Oh, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!
What great adventures you write! What superb mystery! What excellent dialogue! What gripping narrative!
What historical inaccuracies!
Okay, okay. I’m just sore because the author of the great Sherlock Holmes spent thirty-some-odd pages describing my Mormon ancestors as shadowy, thieving, murderous, Illuminati whore-mongers. And for describing my home state as an uninhabitable wasteland, where even the hardy Indians couldn’t live before Brigham Young and his terrifying band. (My Native friends would probably find this funny, too.) But, I mean, come on! A little research, Mr. Doyle?
And then I sat and thought, “If I wrote a mystery novel set in London, how accurate would it be?” … Not. At all.
Alright, Sir Arthur. You’re highly inaccurate, but I’ll still give you two stars for effort. You just keep writing, and leave Utah alone from here on out, okay? Okay. ♦