I have in my hand a very rare book, one which anyone acquainted with the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle will recognize. This book is probably not for sale in the entire world, and it has taken me three attempts to get a copy by interlibrary loan. I’ll give you a hint: Sherlock Holmes refers to it as “a little chocolate and silver volume.”
Yes, it is OUT OF DOORS, by the Reverend J.G. Wood. The book owes its literary interest to the fact that Holmes used a copy of it to solve a death in “The Adventure of the Lion’s Mane.” Doyle read this 342 page tome, including the chapter called “Medusa and Her Locks,” which narrates a near-death encounter between Wood and a Cynae capillata jellyfish from which the story borrows heavily. Holmes’s attempt to medicate a victim with salad oil and brandy is especially reminiscent of the narrative. It goes to prove that an author can pull plot ideas from anywhere, including the pages of a natural history book.
I’ve always felt kinship with this story because I suffered a jellyfish attack in Canada as a youth. I can vouch for the extreme and heart palpitations they cause, though I cannot vouch for salad oil and brandy as a medication, because thankfully, my parents chose more modern remedies. Since then I’ve never gone to the ocean without looking for those ominous spheroid shapes.
May you never encounter a stinging jellyfish outside the pages of Doyle’s story!
Cheerio,
Will
December 6th, 2009
From the November issue of Golf Digest:
“November 29, 1894. The Jungle Book author Rudyard Kipling serves Sherlock Holmes creator Sir Arthur Conan Doyle a Thanksgiving dinner at his Brattleboro, VT home. To say thanks, Doyle gives Kipling golf lessons during the visit, and the two later play winter golf using red golf balls.”
My word, golfing, Sherlock Holmes, cranberry sauce and Mowgli all in one place? What I wouldn’t have given to be a fly on the wall. Can one even imagine what conversation these two masters of fiction must have had, as fortified by turkey and oyster stuffing (and no doubt a dram or two) they went out to the snow-covered links? Who wouldn’t want ACD as one’s golf pro?
Why, I wonder, doesn’t Brattleboro have a Captains Courageous Classic, or a Sherlock Holmes Open? We’d on our plus fours and Norfolk jackets and carry our hickory clubs. It would be only for those hardy enough to handle a November game in Vermont. Do they still make red balls for winter play? Then later, it’s back to the clubhouse for pumpkin pie and another wee dram!
November 14th, 2009
I am very happy to announce that THE BLACK HAND has been nominated for a 2009 Shamus Award by the Private Eye Writers of America. The award will be given in October at Bouchercon, which will be held in Indianapolis this year. Mystery writing is such a solitary pursuit that it is always great to get together with one’s peers and talk shop, press the flesh, and meet writers I haven’t yet had the pleasure to meet. I’ll be there on Friday, October 16th, and look forward to seeing some of you there. Enjoy the conference!
Cheerio,
Will
August 31st, 2009
Thank you so much for all of your emails and letters asking about the next Barker and Llewelyn novel. I’m hard at work on the sixth and will update the website with further information soon.
Cheerio,
Will
August 11th, 2009
I suppose I’m something of a rail fan. I came by it naturally. My father built boilers and my grandfather was a coal miner in Scotland. Somehow, I’ve missed the great age of steam, which is yet another reason I like to time travel via fiction. I make sure that Barker and Llewelyn travel by train in every adventure, and research which railway lines they take. My reference shelves are full of timestables and books on steam locomotives, and when I travel I prefer as much as possible that it be by rail.
A steam engine is almost a living thing. No two are alike. It must be coaxed awake and built up into a full head of steam before it will go. It is temperamental. It is impractical; not an economic method of travel at all, given the price of coal. And yet even those who find trains to be archaic will admit to a thrill the first time they are pulled behind a steam train. As for the millions of us with coal in our veins, there is no better way to travel. Give me a Brighton Terrier over a Corvette any day.
Cheerio,
Will
August 3rd, 2009
One of my favorite Victorian urban legends is Spring-Heeled Jack, a flying, fire-breathing demon who scared the wits out of a maid in Blackheath one evening in the 1840’s and was seen around London now and again for several decades before disappearing for in 1890. He caught the imagination of the lurid press and appeared as a cross between Batman and a scaly demon. He had the ability to jump tall walls as if they were nothing, but though he breathed fire at several persons, never actually did anyone harm. Was he human, hoax, or some sort of unclassified cryptozoological creature, a Victorian version of the Mothman? I don’t know, but perhaps someday Barker should track down this creature for the good of London. After all, we can’t have our housemaids terrorized, can we?
Cheerio,
Will
June 29th, 2009
If you happen to attend a Scottish gathering or look into a book of clans searching for the Barker clan, I’m afraid you might be disappointed. There is no Scottish clan Barker. Oh, there are Barkers in Scotland, to be sure, most of them associated with Castle Stirling, but the authentic family Barker, with the motto Fide Sid Qui Vide is actually - brace yourself - English. The Barkers owned land in Cambridge and one scion existed for centuries in Yorkshire. At some time in the past a few Barkers must have crossed the borders into Scotland and found work in the shipyards around Perth, or perhaps worked as mercenary soldiers. Barker would insist he’s Scots to the core.
Barking is a process to tan leather using tree bark, and anyone associated with the trade was called Barker. So far, I haven’t found a proper tartan for Barker. I’m sure he used Black Watch whenever he was north of the border. That is, until I get around to having one registered in his name.
Cheerio,
Will
June 22nd, 2009
With the warm spring weather, a man’s fancy turns to thoughts of, well, you guessed it, golf. Half a century avoiding what Ty Cobb called “the Scottish game,” and it has finally caught up with me. In my defense, it is one of those games that came of age during the Victorian Era, a game which we still associate with knickers, tweed caps, and hickory clubs. There are several groups out there that play with hickory and no doubt I’ll eventually count myself among them, but for now, I’m just learning the game. I’ll get off the green and back into my study very soon, I promise. Any stray golfers out there, put down the niblick and drop a line.
Cheerio,
Will
June 8th, 2009
The blog page has been down, due to technical difficulties. It’s good to be back. I’ve heard from so many of you wondering about the next Barker and Llewelyn novel. I am hard at work on it, even as we speak.
I appreciate all of your wonderful letters. I’m beginning to consider you all “Barker’s watchers.” After a day of writing, it’s inspiring to get online and read a letter from someone near or far who enjoys the books. You are an interesting bunch, a collection of Anglophiles, Sherlockians, martial artists, mystery fans, and what-have-you. Possibly the only thing that you have in common is an interest in Cyrus Barker and Thomas Llewelyn. Thanks again, and keep writing!
Cheerio,
Will
March 30th, 2009
I don’t get writer’s block. Sitting down with a notebook in front of me, I wait a few minutes and the ideas begin to flow. It doesn’t matter what time of day, as long as I have enough coffee. If I’m rested, the thoughts come. Llewelyn opens his mouth and the ink begins to flow. If anything, I have the opposite problem. Lying in bed after midnight, it is difficult to shut my mind off, creating that irritating situation in which I’m constantly turning on the light to scribble on Post-Its. The next morning, I’m left trying to decypher what I scribbled at midnight.
What I am conscious of is exhaustion after turning out a certain number of pages. My senses are dull and my brain overstrained. Going to a Starbucks doesn’t help, either. I’m incapable at that point of making a decision. What I need is another kind of stimulus. A good movie (lately, I’m rewatching all the Bogie and Bacall films), a good book (currently Inspector Faro’s Casebook by Alanna Knight), or even a good television show (Tim Hutton’s “Leverage,” a guilty pleasure), and it soon sets me right again. Before you know it, it’s one a.m. and I’m scribbling ideas for the next chapter, which will give me eyestrain tomorrow morning.
Cheerio,
Will
January 19th, 2009
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