by Josef Steiff
Victorian men’s lives were constructed in dual roles that relied upon processes of exclusion and antithesis in order to balance social and moral respectability against class and gender expectations. The upper-class Victorian man was expected to be refined, cultured, and above his baser urges—and yet also to complement Victorian femininity by being worldly-wise and sexually experienced; and possess manly skills such as boxing, fencing, and so forth. It therefore seems doubtful that essentialist definitions of class or gender can be valid, although at this time these were accepted and asserted.
Sherlock Holmes is an image of the self united in exactly this type of division, and The Sign of the Four provides numerous examples of this dual nature. He is first and foremost a man of thought, and sometimes mocked for this; for example referred to as “Mr Theorist” by disgruntled detectives. Conan Doyle presents Holmes as a refined man, whose “long, white hand” is able to play the violin with “remarkable skill,” and who also enjoys listening to music while deep in thought. On the surface, he is a cultured and intellectual gentleman.
But (like a good Victorian hostess), he can also sustain varied dinner conversation with “gaiety”—“on miracle plays, on medieval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the warships of the future.” He has sophisticated culinary knowledge; as he quips “I insist on you dining with us . . . I have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a little choice in white wines. Watson, you have never yet recognised my merits as a housekeeper.”
Holmes is also what one might call the feminised half within his and Watson’s friendship—for example in his emotional moods and changeability. These qualities and the use of the domestic sphere (their rooms at Baker Street) for his professional activities begin to suggest a critique of essential “maleness.”
A Man’s Man
However Conan Doyle also makes sure he defines Holmes as a man’s man, tempering his intellect and enthusiasm for music and art with experience of fencing, boxing and martial arts. He “is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and swordsman” (A Study in Scarlet), and many writers have pointed out that our hero’s name is a combination of sportsmen Mordecai Sherwin and Frank Shacklock. Both of these were famous Victorian cricketers. Shacklock and his fellow fast-bowler William Mycroft made a sensational impression at Lord’s cricket ground in 1885, two years before the cricket devotee Arthur Conan Doyle wrote his first Holmes story.
Holmes shows great daring and bravery: climbing at night time atop a “breakneck” roof with little fear, “like an enormous glow-worm crawling very slowly along the ridge,” and attempting the dangerous descent with a simple “Here goes, anyhow.” He carries a revolver and is at ease with the necessity of using it: “if the other turns nasty I shall shoot him dead” (The Sign of the Four). It seems key to Holmes’s character that he walks the line between the cerebral and the physical, and this allows Conan Doyle to subtly challenge the Victorian ideal of essential masculinity.
Holmes is also stoic in the face of danger—for instance later in The Sign of the Four when a poison dart narrowly misses Watson and himself: “Holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in his easy fashion, but I confess that it turned me sick to think of the horrible death which had passed so close to us that night.” British qualities of stoicism and “stiff upper lip” are apparent here, but the early Holmes stories also interrogate these sorts of national stereotypes. For example, Jefferson Hope (the killer in A Study in Scarlet) is an American whose name and characteristics are emblematic of the frontier stereotype: courage, dauntlessness and daring. But despite being a murderer, his crime seems validated by Conan Doyle as he ultimately dies of an aneurism, rather than by hanging.
There is a subtle critique of ethical essentialism here that is replicated at other points in the tale, where Holmes also challenges ethics; by being willing to do anything necessary to solve a case. He frequently behaves outside Victorian notions of appropriateness. In “A Scandal in Bohemia” he asks Watson:
“You don’t mind breaking the law?”
“Not in the least.”
“Nor running a chance of arrest?”
“Not in a good cause.”
Irene Adler’s ultimate outwitting of Holmes in this tale therefore serves a dual purpose: it gives all characters a “deserved” outcome (she is not deprived of her photograph, while Holmes’s client, the King, is appeased) and also undercuts innate masculine superiority. Conan Doyle would continue to query the British Empire along similar lines in the rest of the series: Watson’s wounding at the battle of Maiwand (a notorious defeat) is just one example.
So it seems that although Conan Doyle created a masculine figure so successful that it was used as a template for a subsequent generation of boy scouts, Sherlock Holmes also challenges the idea of gendered essentialism. The character subtly contradicts fixed notions of masculinity, and the stories also test the limits of ethical essentialism and nationalism.
By contrast, masculinity today is a changing concept with shifting definitions. The emergence of the “new man” in the 1980s (caring, well-groomed, able to do household chores, profeminist) gave way to the “new lad” in the 1990s (knowingly abrasive, adolescent, beer-drinking, pre-feminist). Since the millennium, newer models such as the “metrosexual” (straight, young, affluent, enjoys personal grooming and shopping) have blurred the gender lines still further.
Current cultural theorists such as Judith Butler put forward the idea that gendered behavior is no longer linked to biological sex: our gender is simply an (unconscious) performance we put on according to social norms and the situation we find ourselves in. Women in high-powered jobs may adopt a masculine performance (British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher famously took elocution lessons to lower the pitch of her voice); men relating to or negotiating with partners may adopt a feminized one. Although we have recognised that gender today is not an essentialist concept, masculinity still seems in crisis. So, might a modern Holmes reflect these traits rather than the Victorian model of near-perfection?
Who Says a House Is Not a Holmes?
David Shore’s American medical television series, House, offers some interesting answers to this question. Rather than a standard medical drama, the show was intended to be more like a police procedural, but quickly became more characterdriven. Lead character Dr. Gregory House is an antihero who diagnoses patients by uncovering their secrets and lies. House is obviously based on Sherlock Holmes; as Shore confirms in a videotaped interview: “Anytime one says ‘puzzle’ and ‘brilliant deduction’ in the same sentence, one can’t help but think of the great fictional detective Sherlock Holmes and his trusty sidekick, Dr. Watson. And indeed, Holmes—and the real-life physician who inspired him, Dr. Joseph Bell—were very much inspirations for House.”
The House series contains some obvious references and name checks, and there are also multiple professional and personal links between the characters. “House” was chosen as a synonym for “home” (based on the British pronunciation of “Holmes”); both live at 221B Baker Street (Season 7, Episode 13). House is shot by a man named Moriarty (Season 2, Episode 24); his first patient is named Adler (Season 1, Episode 1); Dr. Wilson later tells a story about House’s unhappy love affair with a nurse named Irene Adler (Season 5, Episode 11), called “the woman” by him (referring to “A Scandal in Bohemia”). At other points, House is given copies of Conan Doyle’s books (Season 4, Episode 10; Season 7, Episode 5) and also Joseph Bell’s Manual of the Operations of Surgery (Season 5, Episode 11).
Both characters are eccentric and arrogant personalities; both are drug addicts (Holmes to cocaine, House to Vicodin, and both to morphine); and both have a supportive best friend (Dr. Watson–Dr. Wilson) who is something of a womanizer (Watson marries twice during the Holmes series; Wilson has three ex-wives).
Both solve their cases through inductive reasoning and logical thought—dismissing all the incorrect solutions until only the correct one remains: “Eliminate all ot
her factors and the one which remains must be the truth.” House’s cases, like Holmes’s mysteries, are often couched in factual and masculine terms: for example the mathematical. In Season 2, Episode 24, House claims “numbers don’t lie” (speaking metaphorically about physical attractiveness) and Dr. Chase uses a similar metaphor to describe their diagnostic process in the same episode, saying: “the equation has changed.” Just like Conan Doyle, mathematical and rational symbols are used to emphasize the masculine process of deduction.
However, despite this use of metaphor, House is certainly not an essentialist model of traditional masculinity; but rather can be read as embodying and critiquing traits of the new man and new lad (themselves critiques of previous concepts of masculinity). Whereas manliness had previously been characterized by aggression, competition, emotional coldness, and an emphasis on penetrative sex, a counter-argument emerged which focused on the fears and anxieties that men felt about these established scripts of masculinity.
Boys to Men
The new man emerged in the 1980s as a response to the “new woman”—coinciding with changes in the market such as a growth in menswear, men’s grooming products, and men’s magazines. As an advertising product, he is voyeuristically and passively constructed through a series of visual codes. He is not afraid to show his feelings, or to occupy roles traditionally filled by woman (for example in the home, the kitchen, or the nursery).
In some respects House fills this role, by displaying behavior and skills that might traditionally be considered feminine: he is an excellent cook (although this is attributed to his masculine knowledge of chemistry—Season 6, Episode 2), watches soap operas (Season 1, Episode 20) and, like Holmes, is very musical (House plays the piano, guitar, and harmonica, and listens to opera in the toilet at work for the sake of the acoustics—Season 2, Episode 2). Despite his curmudgeonly exterior, he even exhibits caring and romantic behavior on occasion: for example buying Dr. Cameron a corsage for their date together (Season 1, Episode 20), organizing a mariachi band as a surprise for Dr. Cuddy at a hospital event (Season 7, Episode 14), or collecting Thirteen on her release from prison with a fresh martini complete with olive (Season 7, Episode 18).
However, House also critiques the new man’s emotional and caring outlook by being cynical and mistrustful; and often repeats the maxim “everybody lies.” Much like Holmes, he sees through the emotional responses of those around him. In The Sign of the Four, Holmes says “love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true, cold reason which I place above all things.” House comments similarly: “the thing about emotional reactions is they’re definitionally irrational or . . . ‘stupid’” (Season 5, Episode 8). In this regard he goes further than Holmes by openly mocking emotion and empathy, traits that his best friend Wilson possesses in abundance: for example when knocking on his office door: “I know you’re in there! I can hear you caring!” (Season 2, Episode 11) and forcing Cameron through the emotional process of taking an HIV test.
But although he critiques the new man’s nurturing traits, he undeniably embodies many (perhaps more negative) feminine and emotional characteristics. For example, House often relies on manipulation (frequently emotional) to solve his cases and keep his team working for him; such as encouraging student Martha Masters to lie and manipulate patients in order to get an internship with him (Season 7, Episode 19). As he comments: “The only value” of people’s trust “is that you can manipulate them” (Season 3, Episode 21). He is also bitchy (“I thought I’d get your theories, mock them, then embrace my own. The usual”—Season 3, Episode 10) and sarcastic (“Oh thank you, Rationalization Man, you’ve saved the village!”—Season 5, Episode 14).
However, this manipulative behavior means he depends on others for much of his strength—as well as a team of doctors working under him, he has his best friend Wilson and friend/ lover Lisa Cuddy. Relying on such a support network or “family” might also be seen as domestic (and therefore feminized) behavior. In these ways he often seems more “spinster” than “bachelor” and his relationship with Cuddy in Season 7 sees the confirmed misanthrope becoming a family man for a short time—a role he plays surprisingly well, helping her daughter get into the preschool of her choice (Season 7, Episode 10) and even attempting to support Cuddy against her mother—although this ultimately ends with him drugging the mother; behavior undeniably more suited to the immaturity of the new lad (Season 7, Episode 9).
Men to Boys
The 1990s saw the emergence of the new lad: an attempt to recover conventional forms of masculinity in response to the new man. The new lad, according to Tim Edwards, is “Selfish, loutish and inconsiderate to a point of infantile smelliness. He likes drinking, football and fucking, and in that order of preference . . . defensively working class which also means defensively masculine.” Although it’s difficult to view House as working class (despite his upbringing as an army brat), he certainly fits the criteria of selfish and infantile. His behavior is designed to put himself first; he is, as Cuddy puts it, “an egomaniacal narcissistic pain in the ass” (Season 2, Episode 11). He is (in general) sexually misogynistic, preferring to use prostitutes than date (Season 2, Episode 12), and although not a “lager lout”, he frequently overindulges in recreational drugs and alcohol.
But infantile behavior is the strongest evidence of his new lad status. For the first six seasons, his ongoing flirtation with Cuddy is based around playground-type behavior, as he consistently insults the size of her ass (Season 5, Episode 10) or her clothes (“Love that outfit. Says, ‘I’m professional, but I’m still a woman.’ Actually, it sorta yells the second part”—Season 1, Episode 6). Cameron describes his behavior towards her similarly: “like an eighth-grade boy punching a girl” (Season 1, Episode 20).
Romantic relationships aside, House is a big kid: he often plays with a tennis ball or yoyo (Season 1, Episode 20) in his office (fans can even buy these oversized monogrammed balls online) and watches monster trucks at his desk (Season 2, Episode 11). He plays mean practical jokes (such as the hand in warm water) on his friends and colleagues (Season 2, Episode 16) and makes ridiculous bets with Wilson (such as who can keep a chicken in the hospital for longest without getting caught—Season 7, Episode 1). In later seasons his behavior becomes more extreme: he spends days devising a complicated and dangerous practical joke (where he pretends to shoot a prostitute with a crossbow) and parties in a hotel swimming pool with college students (Season 7, Episode 16). In Season 7, Episode 17 he hires a monster truck; plays ping pong with a female companion during a differential diagnosis; installs a flat-screen TV on the wall of his office; and travels everywhere on a Segway. Gadgetry, game-playing and immaturity are all hallmarks of his character. Even “infantile smelliness” is conveyed through his typical outfit of wrinkled t-shirts and sneakers.
Rubik’s Complex
In The Sign of the Four Holmes complains, “I cannot live without brainwork.” House claims “Knowing is always better than not knowing” (Season 2, Episode 11). Like Holmes, his triumph comes only when he has “solved my case” (Season 7, Episode 14)—the fate of the patient is irrelevant. As Cameron accuses him, “All that matters is your stupid puzzle!” (Season 2, Episode 1) and Wilson agrees: “You know how some doctors have the Messiah complex—they need to save the world? You’ve got the Rubik’s complex; you need to solve the puzzle” (Season 1, Episode 9). Using a toy metaphor to describe House’s case again calls attention to his juvenility.
When Holmes famously tells Watson “The game is afoot” (first used in “The Adventure of the Abbey Grange”), the primary meaning of “game” refers to the “quarry” of their hunt (“the criminal is on the move”)—“amusement” is a secondary meaning in its Victorian context. House’s “Rubik’s complex” has no such dual meaning, referring only to entertainment: his “puzzle” is even dissociated from the fate of the patient to emphasise this. As House says: “The sign on the door says I’m a diagnostician. Full diagnosis mean
s I’m finished.” Even if the patient dies, “I’m fine with that. I wanted a diagnosis, I got it” (Season 7, Episode 19).
House can therefore be seen as a “new lad” who dissociates maturity from masculinity. While maturity was strongly associated with Victorian essential masculinity, today it seems typically rejected. Gary Cross suggests that definitions of masculinity have changed so that now maturity is no longer a requirement (although he notes that “maturity” is also a constructed term with a changing definition). Today it is okay for men in their twenties (and beyond) to indulge in the latest technological gadgets; to play computer games; to live with their parents beyond their teens; to wear a baseball cap and jeans; to prefer sports or online gaming to dating; or even to date a string of women rather than be married to one.
Implicit in this immaturity is the idea that men are no longer perfect or idealized, and fallibility is a significant addition to the Holmes-House character, who describes himself as “damaged” (Season 1, Episode 20)—not just physically, but mentally (in Season 3, Episode 12 he claims his father abused him). Imperfection and failure are a regular part of the process in House.
Although Holmes talks a lot about the science of deduction, both “detectives” ultimately rely on inductive reasoning: where particular events are used to make generalizations. Holmes uses deduction (reaching a specific conclusion based on generalizations) but his judgements are based on principles which are the result of inductive study (such as his monograph on cigar ash or his study of the different types of mud found in London). In such a process, it’s entirely possible that, even if all the premises relied upon are correct, the conclusion can still be false.