Review: The Fifth Heart by Dan Simmons

Published: March 2015

Pages: 618

Synopsis: “In the tradition of Drood, a historical mystery in which Sherlock Holmes and Henry James team up to solve a literary puzzle.

In 1893, Sherlock Holmes and Henry James come to America together to solve the mystery of the 1885 death of Clover Adams, wife of the esteemed historian Henry Adams--member of the Adams family that has given the United States two Presidents. Clover's suicide appears to be more than it at first seemed; the suspected foul play may involve matters of national importance.

Holmes is currently on his Great Hiatus--his three-year absence after Reichenbach Falls during which time the people of London believe him to be deceased. Holmes has faked his own death because, through his powers of ratiocination, the great detective has come to the conclusion that he is a fictional character.

This leads to serious complications for James--for if his esteemed fellow investigator is merely a work of fiction, what does that make him? And what can the master storyteller do to fight against the sinister power -- possibly named Moriarty -- that may or may not be controlling them from the shadows?”

Rating: **

I have read a few books by Dan Simmons (including Drood as mentioned in the synopsis) and have been disappointed by them all, so I must admit I wasn’t going into The Fifth Heart expecting much.

I felt that the author used sections of The Fifth Heart to point out and exaggerate plot holes and discrepancies in the original Sherlock Holmes books, such as Watson’s wound (shoulder or leg?) or Sherlock and Mycroft’s ancestry. It just felt like Simmons was having a huge pop at Conan Doyle, and this was something I didn’t particularly like or find professional.

This is the second non-Conan Doyle Sherlock Holmes book I have read in recent week and for me, was nowhere near as good as Sherlock Holmes versus Dracula by Loren D. Estleman. Simmons didn’t capture the tone or style of Conan Doyle at all, in fact, it felt more akin to Poirot than Sherlock Holmes.

I forced myself to read to the end, but it was unfortunately more of a chore than a pleasure.