The Rt. Hon. Walter Campbell Esq.

Secretary

The Publishers’ Guild

Wimpole Street

Cavendish Square

London

June 25, 1909

Dear Sir,

I may be excused for presuming that my name is already known to you, given the not-inconsiderable publicity that my chronicles of the adventures of my distinguished friend Sherlock Holmes have attracted over the past several years through the good offices of members of your own Guild. I humbly accept the fact that my own modest fame, if any, is a direct consequence of a fortuitous association with a very eminent man, who will always be remembered as someone of exceptional intellect.

I write this formal letter of complaint with considerable reluctance. However, given the gravity of the matter, I have decided, after consulting my solicitors, that candid communication is best. You—and indeed the public, for I have chosen to make this letter public—have a right to understand my anguish.

At the outset, I would like to express my admiration and regard for the high degree of professionalism that members of your Guild have exhibited during the years that I have known them. At no stage or time has an editor found it necessary to advance more than a few constructive suggestions on my writing; these have mostly pertained to the need to expand on a particular point to assist the reader in understanding a possibly arcane reference. I have always respected the judgment of the editor, and our association has been noted for its harmony. Perhaps I am fortunate that my writing has always met the rather stringent and exacting standards you have set; nothing has been altered between the time I wrote something and the time it reached the public.

However, without wishing to sound pompous and needlessly sensitive, I am compelled, Sir, to formally register my unease, irritation and, frankly, outrage, about a development in your professional community that promises to have serious detrimental repercussions for all involved.

I refer here to the introduction of a new kind of bold and overly assertive editor, most often a young, educated girl, usually pretty and invariably well-read (perhaps excessively so, at a time when breadth is valued more than depth), with an entirely new lexicon. My publisher, Messrs Poisoned Pen Press, in distant Arizona, a member of your Guild, has, most regrettably, succumbed to this trend and foisted on me one such young lady who insists on providing an endless stream of outrageous, unsolicited, unwanted, unwarranted, and presumptuous suggestions, by Royal Mail, telegram, telephone, and in person.

I am a chronicler, Sir, and am unused to young women offering unnecessary suggestions on how I should be writing for the so-called ‘modern audience.’ She suggests, repeatedly, that I look into aspects of pace, weaknesses in the plot, apparent contradictions, and so on. She would have me believe, Sir, that I am a novice and that I lack the ability to hold the audience’s attention. Indeed her whole manner could be easily construed as pitying and tolerant, as perhaps a missionary might view a heathen in some corner of our overseas territories.

My contention, Sir, is that I do not write for salacious readers and do not believe that I am obliged to ‘hold’ my audience’s attention. I do not invent or make special efforts to appeal to the morbid and celebrate the sensational. I report facts and do not pander to the ‘modern readership,’ which, I am told by this young lady is restless, impatient, and suspicious, constantly seeking gratification on every page, in the absence of which a work of rigour is dismissed cursorily. I am not obliged, Sir, to create a racy piece of fiction to solicit cries of delight from an immature readership that relishes murder and mayhem. I report true facts faithfully. To expect that every second of Sherlock Holmes’ life was filled with tension, shocking events, evil men and women, and sinister plots is a grave affront to the sensibilities of anyone associated even remotely with him.

I could certainly point out a few specifics in a recent communication from this young lady.

The pace slackened at—

I don’t think this is necessary—

Holmes is unlikely to say—

The temerity of this pretty, energetic, bright-eyed junior editor to suppose that she should hold my pen and write on my behalf—this is a matter of the deepest concern. Why then am I necessary, Sir? How dare she say to me, with a touch of patronizing sarcasm, that ‘Holmes is unlikely to have said…’? She never met him and never will. I spent many years with him and my faithful notes have stood the test of time and scrutiny. Why should there be an expectation that Holmes speak in precisely one way and not another? He was a linguist, a violinist, a scientist, a great scholar, and certainly someone with a gift for disguise. Nothing can be asserted with absolute certainty about him, except that he was a man of the utmost integrity.

My mind is now filled with grave doubts, Sir, as to whether my work will ever reach the public eye without meddling by this overly educated editor. We see now the deleterious effect of Universal Suffrage in the most sacred space—the editorial desk of respected publishers. I have demanded that this letter of protest be included in the final manuscript since I no longer believe that my work will emerge unscathed.

The modern woman is devious, my dear Sir, and counts on the need of a gentleman to always be a gentleman under all circumstances. However, it is the possible besmirching of the reputation of my distinguished friend Sherlock Holmes that most exercises my mind. Needless to say, I am in discussion with my solicitors Llewellyn, Harwood and Fox, 15, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London, W.C. for appropriate legal recourse and recovery of damages, should the machinations of this attractive young woman succeed.

I trust I have succeeded in drawing your attention to this matter and I am confident that your respected organization will institute suitable enquiries and provide correction to Messrs Poisoned Pen Press and similar others on their misguided attempts to suffocate writers with unacceptable attentions.

I remain, Sir,

Yours truly,

John H. Watson, M.D.

221B Baker Street

London, W.C.