I have a confession: I am an Agatha Christie addict. Of her 80 detective novels, I have read all but three. I own all but five. They sit in a bookcase all of their own, alphabetised in their decade-spanning, myterious little second-hand covers. Knitting makes me think of Miss Marple, old motorcars of Hastings, strange little ladies too fond of their cats of Miss Lemon. Quaint English villages with well kept gardens and long forgotten churches bring to mind euthanasia, bankruptcy and blackmail. If I was angry with you it wouldn't be a quick fist to the nose but an 'accident' involving a giant painting, or a dash of cyanide in a glass of pink lemonade intended for somebody else. Be afraid :)
I'm not sure what it is about Christie. She certainly does not fit into the 'reality-bending, international modern literature' genre that my other favourites - Murakami and Mitchell - do so snugly. Despite the frequently exotic locations of her books and characters, she is as English as scones and tea. And not only is she English, she belongs to a frequently unspecified 'old-fashioned' era. Yes, butlers and stockings, steam trains, dressing up before dinner, revolvers in handbags, ginger beer, going to Switzerland for one's health, art deco houses, the seaside and (sometimes more than) casual xenophobia all give a sense of the 'golden' period, and the changes the detectives see happening in the (youth) culture around them allows for the passage of time, but there is still the feeling that Agatha's England is a creation of her very own, and has its own very particular brand of crime.
People are almost always murdered for money - to stop blackmail, protect their reputation, allow them to marry somebody rich, to take on someone else's identity or for inheritance. Occasionally, very occasionally, it might be to avenge the death of a parent or child, but the potential murderer usually sees the error of their ways (thanks to the detective and the thought of the gallows) before going through with it. People are not killed in domestic, non-money related arguments. They are never sexually assaulted. It is only in the later, and arguably less entertaining books, that drugs rear their ugly head. I can think of only three or four occasions where a child is killed, and all but one of them are brats :) The young lovers will end up together at the end, however many policeman stand in the way. The murderer is always found and punished in some way. It is safe.
And so within this 'safe' little England can evolve the fiendishly unpredicatble, body-riddled mysteries. Other people have told me that they can spot the guilty party from three chapters in but I must admit, hand on heart, that I have never been able to work out the who, the how and the why for a single one of her novels and, unlike many modern mystery writers, the clues are always there. They just have to be sifted from the vast heaps of red herrings. Agatha Christie is an absolute delight.
As is my darling Poirot. However miserable I may be feeling, sit me down with a glass of red wine, a box of chocolates and a novel starring our moustached, well-dressed Belgian gentleman and his 'little grey cells' and I'm in heaven. This a love affair that's been eight years and counting - I hope it lasts a lifetime.
And with my adoration of most things Christie comes a certain buzz whenever the ITV schedule reaches a certain time of year . . . yes, they have drifted away from the source material occasionally in recent years, but judging from last week's episode we're back on track. And David Suchet is still an absolute marvel, he is Poirot. As long as the books remain in print he will be remembered for the suit, the walk and the 'moustaches'. :)
I'm not sure what it is about Christie. She certainly does not fit into the 'reality-bending, international modern literature' genre that my other favourites - Murakami and Mitchell - do so snugly. Despite the frequently exotic locations of her books and characters, she is as English as scones and tea. And not only is she English, she belongs to a frequently unspecified 'old-fashioned' era. Yes, butlers and stockings, steam trains, dressing up before dinner, revolvers in handbags, ginger beer, going to Switzerland for one's health, art deco houses, the seaside and (sometimes more than) casual xenophobia all give a sense of the 'golden' period, and the changes the detectives see happening in the (youth) culture around them allows for the passage of time, but there is still the feeling that Agatha's England is a creation of her very own, and has its own very particular brand of crime.
People are almost always murdered for money - to stop blackmail, protect their reputation, allow them to marry somebody rich, to take on someone else's identity or for inheritance. Occasionally, very occasionally, it might be to avenge the death of a parent or child, but the potential murderer usually sees the error of their ways (thanks to the detective and the thought of the gallows) before going through with it. People are not killed in domestic, non-money related arguments. They are never sexually assaulted. It is only in the later, and arguably less entertaining books, that drugs rear their ugly head. I can think of only three or four occasions where a child is killed, and all but one of them are brats :) The young lovers will end up together at the end, however many policeman stand in the way. The murderer is always found and punished in some way. It is safe.
And so within this 'safe' little England can evolve the fiendishly unpredicatble, body-riddled mysteries. Other people have told me that they can spot the guilty party from three chapters in but I must admit, hand on heart, that I have never been able to work out the who, the how and the why for a single one of her novels and, unlike many modern mystery writers, the clues are always there. They just have to be sifted from the vast heaps of red herrings. Agatha Christie is an absolute delight.
As is my darling Poirot. However miserable I may be feeling, sit me down with a glass of red wine, a box of chocolates and a novel starring our moustached, well-dressed Belgian gentleman and his 'little grey cells' and I'm in heaven. This a love affair that's been eight years and counting - I hope it lasts a lifetime.
And with my adoration of most things Christie comes a certain buzz whenever the ITV schedule reaches a certain time of year . . . yes, they have drifted away from the source material occasionally in recent years, but judging from last week's episode we're back on track. And David Suchet is still an absolute marvel, he is Poirot. As long as the books remain in print he will be remembered for the suit, the walk and the 'moustaches'. :)
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