A Study in Scarlet

Doyle was writing before the detective novel had gelled into a genre—something that would happen in part because of the popularity of the Holmes stories. However, in this novel, readers can see several structural choices that would eventually become generic tropes, recurring often in the many mystery novels that followed. First is the unusual crime whose victims readers aren’t led to particularly care about. The novel’s murder scenarios are atypical: One victim is killed seemingly invisibly, while the other is dramatically stabbed through the most interesting organ; and the crime scenes are grotesquely bloody. At the same time, nothing is known about the victims so their deaths are emotionally untroubling—the main point is figuring out who did it, how, and why. The second significant feature is the idea of the clue. In the realist novels of Doyle’s time, specific and minutely described details served several purposes: bolstering authenticity and thus more believably representing the real world, adding to characterization or set description, or having symbolic or thematic value for readers to discern. However, in this novel, the objects surrounding the victims—the wedding ring, the letters about JH, and the container of pills—have a different use. They form a puzzle readers can attempt to figure out as they read, an experience that was novel. The final element that would reify in the genre is the red herring—the false clue that leads to incorrect assumptions. Here, some circumstantial evidence points at Aurthur Charpentier, an incorrect suspect. Future detective novels would take the idea of the red herring further, seeding misdirection for readers to be led astray from the beginning; here, readers know nothing of Charpentier until Gregson arrests him, making this red herring’s reveal less satisfying.

The novel contrasts different investigating techniques, juxtaposing The Power of Observation, Logic, and Deduction with older methods, such as relying on estimations of character and drawing on previous experience—which could be loosely described as inductive reasoning. The police inspectors treat the crimes they encounter as part of a pattern; their understanding of these murders relies on their years of service. This is why Gregson jumps to the conclusion that Charpentier is guilty—his protective older-brother rage makes sense as a motive, and would fall in line with other confrontations Gregson has seen. Of course, the problem is that if Charpentier is guilty, the mystery has an unsatisfying solution, with none of the clues explained. Holmes’s approach, on the other hand, is to treat each crime as unique, starting with first principles at each new crime scene. Holmes is successful because he doesn’t extrapolate from previous experience; instead, he relies on deduction alone. Bridging the gap between these extremes is Watson. Watson, who is immediately swept up in the joy of witnessing the brilliance of Holmes, is good at making observations, as he is able to keep track of all the facts of the case; however, “[he] cannot see any possible way of reconciling all these facts” (32)—qualities that make him an effective proxy for the reader. We too gather the clues but cannot piece them together; like Watson, we end up just happy to tag along and watch Holmes work.

Making Holmes infallible creates challenges for Doyle. One problem is the fact that a plot-driven narrative like this one needs suspense and tension. Doyle’s solution is to make Holmes willfully resistant to explaining himself. At several points, Holmes receives information he does not share with anyone else—the telegrammed response from America, for example—or he claims to have everything figured out but does not elaborate. This withholding keeps readers engaged and makes the novel a kind of double mystery: We want to know what happened to the murder victims, and what cards Holmes is holding so close to the vest. Another problem for Doyle is presenting the ingenious Holmes with an actual challenge. Holmes is so dedicated to the singular purpose of solving crimes—he actively avoids learning things that would clutter his mind and make him less efficient—that he is often bored: “There are no crimes and no criminals in these days” (19), since no one brings the same energy and intensity to committing crimes as he does to solving them. Doyle’s solution is to create master criminals that are almost Holmes’s equals. Here, the murderer gets the upper hand twice: First, by impersonating an old lady to get back the wedding ring, and second, by having only one of the two pills be poison and thus briefly discomfiting Holmes. Holmes is thrilled to be outwitted, as encountering a criminal working on the same level as him gives him a renewed sense of purpose.

The importance of Perspective and Interpretation is reiterated when Watson reproduces articles about the case from three different newspapers. Doyle parodies the way each paper’s tone and political leanings influence their understanding of the case: The tabloid Daily Telegraph is sensationalistic and delves into a slew of conspiracy theories, the politically conservative Standard blames the Liberal government for eroding social values, while the leftist Daily News laments anti-socialist sentiments abroad. Each paper has access to the same set of facts, but the specific details they emphasize and ignore demonstrate how perspective biases interpretation. The point is illustrated further by the success of the Baker Street Irregulars, led by Wiggins. While these unhoused children are seen by most as proto-criminals, Holmes finds them full of talent and potential: “There’s more work to be got out of one of those little beggars than out of a dozen of the force” because they “go everywhere and hear everything” (47). Because they have a very different understanding of London, they find things the police cannot and play a key role in capturing Jefferson Hope.