the heroic edge of the mysterious world
It's really true that you only pick things up when you're ready for them. I used to think reading choices explained something about the kind of person I am, but if there's something to be deduced from my reading patterns I'm not sure I want to know.
I've never thought of myself as a mystery fan in the same way I think of myself as an sf/fantasy fan. I have a mainstay 'comfort list' (Doyle, Christie, Poe) and of course there are my favourite mysteries muddled with other genres (Pratchett's Night Watch, Adams's Dirk Gently) and all the crime shows I can't seem to stop watching on TV no matter how ridiculous or predictable they become. But I never thought of myself as a mystery reader.
2010 was the year I finally began reading Dorothy Sayer, when I found Whose Body? in the secondhand bookshop. Since then I've read Murder Must Advertise, Strong Poison, and Busman's Honeymoon (incidentally skipping the years of suspense, ha ha, surrounding Lord Peter and Harriet Vane's romance).
Honestly I don't remember mystery being this dark. Busman's Honeymoon especially starts out delightful and sweet, and finishes on a sad, even grim note, the lovely Peter/Harriet interaction notwithstanding. Some years ago I finally read Dashiell Hammett's Maltese Falcon, but I assumed the dank bitterness I found in it was your typical noir flavour. Lord Peter is genuinely upset at reaching certain conclusions and then having to carry them through, which is something that never happens to Sherlock. I never think of Sherlock as flippant, but even Watson hardly ever concludes a case wishing they had never solved it, or heard of it.
I get the same feeling at the end of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Yes, justice done, mystery solved, danger averted with heroic deeds, but the horror of the crimes committed sticks, like diesel grease. It does not help that the murders hit most of my squick buttons, hard. It made me feel a little bit of a bad mystery reader for realising, very late, that maybe this is how crime novels are supposed to feel. They're good, but not entirely fun. ('Well, he's not a tame lion.') Still, it made me reluctant to pick up the other two books.
Which brings me to Sherlock.
A week and a bit ago I was scouring
petronia's journal looking for links to her mixes (iPod playlist: sabina; songs: 315 and counting), when I remembered she had posted about this Sherlock thing and I hadn't seen it yet. 3 torrents and 2 days later, I was hooked.
Leaving aside fandom (considerable joy to be found) and my non-pertinent reactions (it's like a love letter from my long-distance boyfriend, London!), I found the new Sherlock a lot darker than previous incarnations. There's a lot of comedy and delight in it, but it's all mixed in with a creepy undercurrent. I don't buy that Sherlock is actually a sociopath, and I don't think I'm meant to, especially because Sherlock is the one who said it.* Even our reader proxy, dear John, is 'outed' as not your average Everyman. When [SPOILER] happened, you know he didn't just do it to save Sherlock's skin**: he made a judgment, and carried it out.
Pointless aside: The middle episode completely threw me. WTF racist bingo. At least they weren't half-assed about the stereotyping: triad members AND smugglers AND martial artists AND acrobats, now with bonus origami-folding ninjas imported from Japan! Yellow Peril indeed! I may have enjoyed it more if I'd known the secretary lady was Benedict Cumberbatch's RL partner. Or I may have been stupidly jealous, I don't know.)
I went back to the books to see if they'd really been that dark, and a lot of the stories are. But there's a comfortable distance between ACD!Holmes and me; I read it like slightly improbable sf (Mormons? Really?). Whereas the BBC one is uncomfortable because it takes place not only in my time, but in spaces I've actually been. (Seriously, Russell Square!) The weird part is that I completely love it for that same reason.
Much better thoughts on the series here and here
And now I FINALLY have to watch Doctor Who, from Eccleston on, if only to be able to enjoy all the crossovers.
*one of my favourite things about the series is that Sherlock seems to be really good at only one thing. His violin playing is debatable, he only reads facts about people but is crap at predicting their reactions and dealing with their personalities, his sense of self-preservation is nil and his self-awareness is exaggerated in several different directions and stunted in others.
**admittedly, really lovely skin. The Cumberbatch must bathe in double cream, or something, I mean, phwoar.
I've never thought of myself as a mystery fan in the same way I think of myself as an sf/fantasy fan. I have a mainstay 'comfort list' (Doyle, Christie, Poe) and of course there are my favourite mysteries muddled with other genres (Pratchett's Night Watch, Adams's Dirk Gently) and all the crime shows I can't seem to stop watching on TV no matter how ridiculous or predictable they become. But I never thought of myself as a mystery reader.
2010 was the year I finally began reading Dorothy Sayer, when I found Whose Body? in the secondhand bookshop. Since then I've read Murder Must Advertise, Strong Poison, and Busman's Honeymoon (incidentally skipping the years of suspense, ha ha, surrounding Lord Peter and Harriet Vane's romance).
Honestly I don't remember mystery being this dark. Busman's Honeymoon especially starts out delightful and sweet, and finishes on a sad, even grim note, the lovely Peter/Harriet interaction notwithstanding. Some years ago I finally read Dashiell Hammett's Maltese Falcon, but I assumed the dank bitterness I found in it was your typical noir flavour. Lord Peter is genuinely upset at reaching certain conclusions and then having to carry them through, which is something that never happens to Sherlock. I never think of Sherlock as flippant, but even Watson hardly ever concludes a case wishing they had never solved it, or heard of it.
I get the same feeling at the end of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Yes, justice done, mystery solved, danger averted with heroic deeds, but the horror of the crimes committed sticks, like diesel grease. It does not help that the murders hit most of my squick buttons, hard. It made me feel a little bit of a bad mystery reader for realising, very late, that maybe this is how crime novels are supposed to feel. They're good, but not entirely fun. ('Well, he's not a tame lion.') Still, it made me reluctant to pick up the other two books.
Which brings me to Sherlock.
A week and a bit ago I was scouring
petronia's journal looking for links to her mixes (iPod playlist: sabina; songs: 315 and counting), when I remembered she had posted about this Sherlock thing and I hadn't seen it yet. 3 torrents and 2 days later, I was hooked.
Leaving aside fandom (considerable joy to be found) and my non-pertinent reactions (it's like a love letter from my long-distance boyfriend, London!), I found the new Sherlock a lot darker than previous incarnations. There's a lot of comedy and delight in it, but it's all mixed in with a creepy undercurrent. I don't buy that Sherlock is actually a sociopath, and I don't think I'm meant to, especially because Sherlock is the one who said it.* Even our reader proxy, dear John, is 'outed' as not your average Everyman. When [SPOILER] happened, you know he didn't just do it to save Sherlock's skin**: he made a judgment, and carried it out.
Pointless aside: The middle episode completely threw me. WTF racist bingo. At least they weren't half-assed about the stereotyping: triad members AND smugglers AND martial artists AND acrobats, now with bonus origami-folding ninjas imported from Japan! Yellow Peril indeed! I may have enjoyed it more if I'd known the secretary lady was Benedict Cumberbatch's RL partner. Or I may have been stupidly jealous, I don't know.)
I went back to the books to see if they'd really been that dark, and a lot of the stories are. But there's a comfortable distance between ACD!Holmes and me; I read it like slightly improbable sf (Mormons? Really?). Whereas the BBC one is uncomfortable because it takes place not only in my time, but in spaces I've actually been. (Seriously, Russell Square!) The weird part is that I completely love it for that same reason.
Much better thoughts on the series here and here
And now I FINALLY have to watch Doctor Who, from Eccleston on, if only to be able to enjoy all the crossovers.
*one of my favourite things about the series is that Sherlock seems to be really good at only one thing. His violin playing is debatable, he only reads facts about people but is crap at predicting their reactions and dealing with their personalities, his sense of self-preservation is nil and his self-awareness is exaggerated in several different directions and stunted in others.
**admittedly, really lovely skin. The Cumberbatch must bathe in double cream, or something, I mean, phwoar.