I’ll be uploading rankings of Sherlock Holmes stories from my new book, Wherever Fact May Lead Me: A Ranking of the Sherlock Holmes Stories, every day till we reach the best story. After that, I’ll share my ranking of the best villains in the Holmes canon. You can find the rankings on my website, and you can buy a copy of the book on Amazon.
Ranking the Sherlock Holmes Stories
9. The Red-Headed League (August 1891, Adventures)
One of two stories, along with Blue Carbuncle, that begins with the words, “I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes”, The Red-Headed League is one of those stories in the Holmes canon whose strength lies in its lack of weaknesses. Superbly written, pleasant to read, inventive in its plot, and with a quality of creating equally and expertly a mellifluous tone, an inviting atmosphere, and textured characters, The Red-Headed League is an exemplar for the student of prose.
In regards to The Red-Headed League’s tone, the subtle British dry humor, which is so welcome as a source of amusement and which so often rewards the reader when re-reading a text, is manifest here. Sometimes, all that sets off the humor is the use of a single, well-chosen adjective, or just a properly timed quaint turn of a phrase. For instance, Holmes asks Wilson, “And what is the name of this obliging youth?” and is, of course, quite wry in his query. Later in the story, Doyle writes, “his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff.”
As to the atmosphere of the story, it is more than agreeable. We readers are treated to a gentle rising action in which Watson calls upon Holmes, a seamless transition into hearing the client’s story, and, following that, Holmes engages in what he calls a “quite a three pipe problem.” Holmes, having arrived at the conclusion that it must be the location of the house that is of interest to John Clay/Vincent Spaulding (I shall call him Spaulding here)—and not the rather uninteresting “average commonplace British tradesman: obese, pompous, and slow” with fiery red hair—he and Watson set out on a walk to Saxe-Coburg Square. There Doyle describes the pawnbroker’s as “poky” and characterizes the neighborhood as “uncongenial” writing that, “reedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere.” Doyle then goes on to send Holmes to the concert, where Doyle describes Holmes’ languor in a way that other forms of art—drama and film—have imitated many times since. (Holmes prefers the German music to the Italian and the French, and as usual I find myself in agreement with him.)
The characterization in this story is quite fine. Good characters are hard to define in a sentence or two, yet Doyle puts in the maestro’s touch. The bank directive is a plaintive, rather skeptical fellow whose attitude changes to respect and wonder in an instant upon the apprehension of Spaulding. The police inspector is given a few lines of conceit so that, later, he might be brought to the level of Watson and ordinary mortals. Above all, Doyle’s characterization of Holmes is a model. At the client’s first visit, Holmes makes a few astute observations to surprise him and to show his worth. Holmes then sinks into a reverie as he contemplates the problem. He takes reasonable steps to test his theory: checking Spaulding’s knees, knocking his cane upon the walk, and looking around the block to find the bank—the goal of Spaulding’s game. Holmes listens to music, then he (in anticipation of his enemy’s movements) waits in patience for his prey to emerge from the tunnel in the floor. Then, Holmes nabs him. (One does not readily think of the terrible consequence to Mr. Jabez Wilson if Spaulding had decided to murder the poor man in his bed before setting out into the tunnel, but certainly the possibility existed, and it is a slight mark against Holmes that he failed to take action to prevent the danger.) The characterization of Holmes in this story is one that helps define the detective for many years to come. In this way, The Red-Headed League shows its value, for a story when it is published more or less owes its initial success to publicity, but it owes its endurance to the work’s literary merit. Here we have a story that has lasted in readers’ minds for more than a century, and gives some credence to the Flaubertian words that close the Red-Headed League: L’homme c’est rien, l’œuvre c’est tout.
