Deepening Sherlock Holmes: New from Laurie R. King, THE LANTERN'S DANCE

When seeking entertainment, it's not entirely fair, I know, to have to consider a literary definition first -- but if you haven't yet fallen for the Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes series by Laurie R. King, which marks 30 years in 2024, you'll benefit from the definition of pastiche: "A pastiche is a work of visual art, literature, theatre, music, or architecture that imitates the style or character of the work of one or more other artists. Unlike parody, pastiche pays homage to the work it imitates, rather than mocking it."

There are many books that wear the pastiche label with pride. Perhaps the largest group of them is made up of books that take Sherlock Holmes into new cases (and there are some now that work from the original minor character of his landlady, too, which I find fascinating). A Holmes aficionado may decline to read such books — they're not written by the long-dead A. Conan Doyle, and even the best of them can't entirely match Doyle's style and tongue.

But New York City's The Mysterious Bookshop, which described itself as the oldest mystery bookshop in the world, devotes almost as much shelf space to Holmes pastiche and parodies as it gives to the original works. I share this photo from the shop's Facebook feed (thank you, Otto Penzler and team) to make the point:

Relevant bookshelves at The Mysterious Bookshop.

So I'm far from alone in treasuring Laurie R. King's lively series. This year King brings us THE LANTERN'S DANCE, and expands the art of pastiche into new Holmesian terrain: the childhood of the great sleuth, and its harsh conflicts and puzzles.

For the most part, King's series has reflected mostly the point of view of Mary Russell, who meets Holmes when she's in her teens and he is old enough to retire—but, as Holmes readers know, such idleness (even leavened by his hobby of beekeeping) won't suit the sleuth, and in fact would plunge him into the dangerous waters of drug use, his shelter when he's bored.

So in King's hands, Holmes and Russell find each other's deepest needs met by first a mentoring relationship, then friendship, and finally marriage. The most recent books of the series have revealed the surprise that Holmes has a son, Damian Adler. Holmes hadn't realized that his "one woman" from the original work, Irene Adler, became pregnant in their affaire. The simple reason is, Irene didn't allow him to know! In adulthood, Damian needed Holmes's assistance and broke through the secrecy that had separated them ... but didn't, of course, reveal all.

As THE LANTERN'S DANCE opens, Holmes and a slightly handicapped Russell (sprained ankle) arrive at Damian's home in France, where they expect to spend time with him, his daughter, and the petite and intelligent Scottish doctor he's soon to marry. Alas, the housekeeper and her husband inform the arriving couple that the Adler "family" has decamped. The reason is quickly clear: Someone broke into their home while they were asleep, and the level of threat shocked them. 

Challenges multiply: Holmes, of course, must protect his newly established family from the threat -- but is this a threat due to something in Damian's past, or an enemy of Holmes himself, or an effort to pressure his brother Mycroft? As he races off to apply his considerable skills of disguise and investigation, Russell is left behind at the Adler home and discovers a coded manuscript that calls on all of her linguistic and scholarly background to determine what it says and, most importantly, what it means, for Holmes, Damian, and herself.

As a pastiche, the book is cleverly done and probes the birth family of the mythical sleuth; language and customs are well matched to the historical period, and King has reached a superb level of narrative. The familial mysteries that unfold (including in India!) fit well with the original Holmes, and are intriguing and quirky. As a novel, its biggest challenge is the author's decision to use three narrators: Russell, Holmes, and the woman who penned the discovered manuscript. Although they are clearly delineated, this device keeps the action mostly at the surface because there just isn't enough time within the "speech" any of the three voices to dip into the emotional quandaries that King has explored in some earlier books.

Nonetheless, for any reader of the series, this is a must-have addition. Those just starting an acquaintance with Mary Russell should probably go back a few titles—maybe not all the way to The Beekeeper's Apprentice, but at least to the closely knit titles The Language of Bees and The God of the Hive, to make best sense of the importance of the events in this new volume.

My personal favorites of the series are The Moor, O Jerusalem, and Justice Hall, and I recommend those to anyone dabbling in King's river of pastiche and her insight into how a young woman might best partner such a difficult yet rewarding spouse as the great Sherlock Holmes. Each of these also brings me much pleasure and education as I continue to work at the writer's craft myself.

THE LANTERN'S DANCE has a February 13, 2024, release date. Don't judge it by the simple cover, or by the cryptic title. There's a very enjoyable read, within.

"Ekphrastic Challenge" and the Moon Shot

Dave and I went to Littleton in January 2016 to hear Chris Christie in person—Dave's way of listening and inquiring.

The literary journal Rattle offers a monthly "ekphrastic" challenge, where poets write from what the presented artwork suggests. The challenge was on my to-do list today. I shocked myself by writing a political campaign poem, nothing I'd ever considered doing.

But the roots of this action were clear: Earlier today, to provide support for a very ill teen, I looked up some of the memorable quotes from John F. Kennedy, whose years as US President marked my life. Well, I was young and naive! It hurt, years later, to learn some of his flaws, see the shadowy nature of his "feet of clay." 

Yet many of his words (yes, co-written by Ted Sorenson) still inspire me:

So here's a relevant (and now "vintage") postcard image, showing how JFK's moon program continued, after his assassination:

A Little Kanell History: From Russia, With Love

I spent a while working on my husband Dave's side of the family tree today. It's almost five years now since Dave's death, and I'm rusty on details, so it took half an hour of document diving to confirm what I thought I remembered: that Dave's grandfather Joe Kanell had been a grocer in New Haven, Connecticut, in the 1930s. I didn't want to accidentally pass along a mistaken detail ... and I had a poem in mind.

This photo of Joe Kanell, at age 47, shows him on board a ship in 1935, circling the globe, going to see his relatives in Vilna, also called Vilnius. The city was part of Lithuania, which at the time was governed by Russia -- when Joe immigrated to the United States in 1905 he declared himself "Russian," and later Census documents show that both Joe and his wife Yetta considered themselves to have been Russian before they became American. They described their parents as Russian, too.

In addition to being Russian, they were Jews, and knew the risk of pogroms, organized massacres that targeted people who identified with this religion. Yet in 1935, when Joe came from America to visit the rest of the family, they must have felt "safe enough," because none of them kept Joe company on his return to New Haven. The photo here shows Joe on his way to Vilna, Dave wrote.

In 1941, German forces occupied Vilna and liquidated -- that is, murdered -- its Jewish population. Imagine murdering a quarter of a city ... despite fierce resistance from the Jews of Vilna, that's what took place. (Read more here.)

When I met Dave in 2001, his grandfather was long gone -- died in 1969 -- and in Dave's mind, just a few Kanells were slaughtered in Vilna during the Second World War. A few years after we married, one of his cousins from outside New Haven, someone he hadn't known well, showed him a photo taken in Vilna of grandfather Joe and the Kanell family there: more than 30 people. Dave's concept of what had happened needed to be completely shifted, and I'm not sure he ever stopped reeling at the new knowledge of how many of his family had been killed.

So here is a poem for Joe and his family. I hope I have most of the pertinent details right. And I hope this wondering is of use to others along the way.

 

Unasked Questions

 

He leans on the ship railing, white collar buttoned,

tie and a cardigan, gives a wide smile—

no clue now to who took the picture, and Joe,

forty-seven then, gone such a while.

 

Nine decades later, wondering who

watched his grocery— wife Yetta, still well?

What did it cost to sail around the world?

The ship fare, the store losses—no way to tell.

 

But this is the story passed down for years:

His family lived in a Russian city

and he tried to persuade them to leave, to come

to America’s freedoms—alas, what a pity

 

that nobody wanted to follow him back.

For decades we thought there were two or three lost

then saw an old photo of Joe and the crowd

who vanished soon after, and found out the cost:

 

Two dozen or more of the Russian Kanells

were gone in a decade of war and disaster.

How did he bear it? How did he go on?

Yet we know he delighted in grandchildren after—

 

tossing a baseball, applauding their skills,

launching them upward, helping them grow.

We who are wondering how we’ll survive

try to live with our losses, like grandfather Joe.

[What Dave wrote when he posted the photo on his Facebook feed:

This post is in honor of my Grandfather Joseph Kanell (July 4, 1888 to Oct 18, 1969) who chose his birthday to be on July 4th because the United States was a land of opportunity & freedoms. From Vilna, Lithuania to New York City & then New Haven, Ct area. Have a great 4th today. I should also note that my grandmother Kanell also chose the 4th of July for her birthday. My grandparents always had the American Flag flying at every holiday.
This is a photograph of my grandfather aboard a ship on the way to visit his relatives in Vilna, Lithuania in 1935. This was the last time that he had any contact with his family from the Vilna area and in all probability they all perished in the Holocaust.]

What Could Happen Next? Are You Ready?

Dave, being a good sport at our niece decorates him at my birthday lunch.

"Hope for the best and prepare for the worst." The phrase dates back to the eighteenth century, according to one online source. It could easily be a New England expression, from the folks who brought you the following interaction: "Lived here all your life?" "Not yet!"

Another version of the saying comes from author Maya Angelou: "Hoping for the best, prepared for the worst, and unsurprised by anything in between." 

My mother Joan would have turned that around completely: Although life came with challenges (you try raising five kids, on a budget, and cutting your own hair), she prepared for good things to happen. That is, she prepared those good things ... trips in the old VW bus that rambled back roads and arrived at a store that sold thousands upon thousands of buttons, for instance; a cooler full of sandwich fixings and apples; exploring a Revolutionary War battlefield on the day of the week when the historic house was closed, so the only people running around the green fields and clambering onto the massive cannons were, you guessed it, her five kids.

Vermont winters can lure a person into constant preparation for the worst, of course. Your vehicle should include jumper cables, flashlight with good batteries, jack and its handle, wrenches, screwdriver, shovel, and optionally (for getting out of snowbanks or off ice) a bag of sand or unused kitty litter, a scrap of old carpeting, even a purpose-made length of metal grating to tuck under a tire. Keep adding to that, and you can lose a full seating location. Or if the gear is on the floor, everyone will learn to watch their feet.

Another situation that bends the arc of preparation toward risk and danger is a family member with a long-term illness. I used to have a basic first-aid kit in the glovebox and would note those friends who needed to add an "epi-pen" (for severe allergies) or asthma inhaler to their preparations. Traveling with kids means any prep involving bottles of beverages or packets of food will need endless replacement, though.

What I'm thinking of today, inside at the desk, a foot of fresh snow outdoors, a small patch of blue sky poking through to signal noon, is that almost none of the "prepare for the worst" strategies I implemented for life with a terminally ill husband turned out important. Some weren't even useful. Dave couldn't face writing a will, so I wrote my own as an example that he resolutely ignored, and then it turned out that by "letting him do things his own way," I ended up financially crippled. Unpredictable, really. Nor did my efforts to stay on top of CPR pay off; I was almost sure he'd die of his enormous, caring, and blood-starved heart quietly failing in his sleep. I was wrong on that one. The long list of emergency phone numbers also went unused, because his final days involved only one number, that for the hospice nursing coordinator, who calmly sent trained personnel as needed.

On the other hand, preparing for the best really paid off. We visited San Francisco three years in a row, buying books that thrilled us. I bought and planted trees with all my birthday money, and even though I had to sell the house after Dave's death, those trees are thriving and I rejoice when I drive past the "old place." Dave invested in creative designs (his own!) of birthday and Valentine's Day cards for me, and each one of them delights me. I keep them in a handy place, for joy.

"Know trouble will come, but prepare for happiness." I think that's closer to what I'm finding useful now. "Widow world," as I call it, has a share of loss and endlessly missing someone -- but it also confirms such delights, each time I find Dave's handwriting on a sticky-tag in some research, or consult his address book to connect with old friends.

Hold onto the love. Make room for smiles and full tummies and the colors of the sky, the trees, the birds ... and the bright cards in the drawer.