all originally published in the Strand magazine between June 1891 and July 1892. Some are better known than others, but all follow a fairly rigid format – a curious case is brought to Holmes’s attention by a flustered individual, often incognito, Watson’s support is engaged, and the case is then swiftly resolved. Disguises are often deployed, trusty service revolvers are pocketed, and Lestrade is ritually humiliated. In every story Holmes performs the deductions which are his hallmark, usually at the opening of the story, although rarely if ever are these deductions anything to do with the case in point.

A Scandal in Bohemia is the story in which Irene Adler, ‘the woman’, makes her one and only appearance in Conan Doyle’s stories. It is a simple case of blackmail which is resolved without Holmes’s assistance, because Irene marries and decides not to pursue her victim. Holmes counts it as one of his very few failures, which suggests his definition of success is somewhat flexible, but there is no suggestion of any attraction between the two, more a mutual respect.800px-A_Scandal_in_Bohemia-04

The Red-Headed League is one of Holmes’s more ridiculous cases. A pawn broker is duped into leaving his store all day for several weeks to allow a tunnel to be dug from the premises to a nearby bank. The bank robbers could surely have found easier ways to do this than the invention of the League, which would have drawn a lot of attention to themselves, left clues all over the place, cost a lot of time and effort to establish, and could have fallen apart at any time.

A Case of Identity is one in which someone assumes a flimsy disguise, which Holmes sees through but fails to tell his client he has resolved the case. See ‘The Man with the Twisted Lip’

The Boscombe Valley Mystery. In this story Holmes bizarrely allows a murderer to go free, and a guilty man to spend months in prison, simply because the murderer is dying.

The Five Orange Pips sees Holmes allow his client to be brutally murdered and the murderers to escape the country, if not justice. Another great success!

The Man with the Twisted Lip. Someone assumes a flimsy disguise which Holmes sees through, again.

The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle. In this story Holmes starts with the missing gem falling into his lap, and then working back to find out who stole it – an easier approach than the other way round I would have thought.

The Adventure of the Speckled Band. Conan Doyle thought this his finest Holmes story, but it is riddled with preposterous plot points.

The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb. A good headline, but a story in which Holmes detects absolutely nothing. Perhaps explains why this has not been an adaptor’s favourite.

The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor. A missing person story depending for its resolution of a previous relationship in America – the States is the setting for several of Holmes’s client’s backstories.

The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet. I think the real mystery – why a member of the royal family comes to pawn an incredibly valuable coronet for a fraction of its value – is ignored, instead focusing on whodunit in which footprints in the snow provide all the answers.

The Adventure of the Copper Beeches. A governess is recruited at highly inflated wages to impersonate a kidnapped heiress. Another case where the villains employ ridiculously complex means to pursue their villainy, when many other simpler options are available.

To Victorians, Holmes’s deductions and flashes of brilliance must have been dazzling, and to this day there are readers who hold Holmes in the highest possible regard. He is not the character most often portrayed on film for nothing. In recent years ‘Elementary’ and ‘Sherlock’ have given new life and new depths to the character. For me Holmes probably works best in this short story format where the weaknesses in his deductive method and approach aren’t too visible.

19th Century literature, Book review, Conan Doyle, Detective, Detective fiction, Holmes, Holmes and Watson, Sherlock

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle 1892

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