Sherlock Goes Sexist: Arthur Conan Doyle is Very Disappointed

This piece was originally composed for SPARK.

Sometimes when I’m watching a movie or television show, or reading a book and I really dig the narrative, I come to a moment where I can suddenly, vividly picture the story going in a direction that would ruin the whole darn thing. As someone who tends to have feminism on the brain, this imagined turn for the worse involves doing something pointless and stereotypical with a previously well done female character. Luckily, I rarely see my fear realized, not because TV, movies and books aren’t often sexist, but because I’m pretty picky about what I view/read in the first place and most well constructed narratives don’t suddenly spring sexism on you. So I found myself feeling particularly betrayed when a TV show that I trusted recently went all out ridiculously sexist on me, and that it dared to do so via an “adaptation” of one of my favorite proto-feminist narratives of all time.

The show in question is the BBC’s Sherlock, an adaptation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, re-set in 21^st-century London. It’s a miracle that I was actually a loyal viewer of the show in the first place, because I am a huge fan of the original books, and I tend to be the pickiest of super fans. I have never liked an adaptation of the Sherlock Holmes stories, and that is saying something, because they are the most frequently adapted stories in Western media.  I initially bristled at what seemed like a gimmicky re-boot, but when I actually watched the first season, I loved it. This was 90% due to the brilliant casting of Benedict Cumberbatch as the titular detective. He looked the proper age for the actually quite young detective, he had the height and the hair, and he played the role perfectly. The show also hit on the thematic/character arcs present in the books but lacking in most adaptations, and the mysteries seemed written by Doyle, with just the right balance of mood, action and intrigue. I was hooked, and when I heard that series creator Steven Moffat would be moving the show in a new direction in the second season, forgoing original mysteries for more direct, albeit expanded adaptations of actual Doyle mysteries, I was cautiously optimistic. Overall, I was looking forward to what they would do with the season two premiere, an adaptation of A Scandal in Bohemia, Doyle’s wonderfully feminist short story. After all, with the show’s solid record, I could trust them with the amazing Irene Adler, right?

Wrong. It seems that with “A Scandal in Belgravia,” Sherlock decided that it couldn’t continue that whole faithfulness and respect for the source material thing, because that would just be boring. After all, what does A Scandal in Bohemia have to offer but a brilliant, competent, and aloof heroine in Irene Adler? And we all know that women who are simply smart and powerful just don’t fit in on television. They need to be incredibly sexy too. Let’s make Irene Adler a dominatrix! What a great idea! This is of course, my imagined writing room dialogue as season two was being put together. I have a feeling it’s pretty accurate.

Okay, some background. 1891’s A Scandal in Bohemia had Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson trying to retrieve a photograph from a Miss Irene Adler. Adler, an American adventuress and acclaimed opera singer, is using the photo to blackmail the King of Bohemia, who is by all evidence a jerk, and probably deserves it. Holmes, prior to the story, harbored some pretty sexist ideas regarding the intelligence, or in his opinion, lack thereof, of women. He thinks the case is open and shut and comes up with a foolproof plan to get the photos back. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t account for Miss Adler being brilliant; smarter than him, actually. With some clever gender bending undercover work, she beats Holmes at his own game and wins the day. Holmes is impressed, relinquishes himself of his sexist assumptions, and ends up as close to in love as his personality could ever allow. It’s pretty awesome.

Sherlock, upon being outsmarted, mentally transitioning from shock to appreciation. 

Now, let’s examine the way Moffat & Co. have adapted the story. Ms. Adler is no longer American, which I’m okay with, but she has also gone from an adventuress and the toast of La Scala to a dominatrix. Now, before anyone jumps on me for being anti-sex/sex work, let me assure you that I have no problem with a real woman choosing to be a dominatrix or anything else for that matter. But this is a work of fiction. And the person or people who decided to make Irene Adler a dominatrix may hide behind the excuse that she is an “empowered woman using her sexuality to her own advantage,” but they honestly chose to do it because it means leather and lace and the chance to sexualize Irene. Also, the chance for her to introduce herself to Sherlock in the nude. That was a nice touch.

"But, she was just trying to distract Sherlock! He reads things from people's clothes." Yes, Holmes gathers information based on a person's clothes, but he also reads the rest of them to. The show was clearly trying to go for that tired cliche of a woman gaining power by flabbergasting a man with her sexuality. The original Irene easily defeated Holmes with her clothes on.

So, once the show takes Irene Adler and has her wear nothing or next to nothing and make awkward sex noises, how much worse could things get? Much worse. Irene seems smart, but it turns out she is mostly dependent on her employer, Moriaty, for her success. (What is with this trend, also seen in the recent Sherlock Holmes film, of making Miss Adler an agent of Moriaty? Why can’t she be an independent force?) Furthermore, Irene doesn’t in fact win in the end, because all her delicate lady emotions get in the way. She’s just too in love with Sherlock! There is also a very damsel in distress rescue at the very end that is just all around terrible. Let’s not forget that while she is flirtatious in the original story, Irene never falls for Holmes. She goes off to America and gets married, and the detective is the one with the swoony disposition and her portrait on his mantelpiece.

I understand that sexualized female characters on television are a dime a dozen, and for a viewer not familiar with the original source material, the amount of character assassination at work in A Scandal in Belgravia might just go over their heads. It’s a shame, because the fact that the series chose to take its first major departure from Doyle’s characters with Irene says a lot about what our current media expects of women. Yes, women can be powerful, but that power must be expressed in an inherently sexual way. Yes, women can be smart, but they are also more emotional than men and therefore not equally brilliant. And they usually need some rescuing. It’s pretty ironic that these antiquated messages are actually a revision of a text from the 19^th century! I gather from his treatment of Irene Adler, as well as the many other smart, capable, and badass women who appear throughout the Holmes stories, that Doyle had progressive ideas regarding gender. What does it say about our current media, that our narratives are taking a step back?

If this is such a pervasive problem, why am I signaling out Sherlock? My being an SH fangirl is a contributing factor, but I find that this instance of sexualization is a particularly helpful example of where the problem lies. As an adaptation, one can compare both narratives side by side and see exactly what the writers thought needed to be changed about Irene. She had to be sexier, more emotional, and she had to lose. That’s our current culture’s expectations of women and girls in a nutshell. 

A Sexist in Belgravia

Yes, I know this is not an accurate portrayal of the smart, competent, and non-sexualized Hermione Granger. J.K. Rowling writes Hermione as a nuanced character, an equal to her male counterparts. Likewise, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle approached Irene Adler as a proto-feminist equal to his male heroes. In fact, she bested them. Her aloof victory was the whole point of A Scandal in Bohemia. 


The original Sherlock Holmes stories have had their true nature consistently overshadowed by a century or so of uneven adaptions. Therefore, to a lot of viewers relatively unfamiliar with the original, A Scandal in Belgravia may not seem an obvious travesty. By doing what was done to Irene with a better known character, artist BeFine perfectly illustrates why we should all be very upset. I really liked Steven Moffat's take on Sherlock, based on season one. As I am one picky Sherlock Holmes super fan, that's saying something. I was NOT pleased with the season two premiere. BeFine hit the nail on the head with this one. Stay tuned, as I have so much more to say on the character assassination Moffat brought upon the wonderful Miss Adler.

The Feminist Three

Mary Morstan, Irene Adler, and Violet Hunter

Last week, I tried my best to argue that the Sherlock Holmes stories are fabulously feminist. But, as I didn’t offer many reasons, I basically asked that you, dear readers, take my word for it. This week, I am giving you three good reasons. Their names are Irene Adler, Mary Morstan, and Violet Hunter.

Since I tend to approach this chronologically, I will start with Mary. Miss Mary Morstan is the first significant female character to appear in the Sherlock Holmes stories, being the client who brings her case to Holmes in The Sign of Four. She tends to be listed as a “minor character,” but she gets more page time then Professor Moriarty.[1]  She goes to Holmes with inquiries regarding the unsolved disappearance of her father and mysterious letters she has been receiving in the mail. It all sets off what I consider the ultimate Sherlock Holmes adventure.[2] It has everything! Cocaine, The Baker Street Irregulars, colonial commentary, a mega-creepy locked room murder, incompetent police, lost Indian treasure, romance, and a boat chase on the Thames! Mary is not an obtusely feminist character, but she is a confident, brave young woman. As a witness to the “Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge,” she accompanies Holmes and Watson during the first, and creepiest, leg of the adventure. She ends up the future Mrs. Watson by the end of the story, which means we get an adorable, swoony Watson and an endearingly jealous Sherlock.[3]

Beyond her significance to the story, Mary is relatively unremarkable.[4] She is just a pleasant and idealized version of the self sufficient New Woman. Conan Doyle does a lot with themes regarding the new, urban middle class, a phenomenon that was just coming to fruition in the late 19^th century. Holmes and Watson are middle class heroes, and the women who play parts in their adventures are usually unmarried and self-sufficient.[5] Mary is the ultimate example of the character type, and that, in it itself, lends her significance.

After Mary and Watson have settled down, Holmes gets his chance at romance, or rather, his approximation of romance, with the entirely remarkable Irene Adler. Before Irene’s debut in A Scandal in Bohemia, Sherlock is a sexist.[6] His primary reasons are that he has trouble reading women,[7] combined with a little jealousy over Watson’s new lady friend. A choice gem from The Sign of Four; "Women are never to be entirely trusted,--not the best of them."[8] He is also apt to make light of women’s intellectual capacities, which means that, as much as I love Holmes, before Scandal, he’s a bit of an asshole. I say before Scandal because an incredible individual by the name of Irene Alder shows him what’s what.

While dressed as a man. 

Irene Adler is an American by way of New Jersey, a “well-known adventuress,” famed opera singer, and expert blackmailer of rich jerks. She is not so much a New Woman as a Super Woman, almost a sort of artistic Nelly Bly. Irene is also bright enough to outsmart Holmes, which is saying something. She, as the arguable antagonist of the case, wins in the end. Without revealing too much on the plot, I will also commend her for some resourceful cross-dressing, explaining “Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it gives me.” By the end of it all, Holmes, ever humble, has fallen for the female version of himself, enshrining her as “the woman.” She never reappears, but Irene single handily cures Holmes of his sexism with her awesome.[9]  By constructing a character with prejudices, then dismantling those prejudices with an amazing female character, Doyle was being pretty darn feminist.

Violet, doing some detective work of her own.

                                                                                                                                              

The last of the three female characters I will be looking at this week is Violet Hunter, another self-employed New Woman, and heroine of The Copper Beeches, a deliciously creepy little mystery about twisted goings on in the English countryside. When Violet first comes to Baker Street with concerns over a sketchy governess position she has been offered, Watson remarks “she seems to be a young lady who is very well able to take care of herself." Holmes agrees. In fact, her intelligence causes him to become emotionally invested in Violet’s situation, prompting Watson to actively ship the pair. Violet doesn’t end up with Holmes, but she does end up facing the majority of the mystery’s frightening details, and uncovering clues, on her own. Violet Hunter appears in only one story, but like Miss Adler, Violet is a true one hit wonder, reminding us that the best, most self-assured and confident supporting characters in the Sherlock Holmes stories are always women.

---

[1] On the basis of page time, ALL characters other than Holmes and Watson are “minor.”

[2] The Hound of the Baskervilles just isn’t quintessentially Holmes. It’s how unexpected it is that makes it so amazing.

[3] Not nearly as immaturely jealous as RDJ Holmes though. His reaction was way too boy’s club. One of my many problems with the film.

[4] Although, once married, she is wonderfully understanding regarding Watson’s continued attachment to his weird friend. That in itself is pretty remarkable.

[5] If they are not, there is always some very conscience thematic commentary on the fact. But we’ll discuss that next week.  

[6] This does not mean that Doyle is a sexist. I assume that I don’t have to explain to you, dear reader, that an author doesn’t often share the worldview of their characters. But I have had to do this before.

[7] Most likely a byproduct of his Aspergers syndrome.  Yes, I know that is the diagnosis de jour, but yes, he has it.

[8] “I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment.” You know something, Watson? Kinda wish you had.

[9] “He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late.”