I remembered liking this one much more than I did this time. Perhaps it was just the racism and everyone's relative tolerance for the era?
I do remember the image of the face in the window quite well, though, I found that a very striking and haunting image at the time and still do.
I feel like for all people like to imagine Holmes solves every case and the way Watson describes it as a rarity, we get quite a few of them, don't we. Although I can't remember any off the top off my head, well, besides the one with Jane Eyre, Jane Eyre? No, I mean Irene Adler. Weird brain fart.
Ooh, and the Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual, which I don't remember and first assumed was another case reference we never actually got to read about.
I think I still like it, even if there isn't much too it, and there are major issues with it, I just liked that everyone in the story is pretty nice*, it's not about murder and it all ends well, but that's not very unique and there are stories that suit it better.
* well, at least the way I remembered it, we'll get to that later
But, yeah, a lot of the behaviour doesn't make any sense, it's trying a bit too hard to force a mystery where there isn't one. Like Doyle really wanted to have the image of the strange face in the window, but then it's just a girl in a mask.
Even if she was worried about what people would think about her daughter in the, having her wear a weird mask is the worst way to deal with that. And it's all so dramatic, matter of life and death when you hear them talk about it.
The whole conclusion is like 'see your husband is no racist' and everyone's all cool about it, which, ok, Edwardian era, fair enough to be worried I suppose, , but hold up, she left her daughter alone in America for three years, then locked her in the house and made her wear a mask? What was her plan anyway? To leave her there for the rest of her marriage?
Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her as my child. But when chance threw you in my way, Jack, and I learned to love you, I feared to tell you about my child. God forgive me, I feared that I should lose you, and I had not the courage to tell you. I had to choose between you, and in my weakness I turned away from my own little girl. For three years I have kept her existence a secret from you, but I heard from the nurse, and I knew that all was well with her. At last, however, there came an overwhelming desire to see the child once more. I struggled against it, but in vain. Though I knew the danger, I determined to have the child over, if it were but for a few weeks.
Jeez, this lady. This bit was more unpleasant that I remember it being.
It's certainly trying to say something, but it stumbles around a bit while doing so.
I think the fact that Holmes didn't solve a case that makes little logical sense is hardly a blemish on his record.
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Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony of existence
All my vices too are just protests against the monotony of existence. I'm stealing that excuse.
'Is that man never goin' to come?' Those were his very words, sir. 'You'll only need to wait a little longer,' says I. 'Then I'll wait in the open air, for I feel half choked,'
That's what she said.
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