Sherlock, Thoughts On

I finished my editing and submitted my story to the Amazon.com novel contest. Since then I have been reading and writing rather obsessively about Sherlock Holmes, I suppose to decompress. I haven't finished all of the Sherlock Holmes stories -- mostly because when I had my huge fad on Holmes I didn't have access to all of them, and now that I have access to all of them it's a little depressing. Well, maybe it's me that's a little depressed.

But still. When I like a series, I hate finishing it. When I read what I thought was the last Thursday Next book by Jasper Fforde, I was tearful the whole time and could barely finish it. Now there's another one, and I haven't been able to read it at all. I don't want to read the last one! I may need it someday.

Sometimes, a series means a lot to me because of how the stories have helped me through difficult times. I hate to read the last of them because then a new one won't be there if I need it someday. (I've tried re-reading books; it's not the same.)

I'm enjoying the Sherlock Holmes 'pastiches' much more than the actual stories, maybe because I know I'll never run out of those! I'm particularly enjoying "Holmes for the Holiday," a collection of short stories about Holmes at Christmastime, written by various mystery writers of today. (So far there have been no less than two involving an adult Tiny Tim!)

Anyway, reading Sherlock Holmes stories (the real ones) now kind of depresses me. Partly because I just want Sherlock to be happy, (especially when I'm not) and he never seems to quite be. (I guess that sounds silly, but I identified heavily with him in my formative years -- I'm not sure why, I just did.) And partly because re-reading them reminds me of seemingly endless years of teen angst, and sitting curled up as small as I could get on a sofa reading Sherlock Holmes. (The only thing 'helpful' my brother could ever say about Sherlock Holmes seemed to be "isn't he a druggie?" which made me want to cry.)

I remember when Holmes 'died.' I was trying not to cry, and my mother was the one who told me "Oh, the author had to bring him back because he was such a popular character." I remember thinking, "She knew that?" (I had been pretty sure she'd never read any Conan Doyle in her life.)

Perhaps I identified with Sherlock Holmes because he (at least in my mind) was as eccentric and lonely as I was -- and as confident as I wished I could be.