Sorry Mr Swallow, but I had to give up at 6% (Kindle edition) of this chest-thumping testosterone burner when "Bell's lip twisted as he fired a threeSorry Mr Swallow, but I had to give up at 6% (Kindle edition) of this chest-thumping testosterone burner when "Bell's lip twisted as he fired a three round burst that opened up a sucking chest wound in the closest of the men." Seconds later, "This one's done."
Apart from my automatic revulsion at the clichéd sneer, I know that a sucking chest wound is a type of traumatic pneumothorax in which is air is sucked into the chest cavity through a hole in the chest wall *with each breath*. A sucking chest wound takes time to develop - it's a progressively advancing situation as the lung collapses, a few breaths at least... You just don't create one instantly you see the bullets hit the chest and describe it as such. And as this anonymous goon has had no time to breathe those few times, there can have been no "sucking" chest wound. It just sounded like a tough and macho thing to say, right?
I was on the verge of giving up earlier (at 2%) when a child is rigged with explosives (c.f.:Hurt Locker) and an allegedly huge explosion occurs. No. I thought immediately that there simply cannot have been enough explosive material within "the sample", and for him to be still alive, to create the degree of damage to the police station as described. I am in no way an explosives expert, but that struck me as a gross exaggeration of the potential of whatever material was used - C4, I presume.
These petty things annoy me and perhaps I am overly sensitive to situations and descriptions that struck me as false when I do occasionally (very rarely) pick up an well-hyped airport thriller like this (and almost always throw away immediately in disgust) due a sense of disappointment with myself for giving in to marketing pressure. But you know, I hate this type of book generally because they are always riddled with silly genre-compliant stuff that does annoy me, and by 6% this book had offered no reason for me to alter my feelings on the matter.
Very enjoyable pastiche of the Sherlock style, supposedly based on the scant facts we have about the real life of Conan Doyle. Dr Joseph Bell was a leVery enjoyable pastiche of the Sherlock style, supposedly based on the scant facts we have about the real life of Conan Doyle. Dr Joseph Bell was a lecturer at Edinburgh University when Doyle was a medical student there. He was certainly the model for Sherlock Holmes, a critical observer and adherent of the inductive method. Substitute him for Homes and Doyle for Watson and you have it. ...more
Here's another "lost" Sherlock Holmes story - this one brilliantly emulating Conan-Doyle's rather refined, some might say affected, prose style - thatHere's another "lost" Sherlock Holmes story - this one brilliantly emulating Conan-Doyle's rather refined, some might say affected, prose style - that tells of a case, the details of which, my dear readers, could not be divulged until now.
Yes, this case, as it unfolds, reveals a tragical and sorrowful story of 19th century London, a story that reaches from those poor creatures who populate the sinister and tragic underbelly of this foggy and cold-hearted metropolis, to the haughty and arrogant Brahmans of its social and political aristocracy. It is a story so dark, we are told, reliably I am sure, in the dulcet tones of the good Dr Watson himself, that it could only be published 100 years after his death (at the time of the beginning of the Great European Conflict.)
It seems the solution to the mystery involved such depraved and horrifying acts as would have had devastating social and perhaps regal connotations to the point that the very fabric of society could be threatened! It had to wait until now, when all involved are long dead, to be safely offered for sale to the public!
It's not all doom and gloom though, for Dr Watson's bumbling, endearing (though sometimes frustrating) innocence as the story's narrator is there to amuse us throughout, as are many examples the remarkable deductive flair that Holmes likes to impress and intimidate with, and such entertainments make it a very worthwhile listen, and, presumably, read. My dear friend Sir Derek Jacobi, from the Diogenes Club, is of course most brilliant (he almost gets away with mimicking the accent of young Irish woman who is pretending to be ... well, you shall see!) This sad story really does turn on something we might find topical in today's papers, even in the last few months!, rather than back in Sherlock Holmes's more journalistically restrained times. (I'm not counting that infernal Ripper Murders hysteria.)