Personal Memories of Conan Doyle's Fiction

It is hard to classify On Conan Doyle, the third volume in a writers-on-writers series published by Princeton University Press. The book is neither a critical nor a biographical study of its subject, though it provides a few critical and many biographical tidbits. It is also not quite a memoir of journalist Michael Dirda, though it primarily features fond memories of his childhood fascination with the Sherlock Holmes stories and his adult enjoyment of the Baker Street Irregulars.

Considering Conan Doyle's skillful use of narrators and even titles—The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes (1894), for example—to blur the boundaries between fact and fiction, maybe it is apt that he should find himself in a narrative that fuses subjective authorial voice and actual historical subject. In this regard, however, Doyle is not alone. Another recent example of this peculiar genre is Paul Hendrickson's Hemingway's Boat (Knopf, 2011), which is and (even more so) is not about the famous author and Pilar, his boat.

Hendrickson summarizes his undertaking as "far less a biography than ... an evocation, with other lives streaming in," and this description also perfectly suits Dirda's effort. On Conan Doyle, Dirda writes, "is a book about the pleasures of reading, a celebration of plot and atmosphere, adventure and romance." He especially has in mind lasting, deep, personal childhood influences. "Reveal[ing] as little as possible about the action or plots of Conan Doyle's various stories and novels," Dirda undertakes a general appreciation of the author's "almost preternatural gift for storytelling."

"Appreciation" might best describe the goal of On Conan Doyle, but admittedly this word is too drab, particularly in this instance. Writing with verve in this monograph, Dirda has produced an enthusiastically grateful appreciation. He readily conveys his delight in the opportunity this book affords him. Anyone wishing to revisit the childhood thrill of reading tales of adventure and mystery will find cozy company among the recollections comprising On Conan Doyle.

As Dirda also makes clear, though, Conan Doyle's appeal extends well beyond childhood. His name still sells books, as is evidenced by the low-priced omnibus volumes of his work displayed on bookstore racks. Yet sometimes being so famous can be seen as a marketing limitation.

That seems to have been the situation with a 2009 reprint of The Valley of Fear in the Hard Case Crime series aimed at noir-fiction fans. Its torrid cover by Glen Orbik flaunts a damsel in distress, and the perusing reader is urged to think of this novel as "the first real hardboiled detective story." The plot is summarized in terse noir-argot: "Years ago, a P.I. out of Chicago brought justice to a dirty town. Now he's going to pay." And on the cover of this edition the author's tough-guy, no-nonsense name—A. C. Doyle—requires a second blink to unmask Dirda's duty-bound, "gregarious, clubbable man" otherwise known as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who liked "his pipe and good wine, especially burgundy, employed as many as eight servants, and, to go by his photographs, routinely dressed with elegance and care."