Elementary?

And now for something completely different...

Reading books is my primary daily activity. I will happily read anything I find to be well written and interesting, and since the library at Keiser University has been closed all summer, I have invested in a Kindle. My bank account tends to limit my purchases to books costing less than $2.99, free if I am lucky. I read voraciously, so it is not unusual for me to churn through three or four good-sized texts per week. To my disappointment, I find the vast majority of Amazon's low-cost volumes to be popular action or romance gack, or spin-off genres like an enormous latter day supply of Jane Austen-inspired blather. Wading through the Kindle library is a troublesome bore, especially as my weak internet service takes forEVER to load each page! Yet, there are gems lurking there.

I was happy to see a 16-volume collection of English mystery works on offer for about a dollar a book, the first of which turned out to be a selection of Arthur Conan Doyle's stories of Sherlock Holmes, which I have just enjoyed over the past few days. It is hard to imagine a more perfectly realized, affectionately rendered, singularly memorable character than Holmes, with all his eccentricities, attitudes, failings and triumphs. Likewise, his faithful chronicler and frequent investigative cohort Dr. Watson establishes himself as the reader's trusted friend and confidant. He is ever ready to drop everything in service to his friend Sherlock, and respectfully records the various individuals and case studies they encounter with graceful language and only occasional lapses into melodramatic extravagance. Arthur Conan Doyle was not above the purple prose his readers loved, but Dr. Watson manages to surmount the temptation for the most part.

Something I have noticed about reading authors from more than a century ago is the characterization of people over the age of 50 as, well, elderly. At 67, I am only recently retired, and enjoying mature living, shall we say? But I hardly feel aged or particularly antediluvian. Dr. Watson's favorite descriptor seems to be "grizzled," or graying, as hair, if you will. It puts me in mind of a Rooster Cogburn-ish sort of rough, aging cowhand, but Watson even describes a "once-lovely woman of about 40" as grizzled. Well! He invariably describes most male characters as "handsome," though they may also have thick long beards (grizzled, usually) and bushy eyebrows. How does one find handsomeness under all that fur?

The episode in which Holmes meets his end (Or does he?) plummeting over a waterfall in a climactic struggle with his nemesis Moriarty allows Dr. Watson to express his tender affection and admiration for his extraordinary friend in some of Doyle's most lyrical writing. The author's creation of a longtime, occasionally fractious, but consummately loyal and trusting friendship between two quite different men as a conceit through which to spin his tales of mystery is a joy to read.

I do not know if this collection is comprehensive or if there are other Holmesian adventures to enjoy, but I must observe that only once in the whole of some 20 hours or so did Sherlock say "Elementary!"