Ups And Downs

What an odd concoction as a writer Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was. Genuinely gifted and splendidly clumsy. I'm not at all sure he had any real awareness of his considerable strengths and alarming weaknesses. In his brief Preface to The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes, his final and very mixed offering of tales concerning Holmes & Watson, he refers to his more serious literary work, as if convinced of his having some kind of genuine status in the world of letters beyond the brilliance of his creation of the mythic pair. (Astonishingly he chooses to write two of the tales in The Case Book with Holmes as the narrator, when even the most obtuse of readers would be able to tell the writer that's two too many.) Indeed, the poor man lists his works in history, poetry, historical novels, psychic research and the drama in the sad belief that his stuff would somehow survive the ravages of time. As a youngster I really enjoyed The Adventures of Gerard and, I suppose, thought the tales were as well established as those of the Great Detective, and much funnier, but even those are pretty much out of print these days.

Since I finished the beefy Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes today I thought it might be appropriate to say something of the writer at his best, and worst, with a single example of each. Actually I was a bit surprised at just how much I enjoyed the tales in the final collection considering what a poor reputation they have amongst the Holmesian cognoscenti. I've got a feeling that The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger isn't highly thought of, never having seen an adaptation on telly and being aware in reading it that as far as I can tell there's little actual mystery for Holmes to solve. But I loved the evocation of the circus milieu at the centre of the story and the mythic power (there I go again!) behind the characterisation of the titular heroine. I found myself watching my own cinematic adaptation in my mind and knowing the tale could be made to work on screen. Very jolly stuff, indeed!

In stark contrast I was taken aback by the virulence of Conan Doyle's racism in his portrayal of the negro boxer, Steve, in The Adventure of the Three Gables. I think it's a reasonable argument to note that the writer's racist essentialism is never exactly far from the surface in his writing, but the ghastliness of the descriptions of this entirely minor character took me aback, and I'm not claiming the moral high ground of twenty-first century political correctness cum wokeness here. I've never read anything close to just how bad this is in, say, Kipling or Conrad. The good doctor had a deep personal problem, I'm afraid, and it tarnishes his work.