A Shy Person’s Guide to
Making Conversation at a Sherlockian Function

By Brad Keefauver

You’re sitting at the BSI dinner or the Baskerville Bash next to Sherlockians of amazing talents and great renown. Overwhelmed by their very presence, not to mention their wit and charm, you start reading things that were put into the freebie packet. “Surely I have nothing to say that could impress these demigods of Sherlockiana,” you think. At some point, you even go so far as to start reading articles in a sampler issue of The Holmes & Watson Report.

Well, stop that right now!

Okay, maybe you can finish this particular article, because when you’re done . . . well, just call me Henry Higgins. You’re going to be the fairest Sherlockian of them all.

First, buy yourself some time. Smile, flash your eyes, and wonder aloud: “Is that Bob Burr over there?” Since the slightly notorious Sherlockian hermit is assuredly not present, the other people at your table will waste a bit of time feverishly looking for him.

While they’re looking for Burr, let’s cram.

Introductions are the basic start to any good Sherlockian conversation, so basic that your tablemates have probably already introduced themselves to you. If they haven’t, use it as your big first move. Listen as deceased movie star Reginald Owen demonstrates a good introduction:

“Hi, I’m Reginald Owen, of the Mad Elements of London, Idaho!”

Note Reginald was smiling throughout. If you’re not having a good time yet, act like you are. An optimistic anticipation of a good time is enough honest motivation, so hope for the best and thoroughly enjoy that hope. Work that enjoyment into a smile and hang on to it.

Adding a scion affiliation to your introduction serves a twofold purpose. It gets the people you’re talking with to reveal a similar fact, and it also gives them something to start a conversation with if they’re so minded. If you and your tablemates start the evening with your scions hanging open, you have a good amount of material to work with during those awkward opening moments: what part of the country they’re from, which of the sixty stories they might know something about, and, quite possibly, whether or not they hide the fact they’re a lurker on the Hounds of the Internet.

You don’t have to be Holmes to make deductions from a good introduction . . . and who really needs to? If they don’t tell you where their scion is located, asking them provides you with a handy follow-up. Some follow-up questions you might not want to ask include:

“Is that the group that still doesn’t allow women?”

“Did you get a free toaster for joining that bunch?”

And the ever troublesome, “I used to belong to that scion . . . do they still toast Lady Brackenstall’s dog at their meetings?” (Subtle puns are not a good way to start the evening, even though blatant ones are a good way to finish it.)

A constant obstacle for many Sherlockians in discourse with their fellows these days is collecting. While a great many Sherlockians are avid, even maniacal collectors, another great many are not. And while two collectors can carry on a lively chat about the Banzai Institute’s watermelon edition of The Sign of the Four, those of us without such a prize in our library are left speechless. A handy remedy for this is a casual loss of memory. Listen in as Reginald Owen demonstrates, with the late great Frederic Dorr Steele playing his collector friend:

“I picked up a rather interesting volume of The Hound of the Baskervilles last month. It was a real bargain at ten bucks.”

“Oh, really, Owen? Which edition was it?”

“Well it was red, I remember that . . .”

“A Collier?”

“No . . .”

“A Grosset and Dunlap?”

“No . . . but it was smallish.”

“You mean like a miniature book?”

“No, just not a big book.”

“A Deutsch Crown edition?”

As you can see, you can draw a collector into hours of conversation with the possibility of a tome he or she hasn’t seen before. When your memory finally returns, you’ll remember that it was an Oxford edition you picked up new at Barnes and Noble, but don’t let it slip too soon. If your dinner companions are serious collectors, they need to be tortured for a time. Trust me, it’s good for them.

By now you’re probably wondering, “Pithy quotes! Why hasn’t he supplied me with any pithy quotes?” Well, nothing can make you look more knowledgeable than a well-delivered quote, especially when conversing with knowledgeable people (as we hope Sherlockians are). Timing and the proper framework, however, are everything in using quotes. Listen as Reginald Owen and John Kendrick Bangs demonstrate a badly-done quote:

Reginald: “. . . so I said to Shaw, my books are staying in the Saran Wrap!”

John Kendrick (enjoying a mouthful of salad): “Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo, Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca.”

Reginald: “You want to sublet my Play-Doh?”

John Kendrick (trying to clear the food from his mouth): “Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo, Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca!”

Reginald: “That’s it! We’re taking it outside!”

As you can see by the severe beating John Kendrick Bangs is taking, foreign language quotes have limited uses in most social situations. For typical Sherlockian functions, stick with the more basic lines, framed to help even a novice see your point. Here are a few examples:

“I remember Holmes referring to ‘those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie’ — well, I’m not bored and I’m not lying, so I must get to a better class of party than old Sherlock.”

“Would Watson call that ‘a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature’ or ‘a pale, intense face, youthful, and yet so worn with sin and sorrow that one read the terrible years which had left their leprous mark upon her?’”

“As Nathan Garrideb would say, ‘What in thunder had you to do with it?’”

Every good Sherlockian should have one or two useful quotes up his or her sleeve. The trick is not sounding like you’re delivering a lecture to grad students while you’re using them.

Now that you’ve introduced yourself, asked a follow-up question or two, dealt with collectors, and thrown in your dazzling quote, you should be well on your way to Sherlockian conversational splendor. If not, well, it just may be time to hit the panic button and let the conversational ejection seat throw you clear before your plane crashes. In any case, it never hurts to have a good exit line handy, even for when things are going well. And what’s the best exit line of them all?

Good-bye.

Interesting thing about the word good-bye . . . if you study its use in the Canon of Holmes, you’ll find that Sherlock Holmes is always the one who says it. The man who says good-bye seems to be the man in control of a situation, and Holmes is definitely fond of keeping matters in his own hands. But further study will show you that Holmes does more than just say “Good-bye” and leave when he’s demonstrating control this way. He says, “Good-bye, and . . .”

“Good-bye, and let us know how you get on.”

“Good-bye, and I trust that we shall have nothing but good news from you.”

“Good-bye, and, above all, do not fret until you know that you really have a cause for it.”

On and on the examples go. Sometimes, especially later in the Canon, Holmes omits the “and,” but it is still implied. To clients, he is reassuring. To villains, he is sarcastic. But always, there is that little bonus bit that comes after “good-bye.”

It doesn’t even take a Holmes-level wit to use the phrase “Good-bye, and . . .” effectively.

“Good-bye, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,” is about as basic as one can get, yet it still shows a certain warmth. Practice embroidering on your own “Good-bye, and . . .” as your evening draws to a close. For now, however, it’s time for you to get back into the action. Hopefully, this little lecture has served you well. If not . . .

Good-bye, and try to forget all this by the time we next meet. I’ll probably be needing to use it.