A fairly avid reader of Sherlock Holmes spin-offs, I am not one to turn up my nose at non-Conan Doyle authored novels utilising the well known, well loved characters of the Holmes brothers, Dr Watson, and Mrs Hubbard. My favourite indeed is Laurie King’s excellent Mary Russell series, where the brilliant young Mary becomes first the aging Sherlock’s prodigy, then partner, then marriage partner. King’s writing is so beautiful that it ends up as just happenstance she utilises the well known consulting detective figure; in reality, her novels could well stand on their own even sans Sherlock.
The same cannot be said of all Sherlock Holmes spin-offs. Many in fact depend on invoking the popular quirks and characteristics of the celebrated detective and sidekick, and some do it remarkably well (like Anthony Horowitz’s House of Silk, which is the best of Conan Doyle distilled!), while others merely tell a fairly interesting crime fiction story fairly well, utilising Holmes as a much needed crutch. Sometimes, the writer seems merely to borrow the characters and then depart into the realm of their own imaginations, like James Lovegrove’s Cthulhu Casebooks, which delve into the gothic and monstrous, making this a sub-genre of crime fiction perhaps, but not badly done at all.
The Titan series is a good example authors writing under the Holmes banner, and some such as David Stuart Davies, Stuart Douglas, Loren D. Estelman, and Sam Siciliano have written mildly entertaining crime fiction a la Holmes and Conan Doyle, period and style-wise. However, what I take issue with is when the authors ‘borrow’ the characters and period, but do not remain true to their original personalities nor even styles, distorting them beyond those which they are already known and loved for. This seems a breach of good faith, and the taking of a liberty which compromises the reader’s enjoyment of more time with the well loved characters when they are distorted out of recognition.
Abdul-Jabbar and Waterhouse’ Mycroft and Sherlock offering is one of these I take issue with. It was a pleasure at first to find that this novel was of a young Holmes, placing Sherlock at 19 years of age, expelling himself from Downing College, Cambridge, when Mycroft was 27, and both were estranged from their parents. My quarrel is not with authors taking liberties with facts or even inserting less than credible new facts about well known characters; rather, my quarrel is with writing which is not skilful enough to faithfully reproduce the period and atmosphere let alone the distinguishing characteristics of those celebrated Conan Doyle personalities, and which departs so much from the charm of the original that it bears little resemblance to the Holmes period and beloved figures so well known to Doyle readers, and hence, seems to merely have appropriated the Holmes celebrity gratuitously and pointlessly. A borrowing is a literary tribute and a delightful intertextuality; a clumsy ransacking however, even if unintentionally so, is harder to forgive.
In the first direct encounter between the Holmes brothers, Abdul-Jabbar and Waterhouse would have us believe they were shouting at each other, in full view of a household full of servants; Mycroft in fact begins with hammering on Sherlock’s bedroom door:
Mycroft seemed incapable of controlling his fist; it could have belonged to someone else entirely; for the blows continued unabated
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This is so out of character, for the brilliant, detached Mycroft to have worked himself up to such an extent, and physically at that, and for both brothers to behave with such a loss of dignity and deliberation which are their hallmarks. Their speech patterns are out of character, the way they relate to each other is also out of character, in fact, apart from their names, these are not the characters of Doyle’s creations, and thus, to use their names becomes rather a travesty.
I am willing to entertain all kinds of new additions – Mycroft’s best friend being a black man 16 years older than himself; Mycroft having a passion for a 22 year old Chinese woman, and other such inventions – but what I find hard to overlook let alone enjoy, is how poor the writing is, which thereby renders most of its inventions jarring. It does require at least a certain level of writing skill to reproduce a period and characters which have some resemblance to their originals, even if readers extend generous artistic licenses to their new authors. The writing itself is often rather forced, to the point of being clumsy:
Mycroft swallowed bile and started to walk off. Indeed, he quite knew he should do naught else. Still, his errant feet planted themselves, and his errant torso twisted back towards the woman and the door.
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Errant and twisted are good words for this writing. I do not know who this unfortunate character is, but it is definitely not the majestic, sedate, cerebral, self-controlled, brilliant, unflappable Mycroft Holmes created by Conan Doyle.
The ‘case’ is a series of seemingly disconnected murders caused by someone who leaves a note at each crime scene with 4 words, “The Fire Four Eleven!” One of these victims happens to be a distant relation of Queen Victoria, and I can even suspend disbelief to potentially enjoy her Majesty’s summoning of Mycroft to investigate on her behalf, except the encounter is so lacking in ceremony and verisimilitude, that it again strips the characters of their dignity and hallmarks, and renders such an important meeting rather paltry and mundane, which is practically insulting. Mycroft’s unexplained, secret love attachment to a young Chinese woman is lacking in credibility as well as in charm, and undeserving of this great character, so it is just as well this Mycroft Holmes is not credible from beginning to end.
The storyline is split into a parallel with the younger Holmes pursuing the mysterious serial murderer, and the senior Holmes pursuing an international arms trade case, and of course, we fully expect both cases to dovetail at the end. Each Holmes has a sidekick – Mycroft has his black friend, Douglas, and Holmes is given Huan, the Chinese Trinidadian who is made into a stock figure of illiterate, canny but loyal servant, superb fighter and bodyguard, affable and knowledgeable oriental. The orientalism is a tad nauseating actually. The plot is poorly planned, overcomplicated and disconnected, patchy at best. The denouncement is anticlimactic and abrupt, as if the book ran out of steam – and actually, this is not a complaint, because this reader’s patience has also run out of steam and I was glad to have finished and done with the book, even unsatisfactorily.
I read and reread the names of these authors with astonishment. The Kareem Abdul-Jabbar? The famous basketball player who always seemed elegant and articulate? Looking him up, I see he went on to ‘write several books’, mostly about African-American history, so my astonishment is largely due to my ignorance about his post-basketball career.
That said, this novel sounds like a vehicle to make a point about the Anglo-centeredness of the original Holmes books. I enjoyed reading them too, but I also recall the evil and ugly ‘savage’ Andaman Islander in The Sign of Four, an ugly ‘negro’ in some story, and I seem to recall some misogyny as well. I know, Conan Doyle was a product of his times and the books reflect that, but it’s still shockingly hurtful to read of my people described in such terms. And I’m guessing Abdul-Jabbar was prompted by similar feelings.
It’s a pity the book is not well written, and even more of a pity that the Chinese characters are so stereotypical, from your description. It might have made its points more effectively with better writing
Yes, good point, answering racism with racism is just no useful answer at all. And answering it poorly, in language not faithful to the place, period, or original, is only going to irk fans of Conan Doyle rather than elicit their sympathy.
There is no question there was lots of misogyny and racism in Conan Doyle books, and for sure, it is a product of its times. That was how people in that place, in that time, typically felt about other people, a commonplace world view. But I do not think the desire to ‘correct’ it in this manner is helpful. It is good to have these books which capture, record and showcase people’s perceptions and prejudices of the era and place. I really do not like attempts to drag the 19th century into the 21st century, or suggest our worldviews now are the correct ones – in another century, our worldviews may well look extremely backward. We really need to tread carefully when judging other places and periods by our own current moral yardsticks.
It is great when readers want to make a gesture at the original, or want to keep characters alive because they love them, and imitation is a form of flattery afterall, but a badly done imitation is more insult than flattery, methinks. Personally, I really dislike reading characters with names of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, who are nothing like those original characters except bearing the same names – not only is such writing inept and crude, it is lacking integrity, practically cheating the reader even if unintentionally so. And yes, I am being particularly severe, because if in reviews we do not rebuke and call out bad writing, we will encourage its continued proliferation! (Plus, I think other Conan Doyle fans ought to be warned off too!)