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Title: The Mysterious Affair at Styles
Author: Agatha Christie
Genre: Classic mystery
Thingummies: 2.5
Synopsis: An English house party goes awry when the hostess dies of strychnine poisoning. The twit of a narrator calls in the Belgian detective Poirot to be overly excitable.
Thoughts: I'd meant to read some of the legendary Christie, and picked this one somewhat at random. I'm not sure if some of her other work is stronger, but I was not particularly impressed.
I'd read somewhere once that Christie was not certain of the solution to the mystery herself when she started writing a novel. If this is true, it shows. There are red herrings that lead nowhere, and damning evidence that appears, as best as I can figure out, in the paragraph before its solution is explained. The final twist is hopelessly contrived and revealed in a multi-paged monologue by Poirot, whose presence had begun to wear rather thin. I understand why he says so little of what he knows, both to keep the reader in suspense and because the narrator is a complete moron who can't be trusted. But it grew very tiresome. Holmes often does the same, but somehow it's never quite as grating.
Also grating is the classism woven throughout the book. I realize it's a product of the times, but it's still discomforting. All the servants and townspeople are hopelessly ignorant (although frequently cunning). They're described in terms that almost verge on bestial - a pretty girl who only smiles at them has a "vivid wicked little face", a "aged rustic" "leered at me cunningly", a maid is repeatedly called a "fine specimen", a gardener actually twists his hat over and over in his hands.
One thing I did quite appreciate is the unreliableness of the narrator, who fancies himself to be much more clever than he is. His misunderstandings of Poirot's gentle needling are genuinely amusing.
The ending does work, kinda. If you like twists, this has lots. But I thought they were poorly planned and poorly revealed.
Author: Agatha Christie
Genre: Classic mystery
Thingummies: 2.5
Synopsis: An English house party goes awry when the hostess dies of strychnine poisoning. The twit of a narrator calls in the Belgian detective Poirot to be overly excitable.
Thoughts: I'd meant to read some of the legendary Christie, and picked this one somewhat at random. I'm not sure if some of her other work is stronger, but I was not particularly impressed.
I'd read somewhere once that Christie was not certain of the solution to the mystery herself when she started writing a novel. If this is true, it shows. There are red herrings that lead nowhere, and damning evidence that appears, as best as I can figure out, in the paragraph before its solution is explained. The final twist is hopelessly contrived and revealed in a multi-paged monologue by Poirot, whose presence had begun to wear rather thin. I understand why he says so little of what he knows, both to keep the reader in suspense and because the narrator is a complete moron who can't be trusted. But it grew very tiresome. Holmes often does the same, but somehow it's never quite as grating.
Also grating is the classism woven throughout the book. I realize it's a product of the times, but it's still discomforting. All the servants and townspeople are hopelessly ignorant (although frequently cunning). They're described in terms that almost verge on bestial - a pretty girl who only smiles at them has a "vivid wicked little face", a "aged rustic" "leered at me cunningly", a maid is repeatedly called a "fine specimen", a gardener actually twists his hat over and over in his hands.
One thing I did quite appreciate is the unreliableness of the narrator, who fancies himself to be much more clever than he is. His misunderstandings of Poirot's gentle needling are genuinely amusing.
The ending does work, kinda. If you like twists, this has lots. But I thought they were poorly planned and poorly revealed.
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Date: 2011-10-04 12:07 am (UTC)From:no subject
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