While the success of the Sherlock Holmes tales can properly be seen as a catalyst for the boom in crime and detective literature that began in the early twentieth century and seems to grow larger every year, the pleasure of Arthur Conan Doyle’s narratives rests only in part on the cleverly contrived and ingeniously unraveled mysteries that provide their plots. The real joy for readers is the atmosphere the author creates through the evocation of both Victorian London and the peculiarly seductive realm of No. 221B Baker Street, where Holmes abides. The fogbound allure of the former is almost as strong as the curious and compelling air—filled with pipe smoke, the residual scent of chemical experiments, the energy inspired by Holmes’s various stimulants, and the strains of his violin—of the protagonist’s rooms; both play major roles supporting the mesmerizing ratiocinations of our hero, whose bold confidence and bracing brainpower never fail to astonish us (and, of course, the faithful Watson).
I've read thousands of books in my life, but this is the one I keep coming back to. First read when I was a very young child, I still read it. Timeless.
There is the fundamental pattern of the detective and his sidekick, the portrayal of London's and England's Victorian society and a set of crisp narratives of suspense with baffling (if romantic) mysteries. Pure entertainment.
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