Mitch Cullin’s absorbing A Slight Trick of the Mind is an original portrait of literature’s most beloved detective, Sherlock Holmes, in the twilight of his illustrious life.Holmes—“a genius in whom scientific curiosity is rais Mitch Cullin’s absorbing A Slight Trick of the Mind is an original portrait of literature’s most beloved detective, Sherlock Holmes, in the twilight of his illustrious life.
Holmes—“a genius in whom scientific curiosity is raised to the status of heroic passion”—is famous for his powers of deduction. His world is made up of hard evidence and uncontestable facts, his observations and conclusions unsullied by personal feelings, until novelist Cullin goes behind the cold, unsentimental surface to reveal for the first time the inner world of an obsessively private man.
It is 1947, and the long-retired Holmes, now 93, lives in a remote Sussex farmhouse, where his memories and intellect begin to go adrift. He lives with a housekeeper and her young son, Roger, whose patient, respectful demeanor stirs paternal affection in Holmes. Holmes has settled into the routine of tending his apiary, writing in journals, and grappling with the diminishing powers of his razor-sharp mind, when Roger comes upon a case hitherto unknown. It is that of a Mrs. Keller, the long-ago object of Holmes’s deep—and never acknowledged—infatuation.
As Mitch Cullin weaves together Holmes’s hidden past, his poignant struggle to retain mental acuity, and his unlikely relationship with Roger, Holmes is transformed from the machine-like, mythic figure into an ordinary man, confronting and acquiescing to emotions he has resisted his entire life. This subtle and wise work is more than just a reimagining of a classic character. It is a profound meditation on faultiness of memory and how, as we grow older, the way we see the world is inevitably altered. ...Continua Nascondi
"The breeze increased in strenght, but only for a moment. The hedge shuddered wildly; the perennials wavered this way and that. The breeze settled, and in the ensuing quiet, I realized that the music would not, while the day dimmed, play for the like"The breeze increased in strenght, but only for a moment. The hedge shuddered wildly; the perennials wavered this way and that. The breeze settled, and in the ensuing quiet, I realized that the music would not, while the day dimmed, play for the likes of me. How regrettable that that alluring instrument, whose strains were so possessing, so richly emblematic , would fail to arouse as before. How could it ever be the same? She had taken her life; she had gone. And what did it matter if, eventually, everything was to be lost, vanquished, or if there existed no ultimate reason, or pattern, or logic to all which was done on the earth? For she was not there, and yet I remained. Never had I felt such incomprehensible emptiness within myself, and just then, as my body moved from the bench, did I begin to understand how utterly alone I was in the world. So with dusk's fast approach, I would take nothing away from the garden, except that impossible vacancy, that absence inside which still had the weight of another person - a gap which formed the contour of a singular, curious woman who never once beheld my true self."...Continua Nascondi