Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 252 This is Sherlock Holmes?
Flaubert's death seemed to have pressed the accelerator button for the entire era.

The literary salons in Paris began to decline, and Zola and Charpentier temporarily suspended their gatherings, wiping out a month of progress in French literature.

However, this was not the case for Norman MacLeod, editor of Britain’s largest literary journal, Good Words.

One morning in early June, he arrived at the newspaper building early as usual.

The weather is starting to get hot this season, and the Thames River is beginning to smell. Only in the morning is the air slightly better.

The serialization of "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" is nearing its end, and British readers' progress is almost on par with that of French readers.

What he is most looking forward to, and at the same time most anxious about, is the progress of Lionel's new work, "A Study in Scarlet".

The initial chapter excerpts sent to him had already filled this veteran editor, who had been navigating the literary world for thirty years, with indescribable excitement.

He never imagined that a French writer like Lionel could write the character of "Sherlock Holmes" so deeply into the heart of an Englishman like himself.

He is erudite, quick-witted, calm and rational, aloof and indifferent, with a strong sense of justice, a touch of dry humor, and remarkable musical talent.

This detective is nothing like Verne's Phileas Fogg, who, while charming, is full of the French stereotypes of the English gentleman.

Sherlock Holmes—at least from the excerpts—is simply the work of a brilliant British author.

From that day on, the first thing Norman McLeod did every day when he arrived at the newspaper office was to check for mail from France, especially Paris.

But a month, two months, three months... time passed day by day, and apart from receiving a letter asking him to assist a University of Edinburgh student named "Arthur Conan Doyle" in collecting information, there was no further news about "A Study in Scarlet".

This caused Norman McLeod to become increasingly anxious.

He wasn't worried that Lionel wouldn't be able to finish the novel, but rather that Lionel would delay submitting the manuscript—after all, Lionel had only finished writing "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" in early May, and the Sorbonne was scheduled to have its final exams at the end of June.

To make room for "A Study in Scarlet," Norman MacLeod even risked turning down Thomas Hardy's new novel.

Now he was starting to regret it. What would Good Words magazine use to fill the pages if Lionel couldn't deliver A Study in Scarlet by July?

Norman McLeod finally sat down in his editor's office, which was piled high with books, manuscripts, and proofs, and began once again to sort through the mail waiting to be opened.

The letters came from all directions—authors, readers, critics, agents… but today, his gaze was drawn to a thick mailbag.

The address on the package is—

"Mr. Lionel Sorel, 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain, Paris, France"

McLeod's heart skipped a beat and then quickened.

He almost impatiently pushed aside the letters and took the heavy package into his hands.

He carefully used a letter opener to cut open the edge of the package, inside which was a whole stack of manuscripts densely typed on a typewriter.

The top page has the title written in both French and English: A Study in Scarlet.

Norman McLeod took a breath and eagerly immersed himself in it.

At first, he maintained the deliberate pace of a professional editor; but as the case truly began, McLeod's reading rhythm unconsciously slowed down.

Lionel's brushstrokes became exquisitely refined—

A bizarre murder in a secluded, empty house; a neatly dressed body; a wedding ring lying on the floor; the word "RACHE" scrawled in blood on the wall; Scotland Yard at a loss... McLeod's tension rises accordingly—

He watched as Holmes meticulously examined the scene and drew one unexpected conclusion after another…

Then, the entire reasoning process was dissected clearly and effortlessly by Lionel…

Each step caused McLeod's mind to alternate between "Oh, I see" and "How come I didn't think of that?", leaving him unable to control himself.

Time slipped away quietly, as if the noise outside the office and the sounds of editors moving around had all disappeared...

Until the sun reached its zenith, bathing the room in a warm golden hue.

Norman McLeod finally breathed a sigh of relief and gently placed the last page of the manuscript on the stack of documents he had already read.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and felt a surge of indescribable emotion.

I haven't felt this way in a long time—the pleasure and satisfaction of being completely captivated by a wonderful story as a pure reader.

When was the last time I had this feeling? Maybe it was when I first read Dickens' Great Expectations or Wilkie Collins' Moonstone when I was young.

But this time, the feeling was particularly different—not only was the intellectual challenge satisfied, but also the emotional resonance and aesthetic enjoyment.

Lionel Sorel not only created an unprecedented detective character, but also endowed the detective story with an incredible level of rationality and realistic depth.

He didn't just write a story about a clever detective solving a bizarre murder case; he wove a legend about faith, betrayal, revenge, and destiny!
Compared to Sherlock Holmes, both Edgar Allan Poe's August Dubin and Emil Gabrielo's Inspector Lecoq pale in comparison and even appear somewhat naive.

Norman MacLeod muttered to himself, "A masterpiece... This is Sherlock Holmes?"

He had no doubt that once the story was published in Good Words, it would captivate readers throughout London and the whole of Britain.

The names of Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson will soon become household names.

He almost impatiently pressed the call button, and his assistant Will quickly pushed the door open and came in.

Norman McLeod said somewhat hastily, “Will! Immediately! Go find our best translator, Mr. Humphreys! Tell him to drop everything and start translating this right now!”

He solemnly pushed the thick stack of manuscript papers onto the table: "Top priority! Tell him that starting in July, this will be the main focus of 'Good Words'! It must be both accurate and vivid!"

Will rarely saw the editor-in-chief so excited, and dared not be negligent. He carefully picked up the stack of precious manuscripts: "Yes, sir! Mr. Humphreys will do his best."

He bowed and quickly left the office.

Even after his assistant left, Norman McLeod's excitement had not subsided. He paced around his office a few steps, his gaze returning once more to the now-empty mailbag.

He instinctively reached in and groped around to make sure nothing was missing.

Sure enough, his fingertips touched a thin envelope, which he hadn't noticed because he was completely absorbed in "A Study in Scarlet".

He opened the envelope, inside was a letter, the contents of which were still typed, except for the elegant and fluent handwriting at the end, "Lionel Sorel".

The letter was short, but after reading it, Norman McLeod fell into a deeper and longer silence.

He felt that his 30 years of editing experience had been completely overturned by this young man, Lionel!
(End of this chapter)