That’s right. I am back bitches.
I had a wonderful time at Rebellion festival, even if I found Blackpool to be a very sad place. It’s a place of near constant growth and decay, like many seaside towns, and I found it rather disheartening – the grandeur of Victorian life next to the sordidness of hen and stag nights. Walking around the Winter Gardens, with its Victorian fixtures, made me think of a world that was meant to last forever; men in tophat and tails, women in Edwardian evening gowns, slowly twirling under chandeliers and gilt decorations, all believing that this was a lifestyle that would last forever.
Also adult rock shops.I had a great time, and wasn’t too ill – which means that my plans for Rome in September will go ahead without me being too terrified. I had such fun and met some truly great people. I did come back to the inauspicious news that Mother Smith has been put back on anti-depressants which… well, it makes me want to crawl up inside and die. I do not like it because it signals worrying things to happen.
And to our feature presentation, the continuation of reading one of the worst books I’ve ever read.
We have a Case
The ambushes laid by a hastening twilight… the cold menace of winter.
Oh, pretentious quotes, how I have missed you.
Mary talks about how Oxford’s terms are divvied up, to prove that some research was done for this book, and says that it’s now Michaelmas 1918.
I can hardly call the adventure that began at the end of that term a ‘case,’ for the only clients were ourselves, the only possible payment our lives.
Shame that the chapter says that it’s a case then. At Christmas, Mary returns to her lodgings and the porter, Mr Thomas, tells her about her post normally from Mrs Hudson or from Dr Watson, who is incredibly kind despite her awful attitude to him) and tells her that a strange elderly woman was asking for her. She left a note, which was just an advertisement for windows in a messy envelope. Mr Thomas tells her the woman was really very ugly.
Who was this who wanted to know where my room was, and more important, why?
Who in the Sherlock Holmes books dresses in costumes? And who invariably would it be in a bad fanfiction? I’m betting Sherlock Holmes, and if so, I will reward myself with a humbug.
Mary goes up to her rooms and sees that there are black smudges on the door and scratches on the keyhole. Intruder alert! Protect Will Robinson! She thinks about all the enemies that Holmes has, and decides that instead of fetching the porter, or getting some security to check out the room for her, she climbs up the ivy outside her room. In the middle of winter. Wow. Clever. She avoids breaking her neck and climbs through the luckily open window, much to the surprise of the old woman waiting inside.
‘Damn you, Holmes, what the hell are you doing here? And for God’s sake help me in this window before you have to scrape me up off the pavement.’
He casually warns her that the box on her desk is a bomb. Happy Christmas Mary! …. bollocks. This means she might have exploded into a thousand fiery fragments and meant the end of the book.
I was really most annoyed at the whole charade, and the melodramatic touch of the bomb was tiresome.
ahahahahahahahahaha Mary, you have read my mind.
She then starts talking about Moriarty, because she does maths (SHE IS SMART) and Moriarty was a mathematician (HE WAS A BIG VILLAIN only designed for the purposes of killing Holmes off). She also gained an insight into his mind.
‘”The subtlest of all the beasts in the garden” comes to mind. His cold-blooded, ruthless use of logic and language struck me as somehow reptilian, although that may be unkind to snakes. I believe that had I not known the identity of the writer, the words alone would have succeeded in raising my hackles.’
Again, Mary is a mistress of pop-psychology. This is written by someone who already knows the character of Moriarty, because I fail to see how she got to this conclusion.
Moriaty was an expert on binomial theorems. This is a binomial theorem:
I don’t know how you can get a taste for a person’s psyche from looking at these. So: bullshit. I’m guessing it also means that the plot will inevitably have something to do with Moriarty, and looking at the ‘feminist’ slant King is trying to pull, I’m guessing female!Moriaty or even daughter of Moriarty. Some kind of lazy, unbelievable bullshit.
The bomb was attached to the door. Some enemy has tried to kill Mary and tried to kill Holmes, who has been injured. The bomber believes he’s dead, because some tramp was run over and is being watched by police guard in the hospital. That’s a really stupid bomber, if he can’t tell the difference between injuries from a bombing and being run over. Holmes speculates that he knows four bombers who might have done it, and one is dead (meaning three suspects then). He is going to run away with Mary to London to go see Mycroft.
‘Assuming my attempted murderer still believes me to be in hospital, he would not connect you with Mycroft, as the two of you have never so much as met.’
Oh, yeah, sure. The assistant of Sherlock Holmes goes up to London, where you know that Sherlock Holmes’s brother is. I mean, you wouldn’t associate someone so closely associated with Sherlock Holmes you tried to kill her with his own brother, would you? That’s just nutty.
After this particular moment of idiocy, Mary tends tenderly to Holmes’s back and they talk of Irene Adler, because it wouldn’t be a shitty Sherlock Holmes fan novel without at least one mention of her. He talks about her long hair. I cringe so badly it is felt across time.
I had the oddest impression that there was a drop of rain on his cheek.
HE IS CRYING YOU FUCKWIT. HE IS CRYING OVER YOU, A INKSTAIN ON THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.
i am not looking forward to this faux-Moriaty stuff.