©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

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Dear Fans of the new Sherlock Holmes movie:

Let me apologize on the behalf of older Sherlock Holmes fandom for the bits of it that have been generating get-off-my-lawn reboot wank, not five days after the release of the movie. The Sherlock Holmes fandom has thrived for over a hundred years and multiple generations, and every generation has its… special snowflakes.

But fortunately, every generation has also produced creative fandom work (though they may not see it that way), from the solidly analytical to the wondrously fanciful. I may not agree with all of them, or even remotely like some of them, but they all occupy a place in my heart, because there wouldn’t be a Sherlock Holmes fandom without constant re-interpretation of the works. Yes, even the fic pastiche where Moriarty is a vampire who falls madly in love with Holmes.¹

I present to you the more amusing pieces of Holmesiana I’ve gathered throughout the years. I’ve strived for a varied collection here that is at the very least sometimes accessible, even if it knocks out some of my absolute favorites. Too much of the fandom is out of print; I hope that changes one day, so that reading all the ’ship wank doesn’t cost 500£.

[Love and adaptation: that's how legends survive.]

©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

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I’ve decided to blog more about Sherlock Holmes. To help this along, I’ve thought about starting a read/watch/listen-along. I’m still making some decisions about that.

The biggest decision, which specific instances of media to cover, has been made. They will be:

• the original text (duh),
• the Granada TV series (Jeremy Brett),
• and Bert Coules’ BBC radio series.

I’m human and have limited time, so I’m not covering anything else. Also, I don’t have access to Russian Sherlock Holmes, which makes me sadface.

The other big decision is: what to include in this series? I’m still thinking about this. Not all of the Holmes canon stories, like most any canon out there, are fun to read. Or at least, not the same level of fun. There are vastly distinctly different levels of fun, in fact, although everyone disagrees on specific levels for individual stories.

For instance: do I want to cover A Study in Scarlet and the foaming-at-the-mouth anti-Mormonism chapter, thank goodness it’s only a chapter, but doubtless there was implied stuff in there as well that went over my head when I was younger and more innocent? There’s something to be said for not wearing rosy-colored lenses all the time. Doyle, like all human beings, had faults, and sometimes they showed up painfully.

On the other hand, do I want to enjoy myself through most of this? Especially since this’ll be, at best, mostly free work. I mean, I can snark with the best of them about the awfulness of most some of “The Lion’s Mane”, but that at least is fun to me.

I think my decision on that will mostly be based on whether Bert Coules’ BBC radio adaptation for a particular story/novelette are fun or not. I’ve never listened to his adaptation of A Study in Scarlet, but I bet it leaves out the foaming-at-the-mouth stuff and replaces it with more fun Holmes/Watson interactions.

In the meanwhile, I will fit what Sherlock Holmes posts I can at Tor.com, because it’s fun and I get paid for it. But obviously not all of the planned posts can make it in, Tor.com being focused on science fiction and fantasy (and other related topics, like fandom, which is mostly how I get Sherlock Holmes in).

Things to ponder.

By the way, on the New Movie: well, it was like the Star Trek reboot, really. The characters were a fun alternative interpretation. The plot… was basically like the red blobby stuff that deformed the space-time continuum by magic science in the New Trek Movie (only now do I remember it’s called “red matter”). Not that Doyle was a plotting genius all the time either, though.

©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

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On IMDb there’s a report that one Andrea Plunket, furious over Downey and Law’s interviews playing up possible homoerotic subtext in the Sherlock Holmes canon, is threatening to withdraw sequel permissions if Guy Ritchie keeps this up.

Plunket comments, “It would be drastic, but I would withdraw permission for more films to be made if they feel that is a theme they wish to bring out in the future. I am not hostile to homosexuals, but I am to anyone who is not true to the spirit of the books.”

Dear Ms. Plunket: allow me to introduce you to the concept of shipping wars. Because you’ve just put your foot right into one of the longest ones in unofficial existence—one that is, in fact, over a century old at the time of this writing.

[I mean, just look at the hats!]

©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

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Yes, it’s a formula. But then again, so was quite a lot of Holmes. Formula isn’t bad.

Both House and the Sherlock Holmes canon, of course, have stunning exceptions. And some equally stunningly boring typical shrek, where the most you get out of it is the snark.

Ah, 18th century, never let it be said you let this side of the snark down.

©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Like this piece of a little good-humored ribbing.

On the Fannish Phenomenon of Sherlock Holmes, or, My Fandom is Crazier Than Your Fandom

Sherlock Holmes: the myth, the legend, the actual 19th century archetype. There’s something about the Great Detective that drives a certain kind of person batty with desire. They want to write fan fiction pastiches. They write long treatises on theories about various oddities in the Canon that were the result of Doyle being a bit loose with his research and his memory. They sometimes worship odd characters in the Canon, like Professor Moriarty, sort of in the way some Harry Potter fans are fond of Draco (and I’m sure that Doyle would go “WTF?” as much as Rowling did).

Really, it would seem as though the Sherlock Holmes fandom were filled with mostly 16-year-old girls and/or a lot of women, considering the amount of slashing that occurs.

But no. Many Sherlock Holmes pastiches are written by men.

Especially the slashing.

Continue reading “On the Fannish Phenomenon of Sherlock Holmes, or, My Fandom is Crazier Than Your Fandom”

©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

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Somehow this just struck me as extremely Sherlockian (or Holmesian, or whatever). I suppose we need to replace the alcohol with a syringe and much smaller bottle, although it’s not as if Holmes didn’t have a brandy snifter at 221B.

©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

But yeah, been busy over at the main blog. As soon as I find a secret pool of time I’ll update this here dusty ole’ site.

©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Folks, we are in need of serious House oracles here.

As of this writing, season 4 of House, M.D. has ended on a couple of tear-jerker, heart-stopper episodes—and the fallout in season 5 is going to be ugly.

But as I’m a Holmesian as well as a House fan, I look at the events of the last four episodes of season 4 as a darker mirror of The Sign of Four—and the analysis of the differences and similarities between the two may yield some answers to the future of season 5. (I also extend my analysis into events beyond Sign of Four.)

And since we’ve got some months ahead before Season 5 lands, and maybe an actor’s strike on the way, let’s have a good go at it.

A House, MD and Sherlock Holmes Primer

For Holmesians unfamiliar with House, and House-ians unfamiliar with Holmes, here’s what you need to know:

• Gregory House is the even more bitter, far scruffier, and just as dark analog of Sherlock Holmes.

• James Wilson is the less hero-worshipping, non-biographer, and just as oddly obsessed analog of Dr. John H. Watson.

  House is just as dependent on Wilson for friendship as Holmes was on Watson.

  Wilson has multiple ex-wives, a la some theories on Watson’s very odd marital life.

• The show features strange medical mysteries rather than strange crime mysteries, but it’s mysteries all the same.

• House has a tendency towards self-destruction, popping Vicodin (“poor man’s cocaine”) as much as Holmes self-injected his 7% solution.

  Both typically don’t need their drugs when hot on a case. But towards their respective ends, both end up taking drugs while hot on a case—implied in the case of Holmes (“The Devil’s Foot”), and directly shown in the case of House (season 3)—and to their serious detriment in both cases.

• There are arguments that Lisa Cuddy is the analog of Inspector Lestrade. Just add more brains and a little dash of sexual tension.

For more comparisons, there’s “House/Homes/Holmes” at House MD Guide.

And Now for the Really Important Stuff

• As of Season 4, a rather assertive and very House-like female character showed up: Amber Volakis (aka “Cutthroat Bitch”).

  She is the bitchier analog of Mary Morstan, as she becomes romantically involved with Wilson and takes him away from House.

  Contrary to popular belief for most of season 4, Amber actually has a human side, and is probably the first person to really and sanely care about Wilson without, let’s face it, extremely neurotic price tags attached.

• Amber becomes the center of one of House’s cases in “Wilson’s Heart”, just as Mary Morstan is the center of The Sign of Four.

  The difference is that Amber dies.

Just think of the implications.

Let’s explore them in more detail.

The Three Big Questions

After the solar plexus punch and roundhouse kick to the head of “House’s Head” and “Wilson’s Heart”, the two ending episodes of House season 4, there are three big questions left over:

• Will House and Wilson mend their friendship when House solved the case—but still lost Amber?

• Why was House drinking himself into oblivion at five in the afternoon?

• What will happen to the relationship between House and Cuddy?

We’ll do our best to answer these in the next three sections.

The Cracking of the Friendship

“I thought I’d met all your friend.”

“Who could come tonight? Some friend of yours, perhaps?”
“Except yourself I have none. I do not encourage visitors.”

There Are Friends, and Then There Are Friends

Both Holmes and House are highly dependent on their respective Watson or Wilson, and, as Cuddy once mentioned to House, “I thought I’d met all your friend.”

Unfortunately, this did not mean that either of them appreciated the only friend they cared to accumulate over the years; indeed, both take their W-companion for granted.

This is not a good base for a friendship to survive getting as earth-shaken as House’s did—or as Holmes’ did with Watson when he decided to fake his death at Reichenbach, but more on that later. Even for the patient Watson, this always-present rift eventually resulted in a parting that would not be resolved for over a decade.

For something as traumatic as Amber’s death, and House’s incidental involvement in the cause as well as the failed rescue, and the fact that Wilson is not the hero-worshipper that Watson was, this probably means a permanent break may occur much sooner. Say, before season 6.

Pushing Things to the Breaking Point

The next point of comparison is the level of commitment that Watson had with Mary, and that Wilson had with Amber. How much does Wilson hate House, or would Watson hate Holmes, when/if their respective loves died?

It’s been noted that Watson may have grown bored of Mary, leaving her alone many times for adventures with Holmes—as was the case for Wilson and all his ex-wives. But let’s think about the moment—when Amber’s and Mary’s cases were active, and when both men were guaranteed to care deeply. Suppose that Mary had died during The Sign of Four?

And let’s suppose that Holmes was also incidentally involved with Mary’s death, as House was with Amber’s.

I think this would have brought the Holmes-Watson relationship to the breaking point, as even before Reichenbach there were signs of arguments (as when Watson took temporary lodgings away from Baker Street) and bitter disappointment (as when Holmes screwed with Watson’s sympathies by pretending to be dying from a horrible disease, just for the sake of a case in “The Dying Detective”).

Actually leading to the death of a client he loved would break Watson’s hero-worship of Holmes as superman of the law; it would be too much.

And if it would break Holmes and Watson, it will surely break House and Wilson.

Doom and Gloom, O Noes?

Nothing lasts forever—not friendship, but also not the breaking of friendships. Well, no, actually that’s a lie. But not in the case of Holmes and Watson, and probably not in the case of House and Wilson.

Oblivion in the Tender Mercy of Drugs

“Why’d you get so drunk at 5 in the afternoon alone?”
“I need a reason?”
“What are you running away from?”
“When I’m drinking without you, what am I running away from? Hmm. One of those imponderables.”

… Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature.

The Downhill Slope

Why did House drink himself into oblivion at five in the afternoon?

Why did Holmes increase his cocaine usage after Watson left?

Did they need any particular reason?

Probably not. It’s more a case of House and Holmes being high maintenance—and once their W-companions no longer have time to maintain them, their inherently self-destructive natures take hold. It’s a matter of gravity, not a matter of what pushes them down the hill.

Their self-destruction may arguably also be attempts to get attention, likely conscious ones since both House and Holmes are master manipulators of other people’s emotions. House tried to dial up Wilson when he was drunk for a ride home, and instead got Amber (thus leading to her death), while Holmes could probably draw the connection between extreme self-neglect and Watson showing up (a la “The Reigate Squires” and “The Devil’s Foot”).

It’s Darkest Before the Dawn

For Holmes, eventually obsession with Moriarty came along, and then “The Final Solution”. By the end of the story, he’d dragged Watson into Switzerland while running from an arch enemy, and it ended with Watson believing Holmes had been killed while fighting Moriarty, both of them plunging into the deadly depths of the raging waters of the Reichenbach Falls. That took a lot out of Watson.

Then, three years later, Holmes returns and surprises Watson in his study, causing the doctor to faint dead away for the first and only time in his life. Quite a re-entrance.

It’s never shown in the canon, but that readjustment between friends must have taken a while to work through, and happens to be the subject of many a pastiche and exploratory essay on “The Final Solution” and “The Empty House”.

But despite all that, Holmes did return a changed man. At first this resulted in a certain gentling of his character into someone who Watson could reconcile with, however terrible and cruel was Holmes’s three-year deception.

Will something similar happen to House, or rather, will House do something comparable? He almost certainly has to in order to change himself. Some things you can only do by yourself—and some things must be done utterly alone.

“People Don’t Change.”

The reunion between Holmes and Watson, as good as it was for a few years, did not last. Holmesian scholars will recognize the time when the last “normal” Holmes story was written, when Holmes’ unstable nature re-asserted itself, and when the final bitterness of Watson came to the forefront.

Eventually Holmes and Watson split up, and would not reunite once more until “His Last Bow”, over a decade later.

Which means that whatever change House does manage to effect, it will not last. As is commonly said on the show, “People don’t change.”

Relationships: Other People

“Nothing matters. We’re all just cockroaches. Wildebeasts dying on the river bank. Nothing we do has any lasting meaning…. So you give up on something real, so that you can hold on to hope. The thing is, hope is for sissies.”

“Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and futile. But is not all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than a shadow—misery.”

Letting the Center Not Hold

In many ways, House and Holmes share similar outlooks on life—i.e., it’s hopeless.

Then their Wing-men leave them. There might be a reunion. There might even be change. But nothing lasts forever, and friendships are unfortunately things.

Human beings are social animals. Loneliness gets to even those of us who don’t seek companionship. For people like House and Holmes, the dichotomy of needing a close friend, yet a prickliness that denies people getting close in the first place, is not a healthy thing. Something needs to give.

Whatever needs to give, however, it can’t give while they’re supported by their respective Wilson or Watson. For them to truly change—or to decide to seek an ultimate solution—they must not have enablers. It’s cruel, and sometimes results in suicide or something close to it.

But somehow, House and Holmes are both too damn stubborn to die—as Moriarty in either the show or the books would tell you.

Reaching Out

The final breakup with Watson was followed up just a few years later by Holmes’ early retirement and retreat—nay, perhaps even flight—to the countryside. Away from London, where he had always been at home; and away from cases, which he had always devoured rapaciously.

But something even stranger happened, out there on the Sussex Downs, near the coast. Holmes made a friend in Harold Stackhurst—the day he came out there, in fact. It was quite an achievement for the man who had but one friend in University, and that only after he had spent most of a year moping alone; or for the man who made no friends except for Watson for most of his life.

Additionally, this was a friend with whom he was on such terms that not only could he drop by Stackhurst’s in the evenings without announcement, but Stackhurst could do the same. For Holmes, this is practically sheer instant intimacy.

In fact, given his familiarity with multiple people in “The Lion’s Mane”, he may have made multiple friends. Which is just downright weird. (Indeed, the concept weirds Watson out in Bert Coules’ radio play adaptation of the same story.)

Will House do the same—reach out to someone? Perhaps even reach out to Cuddy, or to any of the other doctors on his old staff or his new one? He’s done this before when Wilson wasn’t available, albeit rarely; and despite its rareness, he does it more often than Holmes did at the same points in their lives.

My Final Predictions

To sum up:

1. House and Wilson will break up.

2. House will get to a dark place.

3. There may, or there may not be, a reunion, which either breaks up again or is never as intimate as it was before Amber’s death.

4. House will reach out to someone, probably Cuddy, or perhaps any of the old “ducklings”, or even the new ones.

Things will be hard. This is okay. Sometimes things have to be hard. But whether House will truly, truly, for reals change is still up in the air.

As an additional bonus, here’s my prediction of how the House, M.D. series will ultimately end: with his retirement, in homage to Holmes’ retirement to his bees in the Sussex countryside.

Or, you know, not.

©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

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Previously we looked at how Doyle revealed character depth in the flow of the story, rather than breaking flow to drop in character information.

Today, we’ll look at Doyle’s skills at description, atmosphere, and suspense as we lead into that part of any story, so maddening to many a writer: the middle.

Let us type.

About the Muddled Middle

It isn’t called “the muddled middle” for nothing. The middle of the story is a treacherous plot mire for the unwary writer, who has to make the beginning meet the end in some sane way, and bring about the story to a conclusion without losing the main thread. It’s easy to get lost and, like unfortunate ponies and villains caught unwares on the Grimpen Mire, sink into the slush.

Doyle’s middles rarely fail to please; indeed, the detective story lives for the middle. And it’s in the detective story that, in one’s desires to provide all manner of red herrings and alternate hypotheses and, let’s face it, out-and-out tricks, it’s even easier to lose the plot in the middle.

It helps, after the beginning (e.g., setting the stage for the rest of the story) is done, to start to dive immediately for the action.

Sliding Into the Middle

It was nearly one o’clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his excursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with notes and figures.

Doyle could have chosen to follow Holmes on his excursion and give us the gory details. Thankfully he doesn’t. We still get the details, but we don’t get the extraneous action that risks leading us away from the plot—which, right now, is to get to Stoke Moran.

“I have seen the will of the deceased wife,” said he. “To determine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the present prices of the investments with which it is concerned. The total income, which at the time of the wife’s death was little short of 1100 pounds, is now, through the fall in agricultural prices, not more than 750 pounds. Each daughter can claim an income of 250 pounds, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, while even one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. My morning’s work has not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for standing in the way of anything of the sort.

Establishing motive in definite terms, the better to make it clear that things are not just likely to, but certainly will, move in bad directions soon.

“And now, Watson, this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be very much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. An Eley’s No. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots. That and a tooth-brush are, I think, all that we need.”

Holmes alludes to the seriousness and duration of their planned undertaking—Watson’s packing heat, and their excursion onto the dangerous Canon animal-infested grounds of Stoke Moran will last into the next day.

The Start of the Middle

At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister quest upon which we engaged.

But note that while we are moving directly to the middle, we’re not simply landing at Stoke Moran right there and then. There are various reasons for this, which will be coming up shortly, but one reason is simply building suspense—moving from the safety of London and the pleasant spring day to the grimmer events of Stoke Moran.

Indeed, one reason I think the Sherlock Holmes stories are so popular is that each story encompasses one vital part of the Hero’s Journey: moving from the familiar, everyday world—the comfort of Baker Street and, here, the open countryside—into the dangerous, other world of adventure and darkness. We ease into the story, look forwards to leaving for adventure—and look forwards to returning from the other world. Those are among the most satisfying of beginnings, middles, and endings.

I’ll note that it doesn’t take much description in order to share a spring afternoon with Watson in the trap; just a few words and very little in the way of adjectives, the minimum necessary to differentiate some important details. Like the fact that the sun is bright; the clouds are fleecy. We’re engaged by sight, but also by smell—the moist earth, pleasant rather than dungy. And the shoots are not simply described as being present on the trees and hedges, but being thrown out—some action-as-description.

And nothing else is needed to get the job done; and any more would detract.

My companion sat in the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed over the meadows.

“Look there!” said he.

A heavily timbered park stretched up a gentle slope, thickening into a grove at the highest point. From amid the branches there jutted out the gray gables and high roof-tree of a very old mansion.

Again, just enough description to get the job done of setting up a visual reference to Stoke Moran. Enough to establish that the action is happening somewhere concrete, rather than just a white room—yet not so much that the actual plot is lost. Description travels light here.

“Stoke Moran?” said he.

“Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,” remarked the driver.

“There is some building going on there,” said Holmes; “that is where we are going.”

“There’s the village,” said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs some distance to the left; “but if you want to get to the house, you’ll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the foot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is walking.”

We spend the right amount of time easing into the countryside, building up setting, and not a moment too soon we’re back into the action:

“And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner,” observed Holmes, shading his eyes. “Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest.”

We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to Leatherhead.

A minor note on stretching and shrinking; note that in the countryside, up until now, Doyle has been using the techniques of “show” for storytelling—information is revealed in dialogue, characters move and talk in real time rather than summary. “Show” is used there because these elements are important; whereas he compresses leaving the trap in a (relatively) short sentence because it’s not at all important.

This is one element of pacing. (It’s similar to one we saw at the beginning in Part 1.)

“I had thought it as well,” said Holmes as we climbed the stile, “that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definite business. It may stop his gossip. Good afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as our word.”

And another minor note: the logical element of the cover story of being architects (done subtly by Holmes, who doesn’t declare out loud: “We Are Architects On Our Way To Stoke Moran” but leaves the meaning to be implied).

Keeping track of logical details, even small ones, is important. This would have been an easy detail to leave out (“But what if he gossips that some unusual people are visiting Roylott’s? Wouldn’t Holmes have thought of that?” That sort of thing). It’s another reason why so many new writers lose it entirely in the muddled middle.

Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face which spoke her joy. “I have been waiting so eagerly for you,” she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. “All has turned out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening.”

Just an aside—note that Doyle matches actions to dialogue here; “shaking hands with us warmly” is part of the dialogue tag (the phrase indicating who is speaking). This is done sparingly, as it should be, but in the right places—very often to set up the scene with a new character.

“We have had the pleasure of making the doctor’s acquaintance,” said Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.

This is also the right place for summary—and a very short one—of what transpired 500 words previously, when Roylott made his memorable entrance. There is no need for repetition.

“Good heavens!” she cried, “he has followed me, then.”

Referencing our point a couple paragraphs ago, there are no dialogue tags here, because they aren’t needed (except when there is ambiguity in who is speaking, in which case a plain tag without additional descriptors is used). And there won’t be for some time, because the scene’s already been set up between these three.

“So it appears.”

“He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What will he say when he returns?”

“He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone more cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself up from him tonight. If he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt’s at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to examine.”

A note specific to the Holmes stories: often Dr. Watson is present, but not present in terms of being an active character. When someone is speaking, it’s more often than not Holmes; but notice that these words wouldn’t have come out of Watson’s mouth anyways. Voice is more than enough to distinguish between the two.

Description in Dual Roles

The building was of gray, lichen-blotched stone, with a high central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows were broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in little better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided. Some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the outsides of the windows.

Note that in contrast to Watson’s sparse but sufficient description of the summer day, or their approach earlier to Stoke Moran, he dives into detail here. This is in most part because this description is highly relevant to the upcoming parts of the middle, and partly for the atmosphere of portraying Stoke Moran in its declining years. Above I’ve highlighted in italics the parts that are atmosphere, and underlined the parts that are, basically, plot-orientated.

“This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the centre one to your sister’s, and the one next to the main building to be Dr. Roylott’s chamber?”

“Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one.”

“Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does snot seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end of the wall.”

“There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from my room.”

“Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There are windows in it, of course?”

“Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass through.”

“As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and bar your shutters?”

Note that after the description, to again set up our new scene, we are no longer in “tell” mode, but in full-out “show”. In dialogue, Holmes actively queries Miss Stoner, instead of Watson simply summing up what happened. In a mystery, this has the purpose of letting the story unfold for us, and allow us to walk with Holmes in his investigation; but in any story, this also serves the purpose of keeping the audience interested. Regardless of whether we’re reading a book or watching a movie, the human mind is attracted to and fascinated by motion, which is why “show” is a strong principle in storytelling.

Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination through the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the shutter open, but without success. There was no slit through which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. “Hum!” said he, scratching his chin in some perplexity, “my theory certainly presents some difficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they were bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon the matter.”

Is this “tell” or “show”? We begin with summary of a nearly show sort, as Watson details what Holmes did, but end with full show with dialogue.

In either case, it’s also pacing. The summary here keeps the narrative speed consistent with the previous dialogue constant, and breaking back into “show” is also consistent with narrative speed.

Pacing is a difficult and subtle thing at times. This is when the experienced writer shows their intuition garnered from wrestling with this kind of technique repeatedly, because knowing how to pace comes with practice—lots of it. And even then, pacing is still difficult at times, and this is what second and third and etc drafts are for.

A small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her fate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window. These articles, with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save for a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and the paneling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured that it may have dated from the original building of the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat silent, while his eyes traveled round and round and up and down, taking in every detail of the apartment.

The high level of detail in the description here tends to be limited to mystery stories, and only when the details are relevant. For every other genre, and for most of the time in a mystery when the details aren’t under active investigation by the main characters, you do not need to inform people that the carpet is a Wilton, or where the furniture is exactly, etc.

Note also that Watson does not simply use dry description; he also adds color, such as talking about the brown and worm-eaten oak paneling of the room, a technically unnecessary detail—but it keeps things from getting boring.

A mention: there’s a “floating body parts” sentence here: “his eyes travelled round and round and up and down”, which makes it sound like his eyes got up and walked about by themselves. Overdoing this kind of bodily movement metaphor can give that usually unintendedly humorous impression, especially when it’s a cliche (“he rolled his eyes”).

“Where does that bell communicate with?” he asked at last, pointing to a thick belt-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually lying upon the pillow.

“It goes to the housekeeper’s room.”

“It looks newer than the other things?”

“Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago.”

“Your sister asked for it, I suppose?”

“No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we wanted for ourselves.”

“Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to this floor.” He threw himself down upon his face with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards.

Note that description isn’t limited to stationary objects or appearances, but also to motion. Description of motion can, indeed, be counted as a kind of show. Remember: moving objects are great at capturing reader attention.

Sherlock Holmes’ eccentric and eager investigative attitude at times, when hot on some scent, is perfectly illustrated here. There’s a reason why Watson amusedly compares Holmes to a hound from time to time.

Then he did the same with the wood-wrk with which the chamber was paneled. Finally he walked over to the bed and spent some time staring at it and in running his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.

“Why, it’s a dummy,” said he.

“Won’t it ring?”

“No, it is not even attached to a wire.”

Should Doyle have used some other phrase than “running his eye up and down the wall”? Maybe. On the other hand, people probably understood what he was getting at, and by this point in the story most folks don’t really care, as the oddness (the window that can’t open, yet her sister died in her room somehow; the bell-rope that has no use; Roylott’s method of making Miss Stoner move to her sister’s bedroom) is starting to pile up and we’re in full-fledged middle mode.

Not to say that you should let go of sensible, non-cliche writing at this point—on the contrary. But even Doyle was inclined to do it. The muddled middle strikes again.

“This is very interesting. You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the ventilator is.”

“How very absurd! I never noticed that before.”

“Very strange!” muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. “There are one or two very singular points abut this room. For example, what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!”

“That is also quite modern,” said the lady.

“Done abut the same time as the bell-rope?” remarked Holmes.

“Yes, there were several little changes carried bout that time.”

“They seem to have been of a most interesting character—dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment.”

Doyle’s pacing is impeccable here. He focuses on the strange items turning up, not hurrying through them at all—meticulously letting Holmes pick each strange thing apart. It’s classic suspense-building, whether it’s in Victorian mystery serials or 21st century science fiction movies.

Next time we’ll watch Doyle ratchet the suspense up several notches, and show why he masters the muddled middle.

©2010 Arachne Jericho at Holmesian Derivations.

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