: Arthur Conan Doyle
: The hound of Baskerville
: Nórdica Libros
: 9788415564676
: 1
: CHF 8.90
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: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 125
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: ePUB
The Hound of the Baskervilles is the third novel by Arthur Conan Doyle whose main character Sherlock Holmes. It was serialized in The Strand Magazine between 1901 and 1902. The book is about the tension between the otherworldly and the real, between superstition and science. Holmes will seek logical explanation, which will eventually be imposed, within the canons of detective fiction, the events that occur in the wilderness west of England.

Arthur Conan Doyle | Autor Arthur Conan Doyle (Edimburgo, 1859 - Crowborough, Reino Unido, 1930). Novelista británico. De familia escocesa, estudió en las universidades de Stonyhurst y de Edimburgo, donde concluyó la carrera de Medicina. Entre 1882 y 1890 ejerció como médico en Southsea (Inglaterra). En 1887 publica Estudio en escarlata, que se convertiría en el primero de los sesenta y ocho relatos en los que aparece uno de los detectives literarios más famosos de todos los tiempos, Sherlock Holmes. En un momento de auténtica inspiración, basándose en el modelo de don Quijote y Sancho que tantos novelistas han utilizado, el autor creó al doctor Watson, un médico leal pero intelectualmente torpe que acompaña a Holmes y escribe sus aventuras. En julio de 1891 empezó a publicar en la revista Strand Magazine las andanzas de su personaje. Javier Olivares | Ilustrador Javier Olivares (Madrid, 1964). Ilustrador e historietista. Su carrera comienza en el año 1985 y está ligada a revistas como Madriz, Medios Revueltos o Nosotros Somos los Muertos. Sus ilustraciones han aparecido en periódicos como El País o El Mundo y actualmente pueden verse también en Público. Ha publicado varias monografías sobre su trabajo, algunas de ellas nominadas a Mejor Obra en el Salón del Cómic de Barcelona y sus trabajos han sido merecedores de numerosas exposiciones nacionales e internacionales.

1

Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a"Penang lawyer." Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch across."To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the C.C.H.," was engraved upon it, with the date"1884." It was just such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to carry—dignified, solid, and reassuring. 

"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?" 

Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no sign of my occupation. 

"How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in the back of your head." 

"I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in front of me," said he."But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of our visitor's stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir becomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an examination of it." 

"I think," said I, following as far as I could the methods of my companion,"that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly medical man, well-esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of their appreciation." 

"Good!" said Holmes."Excellent!" 

"I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on foot." 

"Why so?" 

"Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with it." 

"Perfectly sound!" said Holmes. 

"And then again, there is the 'friends of the C.C.H.' I should guess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose members he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which has made him a small presentation in return." 

"Really, Watson, you excel yourself," said Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette."I am bound to say that in all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own small achievements you have habitually underrated your own abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear fellow, that I am very much in your debt." 

He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his