About this time last year, I obsessively read the original six novels in Nancy Springer's Enola Holmes series. Six books, five days. They were a fucking hit when they were originally published in the early 2000s. And they were a renewed hit a year ago when Millie Bobby Brown stared in (and produced--fucking badass females for the win) the Netflix movie adaptation last September. Last month, a short story (e-reader only) was released ("Enola Holmes and the Boy in Buttons"--this post's focus); last week a seventh novel in the series was released ("Enola Holmes and the Black Barouche").
["Nancy Springer's nationally bestselling series and breakout Netflix sensation is back! In this short story, Enola Holmes is on the case when a young porter - the boy in buttons - disappears without a trace.
Enola Holmes, the much younger sister of Sherlock and Mycroft, owns a building in the heart of 19th century London, a place she uses under pseudonyms to front for her investigative work. Employed there is a porter - Joddy, a young boy in a uniform festooned with buttons - whose even younger brother substitutes for him when he's sick. But Paddy disappears after one day at the job and Enola Holmes is alerted to this by the still ill Joddy.Determined to find the missing porter, Enola travels to the rough part of London where the boys live and starts searching Aldgate Pump area for the missing boy. When she finds the missing buttons - but not the boy - she decides that drastic action is essential if she's to save the missing boy."]
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