Benedict in the recent BBC Timeshift documentary explaining how Jeremy Brett’s version of Holmes could go from a hawk to an owl to a hawk again. Or something. To be honest I was a bit distracted by giggling at his face.
“Mrs Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering
woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by throngs
of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable lodger
showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must have
sorely tried her patience. His incredible untidiness, his addiction to
music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors,
his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments, and the
atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the
very worst tenant in London. On the other hand, his payments were
princely. I have no doubt that the house might have been purchased at
the price which Holmes paid for his rooms during the years that I was
The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared to
interfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might seem. She
was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy in
his dealings with women.”
Arthur Conan Doyle - The Adventure of the Dying Detective
We don’t need any more fables, because the writers have passed and left us lesson-less, and we must find our own way. We don’t need any more privilege, there is vivid desperation that is powerless, that no surplus can repay.
Like the fix of rapture in a trance. Oh, fates are sealed by circumstance. So you’ve got to take a chance..