One of Doyle’s better known Holmes stories, The Hound of the Baskervilles, is one that begins in benign city drudgery and ends in the sensational, sensual moors of the countryside. A family history, plagued by the evil tale of a spiritual being, imposes itself on the pragmatic and scientific modernity of Holmes and Watson’s practice, throwing them for a ghostly loop.

When I was in third grade, I “read” the Hound of the Baskervilles. I had been given a collection of Doyle’s Holmes stories by some well-intentioned relative and being the avid little reader that I was, dug in. I remember very few of the the other stories but because I was, even (or especially) at 9, an avid animal advocate, I remember the The Hound.

At least I thought I did. When I am distressed about the things my son (currently 19 months) is reading in seven and a half years, I’ll have to remind myself that The Hound stuck with me in little part regarding the plot. The tawdry implied love affairs and inherent violence had no effect on me at that age. I think I read it simply because of the dog.

Of course, as a 26 year old, Watson’s recount of the countryside drama, packed with supernatural intrigue, holds much more weight. There are great writers still working today and they’ll certainly do in a pinch but there is nothing quite like the witty one liners and beautiful mysterious prose of Dolye’s stories. Through and through its tiny entirety, the Hound of the Baskerville is fantastic craftsmanship and an inevitable crowd favorite. ( )

Didn't really enjoy it like his other works, found it too dragging and the mystery isn't that really complex. ( )

This novella is quite the classic - and one of the longest-standing books on my TBR list - so I'm glad I was finally, ever so gently pushed into reading it by my ABC challenge. Basic story: Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson get called in to investigate the suspicious circumstances surrounding the death of Sir Charles Baskerville, and to protect his heir, Sir Henry, from falling foul of the family curse - the dreaded Hound of the Baskervilles, a demonic monster on the moors. Twists unfold, characters become suspects before falling out of suspicion again... poor Dr Watson struggles to fulfil his detective duties in the bleak Devonshire countryside, and Sherlock Holmes sits quietly in the background, smoking his pipe, cultivating his ego, and like the Miss Marple of classic literature, forming spectacular conclusions from overlooked details. The joy of this novel is that the likeable Dr Watson narrates the tale, so his fear and curiosity becomes our own without clever Holmes spoiling the excitement by working everything out too quickly.

Even though I've seen the television adaptation (starring Richard Roxburgh and Ian Hart) a couple of times, I still couldn't remember all the details of the climactic unravelling of the mystery - and there is something fundamentally chilling about the bleak moors, the craggy limestone and treacherous marshes, and the blood-freezing howl of the unseen, fiendish hell-hound echoing across the empty landscape. A very, very good little book. ( )

I have only read 3 chapters and I can conclude this much: Although Sherlock is very bright and clever, he is a total snot. I much prefere my dear Dr. Watson. Good thing he is narrating, or this novel would be terribly boring.

This copy of the Conan Doyle wonderful story is bruised and battered but I bought it anyway, I bought it from Buy the Book in Kinsale, Ireland. I was intrigued by the other label in the book advertising Cite du Livre, Nessim Mustacchi & Cie, Alexandria, Egypt. ( )