
'A Study in Scarlet' is the first book in the iconic Sherlock Holmes series by Arthur Conan Doyle. The novel introduces the readers to the legendary detective Sherlock Holmes and his loyal companion Dr. Watson as they embark on their first adventure together. The plot revolves around a murder investigation that leads Holmes and Watson through a complex and intriguing mystery, with unexpected twists and turns. The writing style of the book is described as engaging, with a mix of classic detective storytelling and elements of Western fiction, making it a unique and captivating read.
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Sensitive Topics/Content Warnings
Content warnings include graphic violence and a negative portrayal of Mormon culture.
From The Publisher:
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's first novel-and the origin story of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson-is reimagined in the first unabridged, fully illustrated version since its debut, by acclaimed and bestselling illustrator Gris Grimly.
The year is 1881. The city, London. A man lies dead in an empty house, not a mark upon him, and no clues-save for the word "RACHE" scrawled in blood on the wall above. Elsewhere, two men-a former army doctor called John Watson and a brilliant eccentric called Sherlock Holmes-meet for the first time. These two events set in motion an adventure into the darkest corners of men's hearts as the cold, calculating investigative methods of Mr. Holmes are put to the test in a case that spans decades and continents, rife with danger and intrigue.
Originally published in 1887, A Study in Scarlet was the first novel to feature a character whose name would become synonymous with the art of deduction. Today it is completely reimagined with artwork by the modern master of gothic romanticism, Gris Grimly, bringing this thrilling tale of love and revenge to a new generation of readers.
Ratings (235)
Incredible (37) | |
Loved It (94) | |
Liked It (66) | |
It Was OK (34) | |
Did Not Like (4) |
Reader Stats (382):
Read It (237) | |
Want To Read (79) | |
Did Not Finish (3) | |
Not Interested (63) |
9 comment(s)
Classic Holmes, but Holmes mainly of academic interest to me.
An adequate intro into the cases of Sherlock Holmes and his "sidekick" Dr. Watson.
I might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn’t we use a little art jargon. There’s the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it.
Look,
A Study in Scarlet was fine. It was fine! The crime itself was clever; the jaunt over to Utah and the Mormans was unexpected and entertaining; watching the friendship of Sherlock and Watson develop was great; there were some really lovely passages of prose. But as much as I loved the Nancy Drew books growing up, I’m beginning to think that mysteries are not really my cup of tea as an adult. I liked this novella just fine when I was reading it, but had very little motivation to pick it back up. I also have very little to say about it.
I was not at all expecting that a significant portion of this mystery famously set in Victorian London would recount a tragic love affair in a small pioneer settlement in Utah, with the Mormons—and Brigham Young himself, no less—as the villains of the tale. It’s a truly horrifying and heartbreaking story, and wow Doyle really didn’t like the Mormons. (Cursory research suggests that his depiction is highly sensationalized and fictionalized, though early Mormons did commit atrocities.) I also really loved reading descriptions of the American West rendered in gorgeous Victorian prose—American novelists just don’t write the same way. This section was definitely the highlight of the novella.
Maybe I’ll continue on with the Sherlock Holmes series, but I’m certainly not in any rush.
Some favorite passages:
His very person and appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.
My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it. […] “What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted impatiently; “you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”
In the central portion of the great North American Continent there lies an arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long year served as a barrier against the advance of civilisation. From the Sierra Nevada to Nebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in the north to the Colorado upon the south, is a region of desolation and silence. Nor is Nature always in one mood throughout this grim district. It comprises snow-capped and lofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys. There are swift-flowing rivers which dash through jagged canyons; and there are enormous plains, which in winter are white with snow, and in summer are grey with the saline alkali dust. They all preserve, however, the common characteristics of barrenness, inhospitality, and misery.
There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band of Pawnees or of Blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other hunting-grounds, but the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of those awesome plains, and to find themselves once more upon their prairies. The coyote skulks among the scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily through the air, and the clumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the dark ravines, and picks up such sustenance as it can amongst the rocks. These are the sole dwellers in the wilderness.
In the whole world there can be no more dreary view than that from the northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As far as the eye can reach stretches the great flat plain-land, all dusted over with patches of alkali, and intersected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. On the extreme verge of the horizon lie a long chain of mountain peaks, with their rugged summits flecked with snow. In this great stretch of country there is no sign of life, nor of anything appertaining to life. There is no bird in the steel-blue heaven, no movement upon the dull, grey earth—above all, there is absolute silence. Listen as one may, there is no shadow of a sound in all that mighty wilderness; nothing but silence—complete and heart-subduing silence.
It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon the broad plain. That is hardly true. Looking down from the Sierra Blanco, one sees a pathway traced out across the desert, which winds away and is lost in the extreme distance. It is rutted with wheels and trodden down by the feet of many adventurers. Here and there there are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun, and stand out against the dull deposit of alkali. Approach, and examine them! They are bones: some large and coarse, others smaller and more delicate. The former have belonged to oxen, and the latter to men. For fifteen hundred miles one may trace this ghastly caravan route by these scattered remains of those who had fallen by the wayside.
Looking down on this very scene, there stood upon the fourth of May, eighteen hundred and forty-seven, a solitary traveller.
“If we take you with us,” he said, in solemn words, “it can only be as believers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in our fold. Better far that your bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you should prove to be that little speck of decay which in time corrupts the whole fruit. Will you come with us on these terms?”
It was a warm June morning, and the Latter Day Saints were as busy as the bees whose hive they have chosen for their emblem.
Strange rumours began to be bandied about—rumours of murdered immigrants and rifled camps in regions where Indians had never been seen. Fresh women appeared in the harems of the Elders—women who pined and wept, and bore upon their faces the traces of an unextinguishable horror.
“It is of that daughter that I would speak to you,” said the leader of the Mormons. “She has grown to be the flower of Utah, and has found favour in the eyes of many who are high in the land.” John Ferrier groaned internally.
Thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found that his unseen enemies had kept their register, and had marked up in some conspicuous position how many days were still left to him out of the month of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls, sometimes upon the floors, occasionally they were on small placards stuck upon the garden gate or the railings.
There is no satisfaction in vengeance unless the offender has time to realize who it is that strikes him, and why retribution has come upon him.
I had always known that vengeance would be sweet, but I had never hoped for the contentment of soul which now possessed me.
“ ‘But it was you who broke her innocent heart,’ I shrieked, thrusting the box before him. ‘Let the high God judge between us. Choose and eat. There is death in one and life in the other. I shall take what you leave. Let us see if there is justice upon the earth, or if we are ruled by chance.’
“What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence,” returned my companion, bitterly. “The question is, what can you make people believe that you have done.
I was not expecting half the story to be about the Mormons?
This is a fairly short mystery, about 140 pages or so - split into two parts. The first part details how Sherlock and John first meet and how Sherlock investigates the crime and comes to the conclusion of the guilty party. The second part, follows the criminal and victims before wrapping up with the murderer's confession. Although the main bulk of the novel follows Holmes and Watson, we do meet Gregson and Lestrade - but more or less they operate as secondary minor characters.
For a character that has been as fleshed out and adapted as many times as Sherlock Holmes has - he's surprisingly flat. There isn't a whole lot of character development but then it is pretty short. The book mainly focuses on the mystery itself and the conclusions Sherlock draws. There is an easy camaraderie between Watson and Holmes. And Holmes isn't (or at least isn't in this novel) as high strung as he is later portrayed. He's also not as conceited, high handed or unaffected by people. He is surprisingly bitter about the lack of attention and acclaim he is given as a consulting detective. If anything Watson is more malicious than he ever appears in any other version I've seen (he really wants to get one over Sherlock at one point) and more curious about Holmes and his methods. And there was an appearance by the Baker Street Irregulars which I found enjoyable - I've just finished rereading the Baker Street Boys series by Anthony Read. Although they didn't seem to be called that and I'm not sure if that name even comes from the original material.
It was interesting reading the original material. I found the mystery to be fast paced and fascinating. I liked how Sherlock worked to solve it. Overall an enjoyable read.
It was nice, kinda sad, but not overly mysterious.
I've read this series as a child and I'm re-reading it now after so many years. Unfortunately, in my memories it was a better book. I mean, the story is great! Completely unbelievable and unreal but great. However, Sherlock Holmes is much more annoying than I remember. When I was a child such peculiar and cocky creatures probably didn't bother me but now he is a bit too much for my taste.
Anyway, it was a pleasure to read it again (especially after watching the TV shows based on the series in the meantime) and I will keep reading the other books in this series.
It is an excellently written book with a plot filled with surprises and suspense and tension. The reader takes us on an epic journey.
Always a page Turner and suspenseful book. Danger, deduction and solving of any murder or criminal actions. Written well with excellent writing and marketing of book. And of course good publishing.
About the Author:
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930) was born in Edinburgh where he qualified as a doctor, but it was his writing which brought him fame, with the creation of Sherlock Holmes, the first scientific detective. He was also a convert to…
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