Mysteries and Why I Love Sherlock Holmes

If anyone is looking for a quick, worthwhile read, might I recommend "The Westing Game" by Ellen Raskin? It's considered a children's book, but it's not "written for children" at all; rather, as the introduction says, it's written for the adult in every child. It's a great mystery, not predictable, yet written so that the reader can try a little sleuthing herself, really interesting characters, quirky, witty, touching, and not depressing (yay!). And for all you chess-lovers out there, it reads like a good game of chess. Although maybe I shouldn't advertise it like that since I don't really play chess, so how would I know. Reminiscent of "Clue" or the card game Mafia.

I'm sort of on a mystery book kick, I guess, because I'm rereading the Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I've forgotten how awesome he is, and Watson too. Their mystery adventures are interesting enough, but my affinity for the stories is more due to character attachment, and I am sure that if I had been alive in the UK when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Holmes, I would've been one of the 20,000 plus Brits who appeared in the streets in black, mourning this fictional character's death. It's so crazy how we can get so attached to imaginary folk.

What is it about his character that I like so much? Someone once told me about Nietzsche and his "amor fati", or "love one's fate" attitude toward life, and I see a bit of it in Holmes. His matter-of-fact acceptance of somber aspects of life and mankind, often with humor and maybe some well-justified arrogance, which I can hardly believe I'm writing because I used to think that there was no such thing as arrogance that can be justified. Maybe it's not justified, but I can definitely sympathize with him whenever he unravels the entire mystery himself and all the credit is given to one of the bumbling idiots of Scotland Yard who look on the genius Holmes as some eccentric, too theory-oriented, promising perhaps... "Life is dreary", he'd say so baldly, but it's not a fact that he ever sludges over, wondering why why why. He'll ponder over it from afar, like a curiosity, then throw himself into another mystery with passion and energy, or if there isn't one available presently, he'll take a pinch of snuff and scrape on his violin all through the night. Not that I endorse hard drugs, but well Watson got him to quit that eventually, didn't he? One minute he's filling Watson in on the latest develops of a case, and the next, he's insisting that the most important thing at the moment is lunch and miracle plays. And vice versa, one minute he's observing Londoners under the gaslights heading home from work, and philosophizing about the immortal spark that burns within each of them, and the next, he's hunting the grounds with his magnifying glass for cigar ashes and bootprints. He's terrifically adept at shifting gears and does so without concern for transitions or proper timing or other such restraining nonsense. His attitude of acceptance of all things is no better illustrated than in the scene where he and Doc Watson are chasing Jonathan Small and Tonga, who shoots a poisonous dart tip at them just as they shoot him down with their arms. Later they discover that the fatal dart had whizzed right between them, so they had been mere inches from death. Holmes merely smiles at it and shrugs "in his easygoing fashion", while Watson feels sick thinking of how close he came to death that night.

And Watson I like just as much because, among other reasons, he mirrors my admiration for his sleuth friend. Watson is who I am, and Sherlock Holmes is who I wish I could be.