A Kind of Dream Work

In my fever of literary detection, in the moment of inspiration, I have become the complete opposite of that woeful man on Margate Sands.

Here and now, this instant and in this room, the clues are mounting up. Signs move over one another and things that are usually distant are starting to overlap. Texts are linking to texts.

And isn’t this something like dreaming, or maybe even hysteria? Freud said something about this somewhere, about the connectedness of things in the dream work. I must remain alive to the possibility that my work as the world’s only consulting literary detective is really a kind of dream work.

There’s another clue… I must record it. More to follow.

The Fog of My Stupor

For the literary detective, the most complex problem is what to do in those long hours and days between cases.

Holmes, that supposedly great thinker, turns to the needle and the bow. In so doing he transforms himself from a man of decisive action into a man of utter inaction. He is to be seen slumped on the sofa, unconscious to the world or, alternatively, to be heard sawing away on his violin.

When that Herculean detective, M. Hercule Poirot, retires he moves to a small house in King’s Abbot, complete with its flower beds and vegetable plot. The marrows, we know, cause him such distress that they are sent over the fence into the garden of that most dangerous of neighbours, Dr Sheppard.

As for myself, the literary critical detective, I have spent my time between cases looking back at myself, reflecting on my own life and ambitions. I have reconsidered the thought processes in which I once set so much store. In so doing I have never been too far away from the literary. I have, on certain evenings, played the role of my own chronicler. I have become my own Hastings, my own Watson, and have sought to turn my own life into a fiction. Pen and paper in hand, I have scribbled myself into a different existence, a dreamy half-life of words and memories. These short exercises in distraction have, to my great delight, found favour amongst my associates. Both Thistleton and Bowler have been kind enough to say a few words of encouragement.

But now my mental energies are returning once again. The fog of my stupor is lifting. There is a new case, one that requires me to be at my sharpest. It is also one for which my literary-autobiographical efforts will have been a kind of apprenticeship. For if I am now to discover the solution to the mystery, or at least a solution to the mystery, I will have to turn to fiction. I will have to adopt a new form of discourse, one that is at once critical and poetic.

And so I shall draw the curtains, light the candles on my desk and shut the door. I shall sharpen my pencil, pick up my notebook and turn to the first blank page. And I shall begin the work.

The Literary Critical Detective receives a missive

I received a letter addressed simply to ‘The Literary Critical detective’ c/o Françoise. I came downstairs from my study to find it half wedged through the letterbox of my front door. Françoise herself was out, and although I could have simply opened it there and then my sense of correctness meant that I waited until her return.

The address had been typed out onto a separate sheet of paper and then stuck on to the envelope. As such it allowed me no clue as to the identity of my mysterious correspondent. Interestingly, it was also incorrect, or rather incomplete, which suggested that whilst the writer had taken pains to obscure their identity, they were nevertheless still a little careless in their work

When, some hours later, Françoise finally returned I pressed her to open the letter. Immediately sensing my urgency she took great delight in fussing over her things. ‘It won’t do for me to simply drop my bags when I walk in through the door. How am I supposed to  get my work done when I’m expected to just stop like this? Am I not even allowed to take my coat and shoes off, after I’ve been out all day fetching things for you? And let me put my shopping away first. Tut.’ This last was just to annoy me, it being a game she played to frustrate me when I was at my most fervent, and to impose her own will on any situation. ‘Let me have a look then.’

She opened the envelope, pulled out the one sheet of paper and cast her eye over it a little suspiciously; then when the suspicion had worn off, with a look of concentrated confusion; and then, finally, with a yawn of boredom. She tossed it away, so that I had to retrieve it from the far side of the desk at which she had placed herself. ‘It is from Thistleton,’ she said, her tone letting me know precisely what she thought of that.

Indeed it was from Thistleton, that great scholar, a fact that will account for the inattention to the address – he was in a sense, only sending something out for it to come back. I have not seen this man for some time past, despite his protestations that we should be great associates. So this letter came as something of a surprise. In it, he apologises for not writing sooner, accounting for his silence by the need to find some suitable response to my previous works.

He proceeds to warn me in his own particular way, quoting those lines from the Aeneid: ‘The descent to Avernos is easy … but to retrace your steps and escape back to the upper air, this is the task, this is the difficulty’. Thistleton reminds me to be mindful of this in my work as the world’s only consulting Literary Critical Detective, and mentions to me the figure of Daedalus.

I am, indeed, beset by difficulties, and by tasks that lie at hand. However, I will be always mindful of these words.

Work In The Field

I am out working in the field again. This is something at which I have always excelled. In a former life I even won an award for it. Of course, my field now is very different. Where, once, I stood on a rainy hillside on the Isle of Arran, auger in hand, I am now working in studies and libraries, unearthing new kinds of sense and non-sense in literature, remarking upon textual auguries of great significance.

I am now better equipped to work in this rough critical terrain. I have my leather bag. I have also now received my new study books. The first of these is a small green pocketbook, to be used for making brief notes and recording ideas as they come to me. For the literary critical detective as much as the fictional detective, there are great flashes of insight, moments when things fall together, when the little grey cells set to work. I will now be sure of saving those moments, confident in the preservation of my vision.

My second book is a larger decorated volume that I intend to use as my case book. Here, bound together in one space, I will be able to make my notes; I will be able to plot the connections and connect the plots; I will be able to order and disorder my thinking. Such a superbly crafted item is a treasure, and one that shall not leave my desk.

Finally, I have received my splendid new business cards. When I call on an associate only to find him or her not in I will now be able to leave one of these at the door. I will also include them in those missives that I send out to my colleagues.

The Literary Critical Detective receives a package

I sat in my study and looked about me. My books, ever present, covered the walls. In front of me my desk was crowded with notes, half-recorded thoughts and musings. An empty cup lay abandoned on the side.

It occurred to me in that moment that if I was to be successful as the world’s first and only consulting literary critical detective then I would need some new equipment. I duly set about ordering this. I am pleased to announce that my first parcel arrived this morning.

It was wrapped carefully in brown paper and had been stamped with the name of the store it had come from on the reverse. Inside was a beautifully hand-crafted leather bag, designed and made by Mr W Blaikie of Bespoke Leather in Somerset. I had seen this bag in his shop window and guessed that it would perfectly suit my purpose. Seeing it again this morning, in my room, I did not doubt that it would serve me well through the coming years. I cannot recommend the work of this master craftsman highly enough.

My new neighbours have already begun to comment on this new possession. Mr Davenport was suitably impressed, although I suspect that he was thinking more of the image of professionalism and income that it conveyed than any practical benefit it might have for my work. Mr Thistleton, a more Romantic soul, remarked that it improved my silhouette and that it threatened to transform me into a character from a fin-de-siècle short story. I took this as a compliment.

The world’s first and only consulting literary critical detective

My meeting with that great philosopher and theologian Mr Benjamin Thistleton has forced me to re-evaluate my entire project. I have explained the reasons behind this in my account of our developing friendship and  association: ‘The Literary Critical Detective Meets an Associate’. I would direct you to that text for a full explanation.

However, allow me to publicly announce my important decision here. I am, as you will know, the first literary critical detective. I would now like to declare myself the world’s first and only consulting literary critical detective. I am now taking on cases brought to me by others.

So, if you know of a particular classic literary detective case that you would like me to examine then please contact me. I will start a discussion thread on the Facebook group page ‘The Literary Critical Detective’. Please leave your requests there. Alternatively, post a comment on this journal or write to me at my postal address: theliterarydetective@hotmail.co.uk.

I cannot promise to take on your case. As Holmes disregarded seemingly important cases for those that merely interested him, so too I will only re-investigate and criticise those literary cases that I think might produce imaginative results. I cannot prescribe my approach or my findings; nor can I make any grand claims that I will ‘solve’ anything. I will certainly not set out to answer any specific questions. Whilst my readings will certainly be wrong-headed they will also be inspired. If I do take on your case you can trust to the fact that I will commit all my energies to it; I will not rest until it is done. You can also rely upon my depth of reading. Should I need any help my growing network of associates will be able to supply me with texts and knowledge.

Some important points to bear in mind. I will only take on ‘classic’ literary detective cases. This means Doyle, Christie, Marsh and, at a stretch, Chandler, but nothing past this. If you have any questions, please contact me through the usual channels. Also, the findings of my research, my written accounts and all related original documentation will remain my property.

If you decide to visit me in person with your case, please inform Françoise of the reason for your visit and hand her your card. Should I be playing the piano when you call I will not admit you.

Until then I remain

Your loyal author,

Dr James Holden

(Consulting Literary Critical Detective)

The Literary Critical Detective Meets an Associate.

I have finally moved from my cluttered house into a new suite of rooms in town. The move was, I admit, something of a strain on my nerves, taking as it did the best part of a weekend. However, now that I am firmly established in my new study I cannot understand why I did not brave the change earlier. The fresh surroundings have enlivened my brain. Perhaps more importantly, they have brought me into contact with new people – including the gossiping spinster Mrs Sharp, the American businessman Mr Davenport and Mr Cohen, all of whom share the Hôtel with Françoise and myself.

Amongst the great fog of new neighbours I have had the great fortune to happen across a fellow writer and thinker, a man who, to my great surprise and delight, was familiar with my work as a literary critical detective from these pages. I am speaking of the great theologian and philosopher Mr Benjamin Thistleton. We have shared a meal together and have found that, despite my initial misgivings, we have much in common. He has asked that I consider him an ‘associate’ and that, should I require an help in my work, I come to him for advice. I am immensely flattered.

I have taken the time to write a full account of my move, a description of the characters that I am now surrounded by and my chance meeting with Mr Thistleton. If you would like to read this account I am happy to make it available to you. Please send an email to my special postal address: theliterarydetective@hotmail.co.uk. Alternatively, leave a message on the wall of the Facebook group ‘The Literary Critical Detective’.

My meeting with Mr Thistleton has occasioned a great change in my approach to my work. This change is described at length in the written account referred to above. I will also take the liberty of describing it here in subsequent posts. It is of the utmost importance that you are aware of this so please keep checking for more information.