My heart is broken.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle kills off Sherlock Holmes. How I managed to live 21 years in happily naive enjoyment of the Hound of the Baskervilles, and The Sign of the Four, all the while contemplating the wit and shrewd deductive skills that belonged to the man with the pipe and trenchcoat, without realizing the author killed him off, I do not know. I haven't even read the story yet--but I'll never forgive Sir Arthur. Not even if it's really, really good.
The world no longer seems a safe and welcoming place with Holmes dead. Chuck Norris needs to sleep with a nightlight now.
1 comment:
I didn't know that either!! Crazy. It's hard to even imagine.
Post a Comment