Book Rec: The Moor
Every Sherlock Holmes adaptation, it seems, must have its version of The Hounds of Baskerville. The fourth book in Laurie R. King’s Mary Russell series, appropriately called The Moor, serves that fuction.
I found this book to be…all right, not great, and I think a large part of that is because it seemed to me that Dartmoor, not Russell or Holmes, was the protagonist. The case, then, is basically that bad people are doing bad things to the moor, which needs to be rescued. And while King doesn’t wax poetic on the stark beauty of Dartmoor as much as she could, there must be a rule amongst writers that if they choose to set any novel there, they must spend significant chunks of their work describing the scenery. And to be honest, I almost always find scene-setting description rather dull. (The only exception to this I can think of is when writers discuss dark, grimy underworlds, like the London sewers or mine shafts, for example. For some reason I can’t get enough of that.)
Further to my “the moor is the protagonist” point, consider this passage where it is actually personified (page 286 in my version):
Looking back, it was probably only the psychic eeriness of the night combined with the physical sensation brought by the electric charges of the storm, building and ebbing, but it began to feel almost as if there were another person in the rock shelter with us-or if not a person, then at least a Presence. It did not seem to me, as Holmes had suggested, an evil presence, nor even a terribly powerful one, but I thought it old, very old, and patient. It felt, I decided, as if the moor itself were holding watch with us. Holmes did not seem aware of anything other than discomfort and impatience, and I did not care to mention my fancies to him. I was, however, very grateful for his warm bulk beside me.
And other than the villain and Russell and Holmes, there were only about two characters I found interesting in the entire novel, which compounded tedium to a book already beleaguered by long stretches where not much happens. For this I entirely blame the character of Reverend Sabine Baring-Gould. The issue with Baring-Gould is that he is a portrayal of a real person, and one of his grandsons was a Sherlock Holmes scholar. And, sure, it’s very interesting to think about him in his prime, collecting folk songs and writing hundreds of books, I just…really couldn’t find it in myself to care overly much. Maybe I’m too callous to appreciate his character, but the most interesting thing about him to me was never fully explained: Holmes’ inexplicable interest in him. Their connection is explained, but not why Holmes seems to basically love him. I kept waiting to receive a straight answer (he’s his what? But how?), but I suppose when it comes to the backstory of Sherlock Holmes, we are never going to get a straight answer. *sigh*
Another thing I didn’t really like was that Russell in this book essentially plays the part of Watson, more than she has in any other book. I mean, she certainly uses her intellect to quickly piece things together-and even rescues Holmes from a difficult situation-but for the most part she seemed superfluous; this case didn’t really need two geniuses. And again, the bonding moments between them were too few and far between for my tastes.
That said, there were lots of moments I liked, such as Holmes and Russell getting drunk together or traipsing along on the moor, Russell getting soaking wet and covered in mud while Holmes somehow remained pristine. And then having intellectual discussions by the fire while they warmed up (read: their version of snuggling).
There is also mention of Holmes’ mind palace! From page 276 in my version:
The far-off look on his face told of a search of that prodigious memory of his, as full of jumble as a lumber room. After a few minutes he suddenly came across the bit of lumber he had been seeking, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
Too bad this Holmes hasn’t heard of Elvis Presley yet. :)
For more, please see:
- Brief Review of Book One, The Beekeeper’s Apprentice
- Review of Book Two, A Monstrous Regiment of Women
- Review of Book Three, A Letter of Mary
- Review of Book Five, O Jerusalem
- Review of Book Six, Justice Hall
- Review of Book Seven, The Game
- Review of Radio Drama, a radio adaptation of The Beekeeper’s Apprentice
I found this book to be…all right, not great, and I think a large part of that is because it seemed to me that Dartmoor, not Russell or Holmes, was the protagonist. The case, then, is basically that bad people are doing bad things to the moor, which needs to be rescued. And while King doesn’t wax poetic on the stark beauty of Dartmoor as much as she could, there must be a rule amongst writers that if they choose to set any novel there, they must spend significant chunks of their work describing the scenery. And to be honest, I almost always find scene-setting description rather dull. (The only exception to this I can think of is when writers discuss dark, grimy underworlds, like the London sewers or mine shafts, for example. For some reason I can’t get enough of that.)
Further to my “the moor is the protagonist” point, consider this passage where it is actually personified (page 286 in my version):
Looking back, it was probably only the psychic eeriness of the night combined with the physical sensation brought by the electric charges of the storm, building and ebbing, but it began to feel almost as if there were another person in the rock shelter with us-or if not a person, then at least a Presence. It did not seem to me, as Holmes had suggested, an evil presence, nor even a terribly powerful one, but I thought it old, very old, and patient. It felt, I decided, as if the moor itself were holding watch with us. Holmes did not seem aware of anything other than discomfort and impatience, and I did not care to mention my fancies to him. I was, however, very grateful for his warm bulk beside me.
And other than the villain and Russell and Holmes, there were only about two characters I found interesting in the entire novel, which compounded tedium to a book already beleaguered by long stretches where not much happens. For this I entirely blame the character of Reverend Sabine Baring-Gould. The issue with Baring-Gould is that he is a portrayal of a real person, and one of his grandsons was a Sherlock Holmes scholar. And, sure, it’s very interesting to think about him in his prime, collecting folk songs and writing hundreds of books, I just…really couldn’t find it in myself to care overly much. Maybe I’m too callous to appreciate his character, but the most interesting thing about him to me was never fully explained: Holmes’ inexplicable interest in him. Their connection is explained, but not why Holmes seems to basically love him. I kept waiting to receive a straight answer (he’s his what? But how?), but I suppose when it comes to the backstory of Sherlock Holmes, we are never going to get a straight answer. *sigh*
Another thing I didn’t really like was that Russell in this book essentially plays the part of Watson, more than she has in any other book. I mean, she certainly uses her intellect to quickly piece things together-and even rescues Holmes from a difficult situation-but for the most part she seemed superfluous; this case didn’t really need two geniuses. And again, the bonding moments between them were too few and far between for my tastes.
That said, there were lots of moments I liked, such as Holmes and Russell getting drunk together or traipsing along on the moor, Russell getting soaking wet and covered in mud while Holmes somehow remained pristine. And then having intellectual discussions by the fire while they warmed up (read: their version of snuggling).
There is also mention of Holmes’ mind palace! From page 276 in my version:
The far-off look on his face told of a search of that prodigious memory of his, as full of jumble as a lumber room. After a few minutes he suddenly came across the bit of lumber he had been seeking, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
Too bad this Holmes hasn’t heard of Elvis Presley yet. :)
For more, please see:
- Brief Review of Book One, The Beekeeper’s Apprentice
- Review of Book Two, A Monstrous Regiment of Women
- Review of Book Three, A Letter of Mary
- Review of Book Five, O Jerusalem
- Review of Book Six, Justice Hall
- Review of Book Seven, The Game
- Review of Radio Drama, a radio adaptation of The Beekeeper’s Apprentice