A sequel authorised by the Conan Doyle estate has the deduction and the action, but does it scratch the Holmesian itch?
If we were to ask the great detective himself what makes him great, he would no doubt cite his superior powers of observation, deduction and ratiocination. Sherlock Holmes’s signature display of virtuosity, after all, is to read volumes about an acquaintance’s history and circumstances from tiny details of his or her appearance: a frayed cuff, a soiled hat band, a particular type of tobacco ash (one of 140 catalogued in his famous monograph) clinging to a lapel.
But go back to Arthur Conan Doyle’s stories and you may be surprised by how often the solution to one of Holmes’s cases hinges on trickery: disguises, ambushes and traps. Granted, such gambits – and the deployment of trusty Watson’s service revolver – make for more exciting storytelling than a man peering through a magnifying glass, but, still, it is striking how few of the tales are actually meticulous procedurals instead of ripping yarns. Conan Doyle, who dashed off stories about Holmes to fund his more serious-minded historical novels, was notoriously sloppy with the very minutiae that his immortal creation specialised in decoding.
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But go back to Arthur Conan Doyle’s stories and you may be surprised by how often the solution to one of Holmes’s cases hinges on trickery: disguises, ambushes and traps. Granted, such gambits – and the deployment of trusty Watson’s service revolver – make for more exciting storytelling than a man peering through a magnifying glass, but, still, it is striking how few of the tales are actually meticulous procedurals instead of ripping yarns. Conan Doyle, who dashed off stories about Holmes to fund his more serious-minded historical novels, was notoriously sloppy with the very minutiae that his immortal creation specialised in decoding.
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