I have long been a devout Holmes fan, and having proceeded faithfully through the original canon many pleasurable times, I began reading pastiches, homages, and various renditions of the Greatest Detective; naturally, a series about Mycroft Holmes was bound to catch my attention. Part of the charm of Sherlock Holmes is his eccentricities, buffered by the much more staid and ordinary Doctor Watson. When we meet his brother, Mycroft Holmes, in the two stories he appeared in, he seems to be even more eccentric than his brother. He is profoundly intelligent, even more so than his extraordinary younger brother, lazy, antisocial (the Diogenes Club, of which he is a founding member, is famous for being the most unsociable social club in England), and happens to nearly single-handedly run the government from his quarters on Pall Mall. Sherlock himself described his brother’s duties: “All men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience.”
Anyone could see why I was intrigued to read an entire series about him.
Unfortunately, Fawcett’s Mycroft bears little resemblance to the one we were shown glimpses of in Doyle’s canon – he is active, social, and rarely shows any eccentricity. His intelligence is prosaic, heard about but rarely demonstrated; there are only a few deductions sprinkled about, and rarely explained or clever. The book is narrated by an original character, Guthrie, an assistant to Mycroft, who is bland as white bread. As I said, Watson’s ordinariness aptly balances Sherlock’s eccentricity, but here, Mycroft is not eccentric enough to justify Guthrie’s dull nature. Had Fawcett chosen to employ a more Nero Wolfe-Archie Goodwin dynamic with Mycroft and his secretary, it would have been much more canonical and, quite frankly, made me more charitably disposed to the original character of Guthrie.
Instead, Mycroft himself is remarkably active and cuts a James-Bond-thriller-esque figure. I rather took him running the government as testament to his vast capacity for deducing embarrassing information on diplomats and an encyclopedic knowledge of treaties, diplomats’ foibles, and the cost of corn on the market, rather than engaging in bizarre plots perpetrated by an ancient brotherhood.
Which brings me, of course, to the case - an odd one to choose, rife as it is with elements of the supernatural and superstitious. Doyle was famously interested in such notions, but to his credit, they never crept into his Sherlock stories. Here it feels very odd, and while I do not assert that it could not be done, I think it is a very poor choice for a first novel. We are thrust into the point of view of a new character whom we know very little about, a Mycroft who seems very much foreign to what little we do know of his character from Doyle, and into a mystery that does not at all ring familiar. Additionally, it seems that the pacing is off – I felt as if I were starting in media res without any prelude or introductions whatsoever.
It would have been a problem if Fawcett had tread too carefully in Doyle’s footsteps, but he seems to have erred in the other direction too far.
Fawcett himself is a very good writer, with solid prose and dialogue that doesn’t sound forced. I do have a minor quibble that apparently every single statement had to have an explanation attached to it, which got very tiresome after a while. (Example: “Really?” I asked, endeavoring to make it sound as if this were the first I had heard of it).
If this had been an original novel, I might have enjoyed it. As a series purporting to be about Mycroft Holmes? I’ll pass.