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Craftsman or copyist? Genius or journeyman? Artist or artisan? Of these, what was Conan Doyle? Does anyone take Conan Doyle seriously? Who can explain the phenomenon which makes Sherlock Holmes the instantly recognizable stock figure, probably the only such stereotype and standby in late Victorian and early twentieth-century fiction? Small fanatic groups rally to the cause of other fictional heroes from Tarzan to James Bond - and scores of forgettable detectives moulder in forgettable detective stories, while durable dated Holmes, whose career is now a century old (and he himself better than a century and a quarter according to his supporters) is as crisply readable and as much read as ever. If this is not literature, it is certainly durable craftsmanship, such that while Conan Doyle's other works fade into that greyness explored only by the occasional match-striking literature student, new editions of Sherlock Holmes, and Holmeses who never knew Conan Doyle, roll steadily from the presses. Such durability demands explanation.
