Sean Gibson's Reviews > The Beekeeper's Apprentice

Let’s get this out of the way up front: I’m in the tank for Sherlockian pastiches. That’s not to say that I love them unreservedly and unabashedly, mind you, or even consume them in mass quantities; but, it does mean that I’m very open to them, particularly if they do one of two things: 1) hew as closely as possible to the canonical stories in terms of style, feel, and setting, making allowances for twists and spins that add a well-crafted element of modern sensibility (see, for example, the BBC’s Sherlock); or 2) hew closely to the canonical stories in terms of style, feel, and setting, but creepily work in actual supernatural phenomenon, something that Holmes himself would frown in if he could ever be bothered to take the needle out of his arm (see, for example, The Revenant of Thraxton Hall: The Paranormal Casebooks of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle). If they do one of those things, I’m totally there, and The Beekeeper’s Apprentice is a sterling example of the former (alas, none of the bees are zombies; I consider it a missed opportunity…next time, perhaps).

Fairly or not, Watson has become something of a punching bag over the course of time, the moronic everyman whose dim-witted loyalty made him the ideal companion and chronicler but pretty useless as a partner. Enter teenager Mary Russell, a better suited complement to Holmes whose intellectual horsepower is equal to Holmes’ own, but whose lack of practical experience makes her the ideal lump of clay for Holmes to mold into his successor. Holmes hasn’t quite entered his dotage, but is semi-retired and seemingly content to keep his bees until Russell stumbles into his life around the time of the Great War, which puts some necessary distance between the canon and this tale.

Hijinks ensue when a mysterious foe starts trying to bump off Sherlock and his closest friends—though is said foe REALLY trying to shuffle them off the mortal coil, or does this nefarious villain have an ulterior motive—or, at least, an intermediate goal before shuffling the whole pack of ‘em off the mortal coil?

I won’t spoil the tale, though I will say that my theory on who was behind this shenanigannery proved to be far less astute than my long-ago contention that Hootie and the Blowfish is the most underrated band of the 90s (WHO’S LAUGHING NOW, HUH? HUH, MUSIC SNOBS*?? WHO IS LAUGHING AT THE MOST POPULAR TICKET OF THE SUMMER OF 2019?? BECAUSE I AM NOT AND WHY AM I STILL YELLING??). What I will say is that King marvelously captures the vibe, spirit, cleverness, and adventure of a Holmes yarn while answering in a way that is, if not definitive, certainly archetypal, the question of what Holmes would have been like if he had been a woman.

(Side note: I understand that our burgeoning understanding of gender fluidity might make the notion of a “male” Holmes and a “female” Holmes objectionable to some, but King so thoughtfully considers the similarities and differences of men’s and women’s minds, at least as we have historically perceived those distinctions, that she indelibly renders a character who, while undoubtedly indebted to her prototype, is wholly her own person, and one whose further exploits I look forward to reading.)

A huge thanks to Allie for the recommendation (delight!). Go read her fabulous review.

(*See? It's not just me: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/06/06/ar...)