Justice Hall by Laurie R. King (A Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell mystery)

As much as possible, I try to offer fairly objective reviews for this blog.

True, a review is by definition subjective, but what I mean is that I make a conscious effort to focus on a book's writing and narrative style, how well the author folds research into the story (or how well-researched a novel is), setting, the development of characters over time, etc. The more “technical” aspects, I suppose.

It also means I try to keep knee-jerk opinions to a minimum and examine why I like or dislike something. I’m well aware that (especially when it comes to Doyle's Sherlock Holmes or Robert Louis Stevenson or a few other of my sacred cow authors) I can be a harsh, unforgiving, nitpicky, stick-in-the-mud puritanical pedant. 

Hard to believe, I know, but I do in fact try to reign that in.

That said, sometimes I’m just going to enjoy a book precisely because of certain settings, plot elements, time periods or other literary elements. Much to my surprise, Justice Hall is one of those of books.

As I’ve explained in another post, The Moor nearly made me give up this series altogether. O Jerusalem, however, played right into my lifelong love of MiddleEastern culture. [1] So to say King is becoming a bit of a hit-or-miss author for me is an understatement.

Enter Justice Hall, a book that combines two of my favorite Middle Eastern characters from the series with my all-time favorite mystery setting, a grand English manor. Upon first glance, it's not exactly a setting portmanteau I'd think would work, but King manages to make the two diametrically opposed worlds and the tension between them play together wonderfully. It’s a neat trick, and I can’t help but mentally tip my hat to author Laurie R. King for pulling it off.

The plot has all the elements needed to make it a fun, albeit a tad predictable, read for the mystery lover. Secret passages, a traditional English hunt, a huge, grand gala, a war-torn love story, family secrets. Like a traditional dish of comfort food untouched by the gluten free movement that uses real butter, King has crafted a shamelessly indulgent (and satisfying) piece of genre fiction.

There is a panoply of interesting, diverse characters, a well-plotted, complex mystery and several other artfully constructed settings besides Justice Hall as well. I found some of family genealogy aspects yawn-inducing but I know plenty of people simply love that kind of thing. And, in all fairness, it is the focal point upon which the plot turns.

Another compelling element of this installment is how King handles the time period. The struggle of an upper-class society attempting to find its footing in the turbulent wake of social changes brought by World War I is not a focal point of the book but is adequately explored through telling details such as the preparations for a huge party and the more casual dress and demeanor of houseguests. (I tried not to think this installment was not a mercenary attempt by King to capitalize on the Downton Abbey craze).

One aspect of this installment, one that I can’t help but wonder if it contributed to my deep enjoyment of this book, is that Sherlock himself is largely absent for a large part of it.

I have commented before on how unnecessary and pointless I find Mary and Sherlock’s marriage to be. In addition to being fairly far-fetched (and I say this as a woman whose husband is 10 years older than her), it is poorly handled and simply doesn’t do anything to further any of the stories or the characters.

Improbably in this installment, for example, Mary has to be reminded at one point that Sherlock, not being as young as he used to be, may take longer to recover from injuries. Again, as woman with an older husband (I am 34, my husband is 45), believe me – you can’t be in an intimate marital relationship and not pick up on something like that, let alone forget it. I don’t care how fit or healthy Sherlock is; a 20-year-old young man is simply not that easily confused with a man in his forties.

In addition, the relationship is extraordinarily cold and passionless anyway, which means when it does come up it gets in the way.

Russell and Holmes’ relationship feels like an intimate friendship between a girl and a mentor; why not just let it be that? I’m not looking for a romance novel and don’t need any bodice ripping, but for a young woman who is so willing to dive into life-threatening adventures the notion that she is essentially asexual is discordant.

We expect that from Holmes, of course, but for me Mary’s haughty, cold-fish nature only exacerbates the grating Mary Sue aspect of her character (speaking of the Mary Sue tendency, she has an absolutely eye-roll inducing part to play in an otherwise excellently done traditional English hunt).

At this point, I wish Mary would discover she’s a lesbian and fall passionately in love with a woman, or even another, younger man, or at least admit her marriage with Holmes is merely one of convenience so they can stay in the same hotel room or whatever when need be. It is the only thing that demotes these books from a fairly well-done pastiche to borderline adolescent wish fulfillment fan fiction. 

[1] My obsession and love of the Middle East began after reading a special edition of National Geographic from my grandfather. (Oh how I loved his bi-yearly deliveries of that heavy stack of glossy, wonder-filled pages!) 

Specifically, a special edition on the disappearing traditions of the Middle East. I think I was in third or fourth grade, possibly younger. There was one particular photo of a lone, robed Pashtun chief, robes billowing, walking away from the camera amidst gaping-mouthed modern tourists on a paved road that I will never forget. But it was the sidebars that got me – the folklore, the beautiful script I couldn’t read, the explosive colored mountains of spices, intriguing stories of women with "faces like the moon" and treasure that was likely to be coffee or spices as jewels...I was determined to travel the Middle East as a nomadic adventurer when I grew up. 

Obviously, that is a dream deferred for a litany of reasons, but with every report of ISIS destroying Syrian artifacts or other Middle Eastern treasures, my heart simply breaks. 

O Jerusalem by Laurie R. King (A Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes mystery)

Anyone familiar with the Sherlock Holmes canon, or even  Christopher Morley's wonderful introduction to it, knows one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's most delightful and infuriating tricks was to open an adventure story with a tantalizing hint about another adventure that, alas, never got written down.

Watson always had an acceptable excuse for this, of course. There simply wasn't enough time, or the details of the case were classified or the mystery involved persons so distinguished the tale simply could not be put to paper during Watson's lifetime due to national security interests. Or, the case notes were locked in a vault in the bank.

Of course, we Holmesians (or Sherlockians, since, irritatingly, no one seems to bother with the distinction anymore) loved Holmes and Watson all the more for it.

King has taken a different tack in the fifth installment of the Mary Russell Sherlock Holmes pastiche series, giving us an entire volume dedicated to an adventure only alluded to in The Beekeeper's Apprentice.

And it is a treat.

Much like in The Moor, Holmes and Russell spend much of the book wandering in early 20^th century Palestine drawn into a mystery that, naturally, brings us a glimpse of T.E. Lawrence, Gen. Edmund "Bull" Allenby and two spies-cum-Bedouin guides.

Both the guides are well developed characters, fascinating in and of themselves and keep the story going even during long, rather dry stretches of travel. King uses them as vehicles to explain Arabic and Bedoiun culture, but thankfully the pair never become caricatures of themselves, a tricky feat King pulls off exceedingly well.

Those who have studied Middle Eastern history or culture (I should admit here that I did, both before and during college, and of course afterwards to the extent I can) will appreciate King's discernment in what she chooses to highlight and use during the course of her novel.

The mystery itself was pretty good, though not great by mystery reader standards, laden with international intrigue and coated with a likely bitter resentment that stems from the fallout of World War I. There is a fun, but subtle, reference to Moriarty (though he has nothing to do with adventure, of course) that readers of the Canon will appreciate.

Perhaps because there are four characters, or perhaps because it pre-dates Russell and Holmes' marriage, or (quite possibly) because I have been fascinated with the Middle East long before current events threw it into our headlines daily, I found this to be an wonderful, immersive reading experience.

All of King's usual skill – character creation and development, historical research blended artfully into a fictitious story, sweeping settings and vivid landscapes – are present in this book.

I found Sherlock to be, as usual, as close to himself as can be expected in a pastiche and Russell's religious devotion and passion softens the edges of both their cold, analytic minds. 

The passage in which Russell describes seeing the Dome of the Rock for the first time from a hill above Jerusalem, as a Jewish woman, is beautiful and moving. But at no point is Russell proselytizing, either.

I have always found Russell's interest and academic devotion to theology, and her sincere comfort in religion, to be a wonderfully balancing counterpoint to Holmes' sometimes icy, but crystalline clear, vision of the world. It is one of the things that keeps me reading the series and in this book I found that attribute shone brilliantly.

Another of King's talents this installment illustrates more than others is her ability to keep the reader in the story using realistic detail in her character's stream of consciousness. For example, Russell has to get used to eating while in a kneeling position and, due to all the walking they do in desert, gets badly blistered feet. King never forgets these facts but doesn't dwell on them unduly, either. It helps gives a sense of time.

Though Mycroft is hinted at, the reader is disappointed. Sigh. Although Caleb Carr did an impressive job with Mycroft in The Italian Secretary, I would like to see how King handles him.

Perhaps the next installment.

The Moor by Laurie R. King (Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes)

The fourth installment of the Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes series proved to be a surprising disappointment, despite Holmes and Russell’s return to Dartmoor, scene of the very infamous crime that took place in front of  Baskerville Hall which was well-chronicled by, of course, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

We begin with Russell firmly ensconced at Oxford and working on her theological studies while Holmes is, ostensibly, away on a case. A telegram arrives from Holmes summoning her to the moor. She, of course, folds it and returns to her studies—only to be interrupted a few moments later by another telegram asking her to leave again.

Of course, she goes, and finds herself the guest of the Reverend Sabin Baring-Gould, a rector who lives in a rambling pseudo-Elizabethan monstrosity and fancies himself the squire of Dartmoor and its residents. He has asked Holmes to look into sightings of ghostly carriage, followed by a huge dog with a glowing eye, and the murder of a moor resident.

So, Russell and Holmes spend much of the book tramping around the unwelcoming, foggy, cold, wet and harsh moor, attempting to interview its residents about the victim and the sightings. Alternately, Russell reads some of the many volumes produced by the aging and infirm squire, who has a very close—but inexplicable to Russell—relationship with Holmes.

King does deliver in her writing—the reader truly feels as though they, too, are lost in the pea-soup fog or trudging in bracken and liable to step in a bog and sink at any moment. When respite is offered in the form of stops to local pubs or in front of the fire in Baring-Gould’s study, the comfort and relief is equally felt.

But the plot was not really all that complex nor the mystery all that difficult or interesting. The characters are mildly intriguing, but with the exception of the “witch of Mary Tavy,” I found them all very lacking compared to who King has given us in the previous books in the series. And when drawn parallel to young Henry Baskerville and Stapleton, they seem down right cardboard.

All this would be alright, but there simply isn’t enough character development (virtually none, really; Holmes and Russell’s marriage remains distant and still feels sterile, despite tasteful hints of conjugal relations) to drive the novel on that alone. Even the big reveal of why Holmes has such high regard for the reverend isn’t all that earth-shattering, and I thought Russell’s level of shock upon discovering it was out of character for her.

Admittedly, some of this may be the fact that I simply am not that interested in the real-life Rev. Baring-Gould, who (as in the novel) did care deeply about the moor, was a prolific writer and did, in fact, collect the songs and folklore of the area. King said she was drawn to center a novel around him because one of his grandson wrote the “definitive biography” of Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street: A Life of the World’s First Consulting Detective, by William S. Baring-Gould) using Baring-Gould’s life as a model for Sherlock’s. (In the interest of full disclosure, I have not read the biography; I'm content knowing about Dr. Bell and Doyle's internship under him). 

And Baring-Gould the elder’s life does seem like it was interesting: apparently his parents travelled widely, taking their son with them and essentially using the world for his education. But, for whatever reason, this premise simply wasn’t enough for me to be fully engaged in the book. Yes, Baring-Gould is well-written, and yes, the real-life man was clearly passionate about the moor, but I simply couldn’t connect. The excerpts from his books that head off each chapter began to grow tedious for me.

All in all, the novel wasn’t unreadable or terrible. And as fans of character mystery series know, each new installment is always a bit fraught, especially when the standard has been set as high as King has set hers. I certainly enjoyed what I learned about the moor and certain scenes of the book did linger. But for all of that, I just can’t help but think that perhaps King set her sights a bit too high in deciding to use The Hound of the Baskervilles for her first selection of the canon into which to weave her characters. 

The Beekeeper's Apprentice by Laurie R. King (Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes)

As a devout Sherlockian (I re-read the Canon every November), I am always highly skeptical of pastiches. So I was wonderfully flabberghasted when I found myself completely immersed in this book.

Laurie King's Holmes has aged seamlessly and Mary Russell, with her youth, independence, and American upbringing is a perfect counterpoint for him. The dialogue, particularly Holmes', never seemed stilted or forced (as it often is when contemporary authors choose to resurrect him), Watson remains true to the best parts of his character, and even Mycroft is handled well.

Every setting in the book, from Oxford to Palestine, is beautifully painted with broad strokes. The narrative style pulls the reader in in a way that reminded vaguely of Chaim Potak or Steinbeck.

I was hoping to enjoy this book, though I did not expect to-- I knew my own purist, pedantic heart might not allow it (details, misquotes, false portrayals of character...they niggle at my brain so when reading Holmes pastiches). Instead I found myself loving it and eagerly awaiting the next Holmes and Russell adventure.