Thursday, February 6, 2014

The House of Silk by Anthony Horowitz

Assalamualaikum and greetings,

I've just finished reading The House of Silk written by Anthony Horowitz. This book is among the 2012's four select editions of Reader's Digest. I purchased it very cheap from the Big Bad Wolf last year.

I am currently in a state in which every mystery or crime fiction reader will find herself in after finishing a magnificent book of this genre. If you are one yourself, I'm sure you know how I feel. The characters and atmosphere of the novel remain, the exhilaration of the chase lingers, the feeling of revelation when the mystery's been solved stays and there is a longing for certain characters to be alive and real. It is overwhelming.

You might think that I am exaggerating. But I assure you, a fan of Sherlock Holmes will not see it that way.

In the preface of the House of Silk, there's a paragraph that got me completely hooked:
It is a year since Holmes was found at his home on the Downs, stretched out and still, that great mind forever silenced. When I heard the news, I realised that I had lost not just my closest companion and friend but, in many ways, the very reason for my existence. Two marriages, three children, seven grandchildren, a successful career in medicine and the Order of Merit might be considered achievement enough for anyone. But not for me. I miss him to this day and sometimes I fancy that I hear them still, those familiar words: "The game's afoot, Watson!" They serve only to remind me that I will never again plunge into the swirling fog of Baker Street with my trusty service revolver in my hand. I think of Holmes often, waiting for me on the other side of that great shadow that must come to us all, and in truth I long to join him. I am alone. My old wound plagues me and, as a terrible and senseless war rages on the continent, I no longer understand the world in which I live.

With only this paragraph, Anthony Horowitz had fill the void inside of me from not knowing how Holmes died. It's like a closure for me. And in knowing that fact, I can rest my mind. But I wish to read just one more, one more story of Holmes and Watson; and this is where the brilliance of Horowitz strikes the most; he gave me the story:
There he is, with pipe in hand. He turns to me. He smiles. 'The game's afoot...'

As I journey with Holmes and Watson, I came to a conclusion that Anthony Horowitz could possibly be the reincarnation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Hell, you can even say that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had possessed Anthony Horowitz while writing this novel. I am awestruck at how Horowitz has followed Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's writing style closely. The scenes he described, the words and phrases he used, the way Watson narrated Holmes's investigation was a strong resemblance! For me personally, all of these combined has filled my ache for Holmes and Watson as pictured by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

As all these feelings and thoughts washed over me, I find that I am also learning and analyzing writing styles and powerful story telling method from Anthony Horowitz. I hope that I can write a story that will leave my readers at a state I am right now. I hope that these feelings of mine which I had put down in this post have reached out to you so that you too, can make something out of them.