Holmes in (other) Detective Fiction

[Max Magee]

It's remarkable to me, (obviously) how frequently Sherlock Holmes, particularly—and not many other fictional detectives—is name-checked in other detective fiction. Yes, Sherlock has become a trope, not just in fiction, and a short-hand for any detective. But I can only think of one other, Sam Spade, and he only to a lesser extent, with such broad name recognition.

Just yesterday* I began to read our Dorothy Sayers story for this month, Unnatural Death when I came across this passage:

I believe,” he added, in a reminiscent tone, “I was a terror in my nursery days. Anyhow, curious cases are rather a hobby of mine. In fact, I’m not just being the perfect listener. I have deceived you. I have an ulterior motive, said he, throwing off his sidewhiskers and disclosing the well-known hollow jaws of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

“I was beginning to have my suspicions,” said the doctor, after a short pause. “I think you must be Lord Peter Wimsey.

This is a clear throw-back to SCAN, in my mind:

It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my friend's amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three times before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he vanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire, and laughed heartily for some minutes.

Then I think it was either last night or this morning, I read this amusing passage from the Agatha Christie tale, The ABC Murders:

“The crime,” said Poirot, “was committed by a man of medium
height with red hair and a cast in the left eye. He limps slightly on the
right foot and has a mole just below the shoulder-blade.”

“Poirot?” I cried.

For a moment I was completely taken in. Then the twinkle in my friend’s eye undeceived me.

“Poirot!” I said again, this time in reproach.

 

“Mon ami, what will you? You fix upon me a look of doglike devotion and demand of me a pronouncement a la Sherlock Holmes! Now for the truth — I do not know what the murderer looks like, nor where he lives, nor how to set hands upon him.” 

It's crazy how much staying power our hero detective has, and what ripples his very existence has thrown out into all literature and culture. Yet another reason I'm proud to be a Sherlock Homie.

Max "Magic Jezail Bullet" Magee

"I would sooner face a Martini bullet myself. Are you game for a six-mile trudge, Watson?...Your leg will stand it?"

*this email was written a week ago, just sending it now, so imagine this is before the meeting that I missed