The Canary Trainer: From the Memoirs of John H. Watson by Nicholas Meyer, 1993

Grade: B

 

When I embarked upon this little crusade and found out that there existed Sherlock Holmes and Phantom crossovers, I made fun of them. A lot. I got into a groove with the mockery. I was on. Yet, now that I have read one of them, I'm forced to... rescind the mockery? Can I do that? Before you faint (I know, I've never rescinded mockery before), hear me out. This was actually... well, kind of awesome.

 

Before I start the breakdown, I have to preface this: this Meyer is a guy who knows his shit. I understand he's written quite a few other Sherlock Holmes novels, which accounts for the excellent way in which he carries off the famous detective's mannerisms (not that Holmes is going to be my focus, but credit where credit's due). Come to think of it, should I ever lose my mind again and want to create a second or third comparative study, Sherlock Holmes (along with H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos) is another one of those sprawling story-spawners. Sherlock aside, however, Meyer also knows some other important things, which some of the other authors (cough, cough, Bischoff) have not: he knows opera. I know I'm biased in that direction as a music student, but a novel about an opera is so much more enjoyable to read when the opera therein isn't just a pastiche of trite cliches and common misconceptions.

 

However, I can see why many fans of the Phantom story aren't inordinately fond of this version. It's a Sherlock Holmes story, first and foremost, so it's above all other things a mystery. It is not a romance (which seems to be what most fans are after). It also has the interesting distinction of being the only interpretation I've read so far that comes up with a completely logical, rational, and thoroughly un-mystical explanation for all events and characters involved. Unfortunately, that means that most, if not all, of Leroux's original themes of salvation and damnation are completely excised; there is little room in a logical narrative for allegory.

 

Nevertheless, the dialogue is excellent, the research impeccable, and the prose eminently readable. I didn't think all those things were possible at once in Phantom literature!

 

So let's dive right on in, shall we? I'm as confused as you are that this novel didn't make me cry into my cocoa, but let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

 

The Foreword:

The foreword is the classic Holmes conceit of the story being related through Watson, Holmes' personal biographer/assistant; it is removed yet another step, being a story Holmes told to Watson which Meyer then recovered and edited. Aside from my usual self-aware amusement at this microcosm of the very literary degradation I'm looking at in this project, this also matches up nicely with Leroux's novel, which is a novel written by Leroux from the accounts of the Persian, edited by whomever the hell has a typewriter. Despite the fact that it has nothing to do with the Phantom story, I found Meyer's excuses for the loose ends and mildly unfinished nature of the narrative highly entertaining--he's being faithful to the Sherlock Holmes canon, which frequently leaves such loose ends lying around willy-nilly and blames it on Watson's shoddy archiving. In reality, those loose ends are usually Doyle being a lazy bastard and the explanation of Watson his way of covering his ass, but nevertheless, I was amused. I was also introduced to the concept of agony columns, which I had never heard of before. Score one for Meyer; you know all you have to do to win my heart is make me look something up.

 

Chapter 1:

For the purposes of this story, Holmes is running around incognito after faking his own death, and auditions with his famous playing skills for the violin section of the Paris Opera House's orchestra. Amusingly, his adopted name is Sigerson, and he pretends to be Scandinavian, a cute nod toward Christine's Scandinavian violin-player father and one of many little nuggets of reference scattered throughout the text.

 

The novel is set in the year 1890, which is a little under a decade later than the events in Leroux's original piece. I originally wrote this down to quibble about it, but then saw that Meyer had included a very polite note in his acknowledgments section at the back of the book saying that he realized he had moved the story forward ten years to make the time periods overlap a bit more smoothly, and that he hoped no one was put out by this. And then I felt too mean to whine about it. It was done by design and for a good reason, rather than out of ignorance, so he gets a pass on that one.

 

Meyer begins to demonstrate his opera knowledge right off the bat at the first rehearsals that Holmes attends. His amused disdain for the work of Meyerbeer entertained me greatly; as an opera student, I am fully aware both that Meyerbeer was wildly popular in the time period and also almost utterly unremarkable when it comes to the music.

 

The novel abounds with self-referential material and oblique nods both to Leroux and to Doyle, keeping references to either canon in reserve so that virtually every page has something to notice if you're familiar with the source material. The most blatant of these nods had me almost literally rolling on the floor: when Holmes auditions for the opera house orchestra, he is harangued and subjected to aural inspection by a man who hides behind a screen and bellows in rage whenever he hears an untoward note. I wrote an amused note about how I loved that the Phantom was given final say in auditions, but then my assumptions were immediately dashed. It isn't the Phantom; it's Leroux himself. Meyer takes tongue-in-cheek to a new level and dumps the original author of The Phantom of the Opera into the story himself, as musical director of the opera, despite the fact that the real Leroux was a lawyer, a journalist, and a writer, but not a musician. My giggles were profuse. The descriptions of him, usually larger than life, are accurate from what biographical information I can dig up, so Meyer has obviously done his homework. It doesn't add anything particularly profound to the story, but it is a hilarious and creative choice.

 

Chapter 2:

Meyer's version of the opera house is incredibly menacing, downright Stygian. While he gives the standard five cellars depth, the descriptions are so well-crafted and mentally stimulating as to give the impression of much greater depth and darkness.

 

Another interesting detail thrown in seemingly at random is the inclusion of the Impressionist painter Degas in the story, seen frequently sketching in the audience and at cast parties. I hauled my butt off to research again and found that Degas lived in Paris at precisely the same time the story is set, and that many of his paintings and drawings of dancing girls were likely drawn from the opera house company. Even though Degas later turns out to be a minor plot device, his inclusion was yet another occasion for me to heap praise on Meyer's well-researched head.

 

For simplicity's sake, Meyer has fused La Sorelli, the dance mistress, and La Carlotta, the premiere soprano, into one character (Carlotta Sorelli, or La Sorelli). While I don't really see why this was necessary, it does clue us in that Meyer:

 

a) read the original novel

b) recognized that Leroux's abandonment of the Sorelli character was kind of slipshod

c) thought it would be interesting enough to re-include her, if only in name, and

d) is awesome.

 

This detail as well as the many other carry-over characters and situations show assidious adherence to Leroux's novel, a pleasant thing to see in an era when fiction based upon the Webber musical was beginning to run rampant.

 

Holmes fans may remember Irene Adler, Holmes' one true love, who was a crafty woman and a celebrated opera singer. Meyer takes advantage of her opera background to haul her into the story, mostly as a pretext for getting Holmes involved in the mystery. I had a few quibbles with her use--I felt that she was too much of a deus ex machina to force Holmes' hand, and also had a bone to pick with the fact that she is supposedly a great contralto, yet has been brought in to sing Carmen, which is definitely a mezzo-soprano role--but Meyer headed me off again, simply changing the facts to suit him by having Holmes later note that Adler is really a mezzo, even though the press calls her a contralto. A bit too pat, but forgivable; this was all going on while he was discussing Emma Calve (for whom Adler was taking over), a very famous and talented opera singer of the time period, and I was too much in love with his penchant for historic accuracy to keep whining.

 

Chapter 3:

My love affair with Meyer's opera and singing knowledge continues as Adler smilingly tells Holmes that she is Christine's friend as there can be no real rivalry between a mezzo and a coloratura, no matter what the rumors say. The roles Christine is associated with in the original piece--Marguerite from Gounod's Faust, Juliet from his Romeo et Juliette, the Queen of the Night from Mozart's Die Zauberfloete--are definitely high lyric or coloratura roles. Also, after Bischoff's blithe and inadvertent description of Christine singing notes inaudible to the human ear, Meyer sounds like a veritable god of musical knowledge. Do I sound biased, much?

 

Interestingly enough, Christine and Raoul already have a pre-existing relationship at the beginning of the novel, much as they seem to in the Julian/Chaney film. From the various subtle clues and the treatment of the situation throughout the novel, combined with Meyer's obvious familiarity with the time period, I would almost have to conclude that this is a real opera girl/patron relationship, albeit one tempered with real love as opposed to merely sexuality and convenience.

 

Another departure from the text is the inclusion of the fact that Joseph Buquet, the Phantom's first victim, is apparently in love with Christine. It adds interesting depth by extension to the characters of both the Phantom and Raoul; Raoul is a much more dynamic presence (his first appearance sees him throwing Buquet bodily from Christine's dressing room) with a greater force of personality. The Phantom, too, has in Buquet's infatuation an excellent reason to kill him; while the traditional reasoning behind Buquet's death (that he had discovered one of the Phantom's trap doors) was perfectly satisfactory, it has always seemed to me to be a bit of a shock tactic intended to establish the Phantom as a frightening presence, and it lacked the immediacy or consistency of a jealous action, as others such as the Daroga or Philippe were able to penetrate to the Phantom's lair unmolested later. (Speaking of Philippe, Meyer spells his name differently from Bischoff. My despair knows no bounds. I will start keeping a tally of how many authors use which different spellings.)

 

Holmes, as I said above, gets dragged into the mystery by Adler, who charges him to take care of Christine for her. As pretenses go it's a bit flimsy, but it's presented compellingly enough in the story that it doesn't seem transparent until one thinks about it too hard (like me).

 

Chapter 4:

Meyer uses his invented musical director character to make ruthless fun of the original author of the Phantom story. A line that had me howling was his description of Leroux as "a man who, given the choice between boring himself or boring others, had unhesitatingly adopted the latter course." I know, I know... I was supposed to be looking for themes and whatnot. But tell me that isn't hilarious.

 

Raoul continues to be more action-oriented and far less naive than his original portrayal; not only is he prone to violence when he thinks he's defending Christine's honor or person, but he has fewer illusions, and his jealousy is less a product of an immature sense of entitlement than a realistic realization that she has many admirers and many choices for lovers. Raoul does not play as large a role in this version as most, as Holmes takes over much of the narration, but when he does appear he is a solid, appealing character, one that the reader has little problem accepting as Christine's choice.

 

Chapter 5:

Raoul's character development continues; like some previous versions, he is not only a neonate but already an experienced sailor and naval officer, and he handles his jealousy over Christine in a mature, reasonable fashion (as opposed to the original Raoul, who moped, whined, and shouted at her). Amusingly, the interlude in which he gets drunk with Holmes solidifies him further, making him a much more human, and consequently much more relatable and sympathetic, character.

 

The title of the novel is a reference to Holmes' nickname for the Phantom, to whom he refers as "the canary trainer" because he is Christine's teacher and she sings "lovelier than any canary", in Raoul's words. Aside from the cool factor of the euphemism (and it is cool, or maybe I just like euphemisms a lot), it's also a clever way for Meyer to have titled his book "The Phantom of the Opera" without actually titling it "The Phantom of the Opera". So well done there. This does have a side effect of dehumanizing and trivializing Christine, but as we get further into the novel we note that Meyer does not intend for her to be a strong, contentious force.

 

Chapter 6:

The scratched, ominously child-like writing of Erik's instructions in the original novel is replaced here by elegant script; while in many versions it seems to be a mere case of lack of attention to detail, for Meyer it becomes a device to refine the Phantom. He is made more of a gentleman character in order to counteract and provide a proper opponent for Holmes, who despite his unorthodox training and methods has always been very much a gentleman at heart.

 

Unlike the managers of the original novel, who believed the Phantom to be somewhere between mortal and supernatural but nevertheless didn't give full credit to his reputed powers, Meyer's managers believe in his ghostly nature unequivocally. This is intended to provide contrast, as the novel and its protagonist are chiefly concerned with rationality and logic, and to inject a note of irony, as this is one of the few versions of the Phantom story that turns out to have little to no supernatural content whatsoever.

 

As a side note, I found it interesting the the Phantom is referred to as the Ghost throughout ("ghost" is the literal translation of the French "fantome", but the word is usually translated to its etymologically closer English counterpart rather than the more accurate one); it is interesting to postulate that this choice is a result either of a desire to be closer to the text, or a desire to avoid associating the novel with the recent smash-hit Webber musical, as Leroux's novel seems to be the primary focus. However, as I have no background or way of finding out, that must remain pure speculation.

 

Chapter 7:

Oddly enough, Christine knows that her Angel and the Phantom are one and the same; most version of Christine distinguish between the two, seeing no connection between the friendly, enlightening Angel and the terrifying and elusive Phantom. Of course, one explanation for this is one of the major changes to the text: Christine appears to be dumb as a plank. Well, not quite; she isn't a complete idiot, but the other characters refer to her intelligence in unflattering terms. She isn't "innocent"; she's "simple-minded". As a way to keep Christine's naivete and innocence in the narrative without sacrificing realism, it works admirably, though Christine becomes slightly less sympathetic once her role as a somewhat simple, possibly developmentally slowed figure takes hold. Holmes' delicate allusions to sexuality appear to go right over her head, which sort of shoots a hole in my chorus girl/patron theory, although it seems possible that she could be involved with Raoul without understanding oblique references to sexual situations.

 

When Holmes ruminates on her shocking naivete, he puts forth the interesting theory that she may not be slow at all, but merely taking refuge in a psychological dissociaton; that is, she understands situations fully, but enacts a sort of voluntary regression or ignorance to protect herself from the trauma of realization. This is a well-documented defense mechanism in many victims of abuse, and even the original Christine could be seen to behave in an analogous manner. I found the idea extremely interesting and thought-provoking.

 

Chapter 8:

Holmes continues to refer to Christine's intellectual powers with such flattering descriptors as "feeble", but part of that probably comes from the traditional Holmesian hubris. I have to confess that the interpretation of Christine as simply a moron being taken advantage of didn't sit well with me, but the psychological theorizing along with her ability to be practical in later stages of the novel mollified me.

 

A brief detour from Christine's peril comes when Adler is nearly killed by the Phantom; it is a ploy to keep Holmes' involvement immediate, of course, but it also neatly illustrates the Phantom's all-consuming obsession with Christine (Adler was targeted because of her close friendship with the girl). Meyer's Phantom lacks the original's burning need to prove himself, to gain acceptance from a world that rejected him, but makes up for that by being that much more fixated on the young opera singer.

 

I note also a lot of disdain for America and the emerging American forays into the arts, which I have to assume is attributable either to Holmes' preference for all things British or to Meyer himself, as Leroux's original novel was almost entirely France-centric.

 

Chapter 9:

Those faithful readers that read the other reviews (I assume there is one of you on the planet, somewhere) may recall my excitement over Wolf's assertion that the Phantom story is so enduring and provocative because it combines elements of many of the most treasured classics and myths; after reading this novel, I have to wonder if he came to that conclusion because he, too, had encountered Meyer's little crossover. References to Greek mythology abound, beginning in this chapter with Holmes' comparison of the Phantom to the Minotaur of Crete, trapped forever in his lightless labyrinth; Holmes even states that he will follow Theseus's example, and marks his trail with a ball of yarn when he descends to explore the catacombs.

The Phantom is (and even Holmes admits it) all the more devilishly clever than any opponent he has had to date, including Moriarty; he attributes this to the Phantom's insanity, which makes him unpredictable, but the theme of twisted genius remains intact.

 

As earlier noted, La Sorelli is a combination character for purposes of this novel; Meyer gives her a markedly Italian speech pattern, interesting in light of the original Carlotta's Spanish origins (Sorelli, however, was Italian, or so we assume from her name). I wonder if this is an influence, possibly unconscious, from the Webber musical, in which she is also portrayed as an Italian diva; I can see no compelling reason for the change in the text.

 

Rather than being the literal fulfillment of a threat made to the managers, the falling of the chandelier has virtually no warning preceding it, and is intended solely for the purpose of killing Madame Giry's replacement in her seat in the audience. While it was doubtless a concern in the original novel, Meyer's chandelier is for that express purpose and has nothing to do with the shock and blackmail value for which it is used in most interpretations (though I'm sure it didn't hurt).

 

Chapter 10:

Like Bischoff, Meyer sensationalizes the chandelier's effect slightly, raising the death toll from 1 to 27. A greater sense of urgency is generated, though Meyer does not take Bischoff's cue and describe the carnage for shock value and horror purposes.

 

More Greek mythology makes its appearance. Christine informs Holmes that the Phantom's name is "Nobody"; as she doesn't speak English, she has no idea what the word means, but Holmes recognizes this as an allusion to the Odyssey, in which Odysseus prevents the Cyclops he has wounded from pursuing him by giving his name as "Nobody" so that the giant is unable to explain who hurt him. Aside from the fact that the Phantom has read Homer, which reinforces his more gentlemanly image, the difference between the two references is telling; Holmes sees the Phantom as the Minotaur, a murderous monster lurking in a frightening maze, while he sees himself as a clever, undefeated hero, using cunning to make his way. Meyer's Phantom clearly has little or no concept of remorse for his actions; either he does not understand them to be wrong (as a psychopath) or does not believe himself to be held to the same standard as everyone else (as a sociopath).

 

One of the most marked deviations from the original story is the extension of the Phantom's influence outside the opera house itself. The opera house blueprints are removed or destroyed from their archives in the city, and Holmes eventually deduces that the Phantom has the run of the city via the sewer system (the descriptive variety indicates that Meyer spent not inconsiderable time researching this, as well). While this does make him a more globally frightening foe as he can pursue his victims beyond the confines of the opera house, it also tampers with the idea of the sovereign kingdom; one of the original Phantom's greatest attributes was his unquestioned domain, his complete sovereignty over his subterranean territory. Extending him outside the opera house gives the other characters more justification for fear and defensive measures, but also somehow diminishes him, despite his increased mobility; it makes him a tenant of the underground, rather than its master.

 

Chapter 11:

Continuing the Greek mythology theme, Holmes upgrades the Phantom, now comparing him to Daedalus rather than the Minotaur; a genius maze-builder and architect rather than merely a mindless beast. Holmes discovers that the Phantom was the chief assistant to the architect who built the opera house, who was buried in a collapse during building and whose body was never recovered; the fact that he is the assistant rather than the architect himself prompts Holmes to replace him yet again, this time as Daedalus's son: Icarus, who has hidden successfully for years, but who now in his passion for the young soprano flies too close to the sun.

 

It should be noted that this is one of the first adaptations in which the Phantom's disfigurement is caused by some calamity and is not an inborn deformity. While the implications of trauma and sudden isolation make the prospect of insanity more reasonable for the Phantom, the themes of craving acceptance, the callousness of mankind, and the capriciousness of God and/or nature are conspicuously absent as a result. Of course, this is a Sherlock Holmes mystery; Meyer doesn't care for the themes as much as he does for the mystery, and the logical aftermath of an accident is far more useful for those purposes.

 

Meyer doesn't let the Greek mythology rest there, either; the Phantom, when still living among men in his pre-disfigurement architectural employment, went by the name of Orpheus, the man who descended into the underworld in search of his true love (and, not incidentally, the greatest musician of Greek mythology). As I may have said before, my desire to have Meyer's babies has been growing steadily throughout this novel.

 

Christine displays more dissociative behavior as Holmes presses her about the chandelier incident--despite the very real evidence, she continues to attempt to insist that the Phantom had nothing to do with it and meant no harm. Holmes' pressure finally forces her to capitulate and admit that the Phantom is a danger, and further pushing finally forces her into agreeing to betray him; the admission and betrayal effectively destroy her, as Holmes forces her to face reality and leave her coping mechanisms behind, as well as betray someone she still considers a friend. The character becomes far more of a victim, not only of the Phantom's frightening influence, but also of Holmes and his investigators as they use her as a pawn.

 

It may have been noted that I haven't mentioned Raoul in a several chapters; that's because he isn't in them. He takes an extended leave of absence from the action of the novel until the rescue attempt at the end; Meyer's version of the novel is focused on the Phantom almost exclusively, with Christine as the victim and all other characters, including Raoul, peripheral.

 

Chapter 12:

Well, paint my front and call me Robin Redbreast--Meyer actually throws a bone to the social strata of the day, using Philippe specifically to present to the reader in no uncertain terms how very different the worlds of a Vicomte and a chorus girl really were. In the time period, a patron/girl relationship might be the norm (if not talked about), but a real emotional attachment that might lead to a marriage would have been extremely frowned upon and stigmatized, something that many, many adaptations completely ignore (as a function of the modern era, in which the lines delineating social classes are blurred and in many cases erased altogether).

 

Chapter 13:

Meyer makes note here of a point which had not occurred to me (but should have): the prevalence of masks in opera itself. A great number of operas have masks and secret identities as major themes or plot points, including such contemporary to the story pieces as Strauss' Die Fledermaus ("The Bat"), in which a man and wife accidentally seduce each other at a masked ball while thinking that they are strangers; Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro and Don Giovanni, both of which feature masks used to disguise characters so that they may switch places and disguise their intentions; and Verdi's Un ballo in maschera ("A Masked Ball"), in which the entire cast is masked and assassinations are carried out in secret. The mask is a time-honored tradition in opera, and may be one of the chief reasons the Phantom chose the opera as the most comfortable place for him to live out his solitary life; certainly Leroux probably would not have felt the need to point out something so glaringly obvious.

 

Chapter 14:

Meyer's opera expertise adds such a great amount of depth to the story despite its schlock origins that I despair of returning to the land of the writer with only a vague idea of musical terminology. The finale of the novel, obviously tweaked to suit Meyer's musical tastes, features first a medley of Fausts by different composers, a concept which plays admirably with the many aliases of the Phantom, and secondly the terrified aria from Carmen in which the singer believes she may be killed by her jealous lover, a perfect choice for Christine.

 

Not one to pass up the opportunity for some more Greek mythology, Meyer immediately compares the Phantom's abduction of Christine to Hades' kidnapping of Persephone.

 

Holmes' internal musings serve as a forum for Meyer to put forth his own theories again, and again he doesn't disappoint with his discussion of the separate worlds that the novel presents; the idea of the Phantom's underground kingdom as existing alongside the opera house but utterly separate, two realms whose sole crossing point is Christine, is a very poignant one. The Phantom's domain is a dark reflection of the opera house's glittering world; a doppelganger.

 

Chapter 16:

The Phantom is given a name in keeping with his distinctly un-supernatural origins: Edouard LaFosse. Edouard means "guardian of the mists", while LaFosse means "ravine" or "pit"; a very fitting name for the Phantom, from an etymological standpoint.

 

A few small details bothered me: for example, the Phantom's torture chamber contains the iron tree of the original, but it seems to serve no purpose, as he simply uses the chamber to drown his victims (thus rendering the option for suicide quite useless, as well as impossible). On the whole, they weren't terrible transgressions, but that one in particular bothered me as the tree itself became the means for Holmes' and Raoul's escape.

 

At its core, this is a fundamentally different story from Leroux's original. There is no love story, no redemption tale (man, have you noticed how the Phantom seems to never get that redemption he did in the original?); the themes of isolation and belief, and more importantly the conquering of belief by reason, are much more prevalent than focus on the Phantom's insanity or his transcendence above it. Of course, this is a Sherlock Holmes tale; what did I expect? It's done well, though I regret the lack of redemption, which is the most powerful facet of the story.

 

Christine's mild dissociative psychosis is matched by a host of serious mental problems on the Phantom's side; interestingly, rather than simply label him nuts and move on, Meyer isolates a particular psychosis for us to see up close and personal (besides the obsession and sociopathy, of course). The Phantom appears to have a mental block; when he wears his mask, his beautiful voice comes through unscathed, but when it is removed he finds himself unable to speak and prone to violent fits and seizures. It is the same condition as Christine's but on a much larger scale and for different reasons; the horror of his facial disfigurement renders him nonverbal and unable to function. Only when he is able to put a mask on--much as Christine mentally masks the unpleasant truths in her life--and temporarily "forget" his condition is he able to behave as a normal man. Hideousness is linked to voicelessness and disenfranchisement; only when masked is he able to mentally equate himself with humanity as opposed to monstrousness. It's a neat way to separate the "man" from the "monster" while keeping them the same person.

 

In the end, the Phantom's death is a happenstance, pure chance that saves Holmes from disaster; in that sense, Meyer's Phantom is ultimately undefeated, never outwitted by Holmes' ingenuity or his celebrated martial arts. If Meyer's Phantom doesn't achieve redemption, at least he neither suffers defeat.

 

Chapter 17:

The one typo of the novel pops up here on page 210, but considering the otherwise superb level of editing and writing, I'm willing to write that off as a printer's error.

 

The "magical", irresistibly beautiful and impressive voice of the Phantom is the one supernatural element of Meyer's decidedly earthy Phantom; however, it pales in comparison to the one discrepancy in the novel's carefully constructed system. The Phantom, in his ranting and raving before his death, claims that his mother forbade him ever to speak without his mask; however, if (as Holmes has deduced) the Phantom is really Edouard LaFosse, disfigured from an accident, he would still have been perfectly normal as a child. Holmes shrugs and says that perhaps he was wrong, and the Phantom was someone else. The reader is left to ponder whether the Phantom really was some other person, some further unsolved mystery; the device is intended to allow the reader to replace some of the excised supernaturalism into the story if they so choose, but it seems like a hastily-added back door to me, as if Meyer were concerned that he might be losing some readers who didn't like his logical interpretation of the story. I would have preferred he stick to his guns.

 

I am also forced to wave to my Mystery Annotator here. This is a library copy of this novel, as I believe I've mentioned, and some kindly Mystery Annotator has done a lot of underlining and scribbling in blue ballpoint ink wherever they felt that the text required explication. Their exact choices for annotation are something of a mystery for me: for example, various words and even the spaces between words are underlined all higgledy-piggledy for no apparent reason, without explanation, while other average words such as "gaggle" appear to cause the Mystery Annotator no end of consternation and confusion, which he or she frequently expresses through erudite usage of ! and ? in various patterns and frequencies. The Most Random Underlines Ever (TM) aside, I'm afraid our annotating friend is easily confused by things like proper sentence construction and complicated words of over two syllables. Regardez:

 

Chapter 14, page 178: "'Thank you,' I managed to say, as I was escorted past the conductor.

'Thank you--for saving Irene Adler, the loveliest mezzo-soprano of our age, from extinction!' he called after me."

Our mysterious annotating friend has underlined "he" in the second sentence and written in large letters beside it, "Who??". Apparently, objects and grammar are not his or her strong point.

 

Or, my personal favorite:

 

Chapter 8, page 117: "'Change the cast?' Moncharmin asked, looking incredulous. Of all I had said, only this last appeared to penetrate his cerebellum."

The Mystery Annotator has added an asterisk and this vastly entertaining note below it: "It would have to penetrate all three areas of the brain!!!"

Mystery Annotator, thank you. You have enlightened my day.

 

Also, I discovered just moments ago, Nicholas Meyer directed and co-wrote Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan and Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country. Where has this man been all my life? Do the people of London realize that he is sucking all of the awesome out of their country because he's like a huge awesome-powered generator?

 

I should be so talented. Kudos to you, Meyer.

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