In the Beginning …
Study in Scarlet
Arthur Conan Doyle
Penguin Books
Many moons ago (that is, the summer following my graduation from university,) I decided that I would spend my non-working time reading for pleasure. I’ll never forget that first book – Maugham’s Of Human Bondage – and how it felt to luxuriate over the words. That summer I also read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles (not to be confused with Tess of the D’Ubervilles – it was a busy summer, what I can say?) It was my first Sherlock Holmes mystery and I recall thinking that the writing was interesting enough to read more. For whatever reason, I never did. Until now.
A Study in Scarlet is actually the first Holmes novel and as such, introduces us to the backgrounds of the quirky detective and his trusty companion. What was most surprising was the structure of the novel. Holmes actually answers the question “whodunit?” halfway through the text. The rest of the novel tells the back story of Holmes’ suspect. And what a story it is! Mormons, wagon trains, murders, international travel – heck, there was even a mention of St. Petersburg! The perfect holiday read, A Study in Scarlet gets four watching the detectives out of five.
Fool
Christopher Moore
Harper
You have to love an author who is brave enough to eff with the classics. Moore’s Fool is an off-the-wall, non-re-telling of Shakespeare’s King Lear. Often zany and always funny, this tragic-comedy is narrated by Pocket, Lear’s Black Fool and erstwhile companion of the princess Cordelia.
The plot is complicated – Lear, an aged and sorrowful king, decides that it is time to divide his kingdom (England, Scotland, Wales, etcetera) among his daughters. The allotment of the realm will be determined by the girls themselves. He has asked each of them to publicly declare their love for him and be judged by their words. Sycophants and flatterers to the bitter end, Regan and Goneril lie through their teeth and speak of their deep and abiding love for their father. Lear is well pleased. Cordelia determines to speak the truth and admits to a deep filial love and nothing more. Lear decides, the kingdom is divided in twain, and Cordelia is exiled.
Enter the Fool. A true jackanapes, Pocket incites civil war, hangs with Macbeth’s witches, gets visited by a ghost, kills a nasty steward, takes care of a Natural named Drool, and recounts the innumerable times where he had occasion to shag Goneril and Regan rotten. As if that weren’t quite enough, he also introduces the reader to a wonderfully inventive swear word. Ready for it? Fuckstockings! I’ll be saying that for weeks!
While I didn’t love this book as much as Moore’s Lamb, I did enjoy it immensely. The numerous references to the Bard’s other works kept it interesting and I think I counted at least six or seven – maybe more. Three rollicking bollocks out of five.
Ditched Again
The Judas Strain
James Rollins
Harper
Last Thursday, I left hearth and home and headed overseas. One of my friends was getting married in Germany and that was all the excuse I needed to plan a bit of a jaunt. Of course, it wouldn’t be a holiday without a companion, so I invited Commander Pierce along for the ride. You remember him, right? Tall, dreamy, and oh-so-dedicated to the Sigma Force? Sigh. What is it they say about best laid plans?
Now that it is all over, I guess it’s okay to dish. Gray, as you know, just can’t seem to stay out of trouble. This time he and the gang were involved in some sort of bio-terrorism plot, so it was off to Southeast Asia to find the source (and hopefully cure) for this “new” disease. I say “new” because it turns out that there was a link between Gray’s case and the mysterious disappearance of most of Marco Polo’s returning fleet. Apparently, when Polo left China to return to Italy, he led a flotilla of sixteen ships. When he got home, there was only two left.
All that to say that I got ditched. It’s okay though. The wedding was beautiful and I think the bride and groom are the type of couple (unlike Gray and I) who will make it through anything. I’m now in St. Petersburg, sans Gray, and having a fantastic time. In fact, I’m at the Telegraph Pub enjoying a pint of maiden’s piss, er, I mean Harp, right now. Aside from the kitsch, nothing in the joint is in English and surprisingly, it hasn’t been a problem so far. The pub? Oh, it gets a three out of five stars.
