JellyHats

Note, in the previous issue, another writer contributed a column entitled "A Rant Against e-Books" This is my response. In the last edition of the Alnwickist, [i'd prefer to keep him anonymous] printed an article recounting all the bad points of e-book readers. In defense of them, I will begin by pointing out his errors. Firstly, he claims that the Kindle has caused a decline in the sales of paperbacks, but in fact, book sales decline every year, and it has nothing to do with whatever new reading device there may be, but instead lies with the declining literacy of the general public. In fact, I would say that e-readers actually encourage read

The following documents were found among loose papers in the aftermath of a raid of the bank Cox & Co at Charing Cross. There authenticity is still debated. I was profoundly lucky in my later life to have so perfect a literary device in my good friend Sherlock Holmes. Through chronicling the seventeen years I knew him in his practice at Baker Street, I have lived  comfortable life, thanks also, in no small part, to the acts of my literary agent Doyle. I had intended to share the records of the following cases with him as I had to almost all prior, but as I attended to fully writing them down, I was struck by how personally they had all a

   Although Sherlock Holmes had officially ceased his vocation of consulting detective by the end of the year 1903, and retired to the Sussex Downs to keep and study the movements of bees, occasionally a case will come his way that will grab his attention, and force him to become "semi-retired", as he puts it, even for such a brief time.   On a cold day in the Spring of '05, I had visited Holmes for a brunch at his home, in which my friend had managed to carve himself a domain not unlike the one we had shared at Baker St for a long period of time. Various papers were strewn across the desk on which we ate and talked of old acquaintances. I l

My dear colleague Sherlock Holmes had few faults, but if there ever was one, it was that he would often be very selective on cases he would pursue, entirely based on his initial interest in the mystery, completely discarding fees the potential client was willing to pay, or indeed, the position of the person in question, be it a king or a pauper. However, in the autumn of 1888, we were approached by a client who it was, quite literally, impossible to decline. I was quite involved in my engagement to Miss, as she was at that time, Mary Morstan, but I made it my habit to keep up with Holmes on a regular basis. On one occasion when I found him, s

   It was in the spring of 1896 when this, one of the most bizarre cases of my good friend Sherlock Holmes's career occurred. In an uncommonly cold afternoon that April, I met my colleague in an eclectic mood.   "Quick!" ejaculated Holmes, bursting into the living room of 221B, where I had just sat down to my morning cup of coffee. "My brother is coming!" I found myself shocked. I had never known Mycroft Holmes, such an integral member of the British government, seven years my good friend's senior, to so unexpectedly stray from his routine travels from his residence, his office, and The Diogenes Club, a place I had only ever previously had t