Ronald Howard as Sherlock Holmes |
Yet I was young for this to springboard me to the stories. I read Conan Doyle concurrently with Poe, in High School. Not as required reading in a Catholic Girls School! But as contraband concealed beneath the dust jacket of something deemed appropriate for a young lady. Poe taught me to write. Doyle awakened my mind. The nuns taught me the necessity of red-herrings. And the traveling troupe of actors who presented Shakespeare’s plays in the sanctuary of our gym: Sans props, costumes, scenery, only their acting ability, and the Bard. Like Poe and Doyle this generated another explosion in my mind, imagination, and my love for the English language.
When I first read Doyle’s stories I was coming home to a home I had never known but much more real than the one I had. As a writer of Sherlock Holmes, I run up those 17 steps to the sitting room at #221B, Baker Street. Where two friends, against all odds, and in their own ways, one studied and honed his abilities to a fine point and the other in his desire to assist in these quests, discovered abilities he didn't know he had. They pit their talents against a world lost in darkness, poverty, injustice, greed, ignorance, and the great elemental shifts of the centuries. And in so doing, bring justice to a world very similar to ours.
No comments:
Post a Comment