“Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”

SHADOWS OVER BAKER STREET edited by Michael Reeves and John Pelan. Culturally speaking, we live in an age of niches. I, for one, trade in a number of specialized, even obscure markets. The editors of the present volume have thoughtfully combined at least two of them under one cover.

Featuring 18 original stories penned by horror and fantasy stars like Neil Gaiman, Poppy Z. Brite, and Tim Lebbon, Shadows Over Baker Street pits the great detective Sherlock Holmes and his trusty cohort Dr. Watson against the elder gods, subterranean terrors, and assorted unmentionables that fill the weird tales of H.P. Lovecraft. Several contributions are well written, smart, and entertaining -- an above average showing for this sort of collection. Neil Gaiman's “A Study in Emerald” is really superb, far and away the best of the lot, though to describe its wit and charm would be to give the whole enterprise away (google the title and read it yourself).

Why the enduring interest in either or both of these authors? That question deserves greater attention than I can presently devote. To hazard the quick guess: in Lovecraft's case, there is the pervasive fear of the unknown, the idea that science and exploration will only confirm the utter malevolence of the universe. Call it a faith in evil. In the case of Sherlock Holmes (if not of Arthur Conan Doyle, who embraced the quackeries of spiritualism towards the end, particularly after losing his son to the Great War), rational thought and sound methodology could pierce any mystery. Each side obviously has its partisans.

Unfortunately, this book tends to ignore the chance to clash the two worldviews. Throughout most of the stories, for instance, Holmes accepts the supernatural with remarkable ease, even suggesting in a few cases that he was already aware of the eldritch evils lurking among us. (On a side note, one wonders how Lovecraft might have handled The Hound of the Baskervilles, which is already a triumph of Gothic horror. Might the baying of the hound actually signal the awakening of a creature of far more sinister portent, covered, presumably, in tentacles? Perhaps the library at Baskerville Hall contains a rancid copy of the dreaded Necronomicon itself?)

But what the hell, just the name Shadows Over Baker Street ought to warm a few cold hearts. I await the sequel.