The House of Silk has an elderly Watson ensconced in a nursing home and finally writing a Holmes adventure that will be sealed from publication for one hundred years--plenty of time for any of those distinguished individuals caught in scandal to have died and been largely forgotten.
Since I have a fondness of Holmes and Watson, I am tempted by any novel that offers another glimpse at the duo. I didn't find this novel either particularly engrossing or terribly dull. Two narrative lines intermingle, but for some reason, neither one engaged my interest to any great degree.
Nor did I find the characterization of either Homes or Watson especially interesting.
While in many ways, Horowitz remained true to the Holmes canon, the novel lacked a certain vivacity that I'd hoped to enjoy. I suppose my modernist self wants both the atmosphere of Victorian London with a more 21st century representation of character and plot; either that or a closer approximation of Conan Doyle's original, rather terse style.
I prefer Laurie King's (oh, smite me for my blasphemy!) Mary Russell, and a more human, if elderly Holmes, and another Mycroft altogether than the one Horowitz depicts.
Readable, but not as engrossing as I had hoped.
Fiction. Mystery. 2011. 304 pages.