Holmes Book Review: "The Canary Trainer"

I'm hoping to start a series of related posts with this one; all relating to various published books about Sherlock Holmes NOT written by Arthur Conan Doyle. They are also known as "pastiches." So...yeah. I will write a few, and Grace is free to write a few too, I know she's read at least one or two of them (she recommended one to me :D).

This book is called "The Canary Trainer." The book jacket description is below in italics if you wish to read that without ANY minor (note the word minor) spoilers whatsoever. (yes, I did include a few spoilers but nothing major. You gather most of it from the book cover anyway :D)

It was written by Nicholas Meyer. Actually, take that back. It's directly from the memoirs or John H. Watson, M.D., and EDITED by Nicholas Meyer. (he claims to have found the original manuscript stowed away in a university library...)

So. It's a pastiche of Sherlock Holmes. But not just any pastiche. A really well-written, keep-to-the-original-facts pastiche. AND the best part is: Sherlock Holmes' brilliant mind is put to the extreme test against another of the most brilliant minds in fiction.

The Phantom of the Opera.

Alright, so the author had to take the liberty of pushing the story of the Phantom forward (by...10 years I think, not that much.) which he did, in a believable way, to make it fit in with the chronology. I didn't mind a bit. I didn't even notice, until I read the acknowledgements at the end, in which the author thanks Arthur Conan Doyle and Gaston Leroux.

The story really opens when Watson visits the retired Holmes at his home on the Sussex downs...keeping bees, of course. He has organized his notes and wants to know what exactly Holmes did during the three years he was supposed dead. (did you ever wonder?) Holmes first ignores the question, than faces it reluctantly, and the story is begun (narrated by Holmes but of course published by Watson.)

Holmes, after escaping death at Reichenbach Falls, as we know, took on the name "Sigerson" and posed as a Norwegian, which I believe was briefly mentioned in "The Empty House." He admits he decided to become 'someone else' for awhile - he dropped his detective work and immersed himself in the world of music - teaching violin in Paris, until his landlady (by no means as patient as Mrs. Hudson) threatened to kick him out. He then, after attending the Paris Opera, witnesses the resignation of a violin player for the orchestra (for the opera performances) and is informed that he may audition for the part the next day.

Holmes auditions, and of course gets the part - meeting the orchestra conductor, Gaston Leroux, in the process. He then learns that the man so eager to leave the opera the previous night did so because of fear - fear of the Opera Ghost.

Of course, this sparks Holmes' interest...he investigates this mysterious creature (of course, with an open mind - we all know he does not believe in the supernatural) on his own for awhile, interacting with such famous characters as Christine Daae, the star of the Phantom of the Opera; Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny; the bumbling managers Mssrs. Moncharmin and Richard; and eventually, in a final confrontation in his house under the Opera Garnier, the Phantom himself.

And of course, no trip to the Paris Opera involving Sherlock Holmes would be complete without adding the famous soprano: the topic of so much debate regarding their relationship, Irene Adler (which, I must admit, puts an ever-so-tiny bit of romance in there between the two...Mr. Meyer did a good job making it believable though.) right in the middle.

Overall, the author did supurbly keeping to the character of Holmes...he didn't change at all, from manner to habits and it was surprisingly easy to imagine Jeremy Brett as Holmes solving the case (which, so far, only the original canon has been able to do for me). And of course, the other characters were exactly the same as always.

This book was so much fun to read, as it combined the best of both of my favorite books: the Phantom of the Opera and Sherlock Holmes. I give it a 4 & 1/2 out of 5 stars...and recommend it to any Sherlock Holmes fan (or Phantom Phan, but in this case, it's more of a Holmes book. It reads like one of his original cases.)

(Book jacket description):

"Located by computer in the bowels of a major university where it had collected dust for over half a century, this missing manuscript by the biographer of Sherlock Holmes reveals for the first time a hitherto unknown episode in the life of the Great Detective.

"Holmes, master sleuth, was also an accomplished violinist. Following his discharge from therapy with Sigmund Freud (see "The Seven Per-Cent Solution"), we now learn that he journeyed to Paris and there found employment as a pit musician at the Paris Opera.

"The year is 1891, Paris is the capital of the western world, and its opera house is full of surprises. First and by no means least is the sudden reappearance of the great love of Holmes' life, an accomplished singer from Hoboken, New Jersey.

"Second is the series of seemingly bizarre accidents - each more sinister than the last - allegedly arranged by the "Opera Ghost," an opponent who goes by many names and is more than equal to Holmes.

"Alone in a strange and spectacular city, with none of his normal resources, Holmes is commissioned to protect a vulnerable young soprano, whose beautiful voice obsesses a creature no one believes is real, but whose jealousy is lethal.

"In this dazzling, long-awaited sequel to "The Seven Per-cent Solution," the detective pits wits against a musical maniac, and we are treated to an adventure unlike any other in the archives of Sherlock Holmes."

There you have it :D The first Sherlock Holmes pastiche review on the blog. I seriously think anyone should read it though - it's a great book. Did I mention I read it in one day? *wink*

The Adventure of the Gold-Engraved Box - Part 2

My time at Hyde Park was, I had believed, completely wasted. I arrived and located the elm which the note referred to and it's corresponding bench; but, finding the area void of all activity, I seated myself on the bench and began my observations. The fog had begun to lift, yet I noted nothing worthy of reporting to my friend.

After a time I became quite bored. I decided to stroll on the path leading to the bench where I was seated, but before I could leave, a large, dark-haired fellow approached me. He seated himself opposite me, and began a casual conversation. I was glad for the distraction, seeming as my afternoon had been almost wasted by idleness, and we chatted as if we were old friends.

We talked for quite some time. He was very friendly, and inquired after my friends, including Sherlock Holmes. I kept the information about his current case to myself, however, thinking it was best for everyone involved.

After awhile I determined my time would be better spent at Baker Street, and, upon bidding my new friend farewell, I left him situated on the bench. By then the fog had gone, and the return trip went speedily.

At Baker Street, I found the sitting room empty. I called for Holmes, but determined he was still out. I went to my writing desk and began a new chapter of the narrative that had been consuming so much of my time.

Mrs. Hudson entered the room with my supper a few hours later. I thanked her heartily and began eating. On her way out, she gave a start as a man pushed past her and entered the room.

"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes in?" he inquired.

"Not at the moment," I answered. "He is expected back at any time, however," I added, offering to take his coat while he waited.

The man chuckled and twirled his dark moustache between his fingers. "No, thank you, Watson. I will remove it myself, and return it to the trunk in my bedroom."

I began to laugh. "Yet another clever disguise, Holmes."

Holmes smiled. "Mrs. Hudson, please bring my dinner up," he said, as he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door.

A few moments later he emerged in his dressing gown, holding a small, gold-engraved box. The top and bottom appeared to be made of solid gold gold. Each of the four sides had two large and intricately engraved roses, and many long vines and leaves wrapped around the edges. Seating himself in his arm chair, Holmes began a thorough examination of the box.

"Mrs. Hudson's box!" I exclaimed. "However did you find it?"

"It was not easy. It had been sold three times after the pawn shop." My friend's eyes never left the little box.

"But how did you acquire the information as to where it was?" I asked. "Tradesman do not give out clients information to just anyone."

Holmes chuckled, raising his head to look at me. "I thought of that. I went in disguise, as you know. I hoped to give the impression that I was the original owner of the box and wished to retrieve it. The clerk believed my little act, and after some persuasion, gave me all of the information about it and the woman who bought it."

Mrs. Hudson entered the room with Holmes' dinner. The glint of the gold box caught her eye. She stared at it for a few minutes before leaving, never once emitting a sound.

"I do believe she is rather annoyed with the whole business," I stated, as Holmes moved to the table and began his supper. I seated myself in the chair opposite my friend.

Holmes nodded. "Yes, and I hope to clear up the situation as quickly as possible. Now, what of your time at Hyde Park?"

I began my description of the place at the park where I had spent my morning. I announced that I had noted nothing worthy of his attentions; all the while he acted uninterested. Deciding to keep nothing to myself, I began to describe the friendly man with whom I had talked. This caught his attention, however, and he became alert and stopped eating abruptly.

"His name?"

I was taken aback by the question. I tried to think back to the conversation, but could not recall him ever telling me his name. "I don't believe he told me," I admitted.

Holmes shook his head. "You say he had a dark moustache and hair?"

I nodded, puzzled. What was it about the stranger that had sparked his curiousity?

"And he was large?"

"Very muscular. Tall, as well," I replied.

Holmes' face had turned grave during this conversation. I became worried as he pushed back his half-eaten dinner.

"This situation grows more and more serious," said he.

I could get no more of him for another hour. He sat in his chair, smoking his pipe and examining the box by turning it over and over. It was very quiet, so I found a book and settled in my own chair.

"Watson."

I looked up from my book. "Yes, Holmes?"

After a slight pause, he replied, "Tell Mrs. Hudson to be sure all door and windows are locked and the blinds drawn."

I was sure she had always done this, but did as he said. Mrs. Hudson was eagerly awaiting developments, but, seeming as my friend had disclosed no information, I had nothing to give.

Returning to our rooms I found Holmes, bent over the box once more. He was running his long fingers over the engravings. I closed the door quietly, so as not to disturb his examination.

"It is the flowers, Watson," he said.

"The flowers?" I went to my friend's chair.

He pointed out the delicate little flower on the left side of the panel he had been examining, then turned it over and did the same on the next panel. They were exactly the same, whereas the flowers on the right were all different. He then began to push gently on each tiny petal.

I watched him work for some time in silence, and had finally resolved to taking up my book when Holmes gave a shout.

"Halloa! I've got it, Watson!"

Like an excited child Holmes pushed in one of the tiny petals on the bottom of the first rose. He turned the box and repeated the gesture, this time on the top of the rose. On the last rose the box made a clicking sound, and Holmes raised the lid.

Inside the lid was another sort of lock, comprised of three different-sized key holes and a combonation lock. Holmes gave a frustrated sigh and set the box aside.

"I do believe a visit to the Baylors of Derbyshire is in order for to-morrow," he stated, leaning back in his chair and running his hand through his dark hair.

"What of Mrs. Hudson? Do you believe there is any danger in leaving her behind, if the man at Hyde Park is behind this?" I asked.

Holmes shook his head. "I'll be going alone. You will stay behind and keep Mrs. Hudson in the flat." He reached for his pipe again. "However, I do not believe your man is the only one behind this. No, it is much deeper than that." Lighting his pipe, he added, "He is only one small thread of the web..."

At this I heard no more; the phrase was all too familiar. "You suspect Moriarty?"

Holmes closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his pipe. "I suspect no one."

He smoked for some time in silence, his eyes half shut. No matter how hard I pressed him, he would not talk. I bade him good night with no answer, and retired to my room for the night.

Morning came soon enough, and by the time I emerged from my room Holmes had already gone. I was relieved to find Mrs. Hudson in good spirits when she arrived with breakfast.

"Any news?" She inquired cheerfully.

I shook my head. "Holmes opened the box only to discover another lock," I explained. Not wanting to disclose any more information without his permission, I promptly began to eat.

"Do keep me informed, Doctor," the landlady said before leaving.

I spent the morning tidying my room, and as I worked I tried to contrive a plan to keep the landlady indoors all day. I finally resolved to having Billy run all the errands, and when I dispatched him with his new orders, Mrs. Hudson appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She rushed up to me, looking slightly pale.

"Is Mr. Holmes in yet?" She asked nervously. She held a small paper between her thumb and forefinger.

"No, I'm afraid not," I answered. "What is bothering you?"

She held up the paper. "I've recieved another note," she said, turning it over to me. It read:

If orders are not followed in twenty-four hours, BEWARE.

I cast a surprised glance at the landlady, who appeared very worried. "I don't believe that silly little box is worth such threats!" She exclaimed, her voice full of anxiety.

"I will give it to Holmes when he returns," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. She patted it gently.

"Very good, Doctor. I must go back to my duties."


Sherlock Holmes returned shortly after the incident. He had not been gone very long. I went out to greet him. He appeared to be quite annoyed.

Upon my inquiry of the trip, he closed his eyes. "Miss Baylor, the daughter, will be arriving at six 'o clock this evening upon my request."

"Was she not at home?"

Holmes shook his head. "I thought of sending a telegram but assumed it would not reach the Baylor household until this morning. By then it would have been too late; I would have already reached the house. They live out in the country." He removed his coat and hat and shuffled to his armchair. "I trust you have not let Mrs. Hudson from the flat?"

I told him of my plan to have Billy perform all tasks outside of the flat, and he smiled. "I knew you would think of something."

I smiled at the praise and remembered the note. Handing it over to him, I watched him read it. "I assumed it would come to this," he said quietly. "We must keep Mrs. Hudson within our sight at all times." He said nothing more about the matter, however, and settled in his chair, taking up the little box. He pulled out a few strange-looking tools that I did not recognize and set at once to picking the locks under the lid.

Holmes worked at this for little more than a quarter of an hour before he set the box aside, his task completed. All that was left was the combonation lock. When I inquired as to how he would set about discovering the combonation, he smiled.

"Hopefully Miss Baylor will bring the answer with her when she arrives." He pulled his pipe off the mantle and lit it, and smoked in silence for the rest of the afternoon.

Holmes' Colossal Adjectives

One of the things that I love about Sherlock Holmes (and Watson too...this also pertains to him) is his use of really big adjectives.

I'm not going to blog forever about it but I found this quote in one of the books the other day and just started laughing...it was just like Holmes to use such big words to modify a tiny one...I thought I would share, just for the fun of it in case none of you had noticed it before.

"A lie, Watson - a great, big, thumping, obtrusive, uncompromising lie..."

- The Valley of Fear

Isn't that awesome? I love how they just continue to get bigger...that's the beauty of Victorian London (and possibly modern London...I dunno, Grace, do Londoners today use massive adjectives? lol)

I don't know how he managed to say that all in one breath. I can't even say that without putting the "un" from "uncompromising" in front of the "obtrusive." *laughs*

Hope you had a good laugh over that one :D

(picture - Of course, it's Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes...hot on the trail of a criminal, most likely. Love the hat :D)

Sherlock Holmes....Hotel?

Ooo, lookee, a Sherlock Holmes Hotel! Yes, this is another pic from my quest. This hotel is situatated on Baker Street. I did not venture into the inner bowels, but it looked pretty normal, other than the Sherlock Holmes sign. =D

The Adventure of the Gold-Engraved Box - Part 1

One of the most memorable cases with which my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, was associated during the time I lived with him in our Baker Street flat was a most singular case; brought to him by our landlady, Mrs. Hudson.

It was a cold a dreary morning. Fog had settled once more over the streets of London. All was quiet, and had been for weeks. It was one of those long and rare periods of inactivity which I have found to be most dangerous for my friend, Sherlock Holmes. More than once his eye wandered to the drawer of the desk where his vile drug was kept. I hoped and prayed for some form of activity to draw his overactive mind from the fact that there was nothing to do.

I myself was quite enjoying the tranquility. I took advantage of the peace to work on the narratives of my friend's last case, which I had begun some days before. I was occupied in this when I heard Holmes rise from his armchair and begin to shuffle about the room.

A sense of dread overcame me, and I turned to see Holmes, his forehead pressed against the window, pound his fist against it. I rose, relief flooding through me. He hadn't been after the drug as I had thought.

"Holmes," I began, but stopped. It would be useless to convince him to calm down. It was better to let him vent his frustration. I resumed my place at the writing desk and retrieved my pen.

Then I heard his pacing once more, and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

"This really won't do, Watson." Holmes turned and stalked to the other side of the room. I turned to face him as he continued his rant. "This infernal blanket of fog prevents anything out of the ordinary from occurring. The detectives at Scotland Yard retreat to their homes while criminals roam about, eluding even the slightest bit of observance by the common individual. It's dangerous, Watson, dangerous!"

During this speech Holmes had returned to his armchair and had stretched his feet to the fire. I retrieved the morning paper from the pile on the floor and began scanning the columns in an endeavor to cheer my friend.

"Our friend, Lestrade, seems to have been called in on a case several times this week," I remarked thoughtfully, noting three or four different mentions of his name. Holmes snorted disapprovingly.

"They were but trifles. The theft of a china plate from Betram's Hotel; the theft and return of Miss Emily Cole's purse; and the death of Mr. Jack Bromsby, who, I have reason to believe, was not murdered but committed suicide," came the reply.

I turned in amazement to look at my friend, who was smoking a cigarette with his back to me.

"But how did you..." I began in wonderment.

"My dear Watson," Holmes began, turning to face me. I saw an amused smile playing across the corner of his mouth as he witnessed my puzzlement. "I simply noticed the paper lying on the floor this morning during breakfast, and took the liberty of reading a few columns." He turned back to the fire and resumed smoking.

I shook my head, grinning. Holmes always enjoyed seeing me puzzle over some ovbious detail that I had missed. I chuckled and resumed my reading.

Holmes broke the silence. "I do wonder why Mrs. Hudson is on her way up at this time of the morning?"

I realized that my friend's keener senses had heard the landlady coming up the stairs long before my own. "I haven't the slightest idea," I remarked, turning back to my paper.

A few moments later Mrs. Hudson did indeed enter the room. I rose to greet her and noted that she appeared rather confused.

"Why, Mrs. Hudson!" Holmes began, his gaze never straying from the fire. "It is not custom for you to come to our rooms this time of day. What is it?"

I motioned for the landlady to seat herself facing Holmes' armchair. Holmes turned and flashed a small smile at her, then resumed his staring at the fire.

Mrs. Hudson began by saying, "I do hope I'm not bothering you..."

Holmes chuckled. Bothering me? Ha! As if anyone could bother me when life itself is monotonous!" He resumed his serious expression. "Pray tell what is on your mind. You did not sleep well last night. Something is plaguing you."

The landlady was by now accustomed to Holmes' quick deductions, and this simple one had no effect on her composure. She held up a small, white piece of paper with large writing on it. Holmes leaned forward, took the paper, and examined it thoroughly. It read:

"Bring the wedding gift you recieved from M. Baylor to Hyde Park to-morrow. The bench near the tallest elm."

"Interesting message. No signature. Only a fragment of another piece of paper." He held it up to the light. "No watermark. The message is printed. Does this suggest anything to you, Watson?"

Holmes finished his observations and passed the paper to me.

Looking it over, I replied, "He or she wished to conceal his or her handwriting."

"Brilliant, Watson! Only notice the color and thickness of the letters. A man wrote this. A strong man with large hands, as he was pressing hard, but not intentionally. It is his natural way of writing."

I smiled at Holmes' praise and returned the note to him. He tossed it aside.

"I do believe we've deduced all we can from this note, Watson. Go on, Mrs. Hudson."

"I am very confused, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson stated, clasping her hands on her lap. "I don't even have the gift anymore, and I really have no idea who might want such a thing."

Sherlock Holmes looked rather impatient. "The item in question being...?"

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry," the landlady stammered. "It is a small box, but it's not really a box. I never could figure out how to open it."

"Anything on the outside worth noting?"

Mrs. Hudson thought for a moment. "Not that I can think. There were some gold-colored engravings on it, in the shapes of flowers and leaves. It was very pretty as a decoration, but I pawned it off, along with anything else that was useless to me, over five years ago."

During this narrative my friend's eyes began to shine. I knew he sensed something remarkable about the little mystery presented to us by the landlady, though I couldn't see what. He leaned forward, putting his fingertips together and his elbows on his knees.

"And who is this M. Baylor?"

"Oh, just an old friend of my family, Margaret Baylor. She lived in Derbyshire with her large family, but passed on a few years ago."

Holmes nodded and reached for his pipe. He smoked thoughtfully for a few moments. "Was this box of any value?"

Mrs. Hudson closed her eyes. "I do remember wondering if the box was solid gold, but it's weight proved otherwise. I took it to the jeweler on Twenty-Fourth Street before I sold it, and he told me it was not worth even a shilling."

Holmes leaned back in his chair. I was confused.

"But surely it must be of some value? It appears that it is not as valuable as the author of this note makes it seem," I stated.

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "That is why I've come to you, Mr. Holmes. I would, if I still had the box, have given it away without a thought. But I'm rather curious as to why anyone would want it, seeming as it is not worth anything."

Holmes leaned forward thoughtfully. "But that the author of the note should send a message rather than approach you himself. That is of the utmost importance."

I must admit, I was not following my friend's chain of thought. Glancing at Mrs. Hudson I could see she wasn't either. She was watching the detective, who was again smoking and staring at the fire.

"How did you acquire the note?" He inquired, without a glance upward.

Mrs. Hudson didn't seem to see the significance of the question. The confused look returned to her face. "Why, Billy the page brought it to me last evening."

Holmes turned to me. "Watson, send for Billy immediatly."

Upon my return with the page, I found Holmes, pacing the room in his dressing gown. Mrs. Hudson had gone.

Holmes stopped when he noticed the boy, standing in the doorway looking very puzzled.

"Mr. Holmes," the lad said politely.

Holmes nodded. "Billy, the note you gave Mrs. Hudson; how came it to be in your possession?"

He returned to his armchair and motioned for the lad to sit. The boy shook his head and remained standing in the doorway.

"Sir, the message was attached to the front door yesterday evening. I saw it was addressed to your landlady, so I removed it and knocked on the door. I didn't think she had seen it so I jus' gave it straight to her and left." During this speech Billy had removed his messenger's cap and was wringing it nervously in his hands. "Am I in some kind of trouble, Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes was once again staring into the fire. I assumed he had no intention of answering the boy's question, if he had even heard it. I put my hand on Billy's shoulder.
"Of course not, Billy. You've done nothing wrong."

The lad relaxed and placed his cap back on his head. "Will that be all, Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes grunted from the chair. I thanked Billy softly and he nodded, then returned to his duties. I closed the door when he had gone.

"We seem to be traveling in confounded circles!" Holmes cried, shaking his pipe at the fireplace.

"What else did you learn from Mrs. Hudson?" I inquired, seating myself in the chair opposite my friend.

"Only the name of the pawn shop to which the box was sold," said he. Rising, he went into his bedroom. "I'll be going out, Watson. I suggest you go and examine Hyde Park. Find the bench near the elm that the note refers to."

I rose, confused. I didn't understand why my friend was dispatching me on a seemingly pointless errand. I knew it was useless to question him, though. Holmes always had a reason for everything he said or did.

"Anything else I should be looking for?" I asked, removing my coat and hat from the stand.

"You will know when you see it, Watson," came the reply from behind the closed door.

Shaking my head, I began my long walk to Hyde Park, all the while trying to understand Holmes' reasoning. When nothing came to mind, I gave up and continued on, paying close attention to everything in my path so as not to become lost in the fog.

Holmes has a reason for everything, I concluded. I'll trust that he knows what he is doing.

___________________________________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed part one of my story :D Please feel free to comment at will and check back often for the rest of it!

A Little Introductory Post...

Introducing:

The Adventure of the Gold-Engraved Box!

I'm not very good with titles but this is the name I came up with for Mrs. Hudson's mystery.

So...I'm posting it little by little, after all the proofreading and editing have been completed for each stage. I'm trying to make good breaks in the story, so I have some place to end before continuing to the next portion.

I tried to model it after Doyle's stories...told from the perspective of Watson (hee hee) and I tried to use some words that would be used...so hopefully you can't tell that Doyle didn't write it.

Oh, and I should warn you - this is my first endeavor at a mystery. I've never written a mystery before. I'm more a historical fiction kinda gal. So...hopefully it's not too ovbious :D

Anyway, enjoy, and please feel free to comment on each post. I like to know what the people who read my stories think about them :D So, if you think I should add something, or take away something, or change the wording of something, or if you like it as it is...please feel free to say so. I don't get hurt feelings very easily when it comes to my work, I accept everything as constructive critisism.

Bre

Baker Street!

Lo and behold...I have done it! Baker Street! Hahahaha! Alas, I did not get a picture of Coronation Street, much to my dismay. This trip to get this picture was a spur of the moment, quick thing, not to be prolonged. =D

I have some more sweet pics, but you'll have to wait for them. *evil chuckle*