Bruce Beckham's Blog - Posts Tagged "agatha-christie"
Roger and Out
I'm currently reading The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, widely regarded as Agatha Christie's masterpiece.
I love her books - though more out of curiosity and sentimental nostalgia for the interwar era than for their plots.
Down the years I've worked my way through most of the collection - but rarely have I guessed the identity of the guilty party prior to the denouement.
Indeed, this is not something I strive for - I'm content to leave the sleuthing to Monsieur Poirot et al.
However, for some reason in this case, by the end of Chapter 4 (of 27), I feel certain about 'whodunit'.
Perhaps I've struck lucky with a stray observation - but based on my hypothesis the 'Queen of Crime' appears over-generous with her clues.
Of course, she's also the Queen of Red Herrings, so maybe I've taken the bait!
I love her books - though more out of curiosity and sentimental nostalgia for the interwar era than for their plots.
Down the years I've worked my way through most of the collection - but rarely have I guessed the identity of the guilty party prior to the denouement.
Indeed, this is not something I strive for - I'm content to leave the sleuthing to Monsieur Poirot et al.
However, for some reason in this case, by the end of Chapter 4 (of 27), I feel certain about 'whodunit'.
Perhaps I've struck lucky with a stray observation - but based on my hypothesis the 'Queen of Crime' appears over-generous with her clues.
Of course, she's also the Queen of Red Herrings, so maybe I've taken the bait!
Window on the world
So I finished The Murder of Roger Ackroyd today - and, as I suspected, at an early stage I had correctly guessed the identity of the killer.
I've been trying to work out if this made reading the novel more or less enjoyable - but I think my conclusion is there was no difference; I really liked it, and it was still necessary to wait until the denouement to be certain.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, what I most love about Agatha Christie's writing is its window on the inter-war world of upper middle class England - perhaps unintentional on her behalf, but fascinating nonetheless.
Bring on the next one!
I've been trying to work out if this made reading the novel more or less enjoyable - but I think my conclusion is there was no difference; I really liked it, and it was still necessary to wait until the denouement to be certain.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, what I most love about Agatha Christie's writing is its window on the inter-war world of upper middle class England - perhaps unintentional on her behalf, but fascinating nonetheless.
Bring on the next one!
Re-writing the past?
I'm currently reading Decline and Fall by Evelyn Waugh.
It was published in 1928 and deals with English high society of the time.
It is basically a comic novel - intentionally (I presume) implausible at times. However, I find myself continuing with it.
Part of the story takes place in a private school in Wales. Waugh is quite disparaging of the Welsh, in a stereotypically comedic (though patronising) manner.
However, this is nothing compared to the sequence in which a wealthy female parent (white, upper-class, English) turns up at school sports day with a younger male companion who is black.
The racist observations made by various characters are quite extraordinary - and unprintable here - though I have no doubt they reflect what were considered the norms of the time.
My Penguin copy is not dated. The decimal pricing of £4.99 on the back cover tells me it is post 1970s - so I'd guess late 1980s or after.
I wonder if I bought a more recently published version would the offending section be expunged - or at least edited? (I guess I need to look in a bookshop.)
But this of course begs the question: 'Should the past be recast to comply with today's values and standards?'
Isn't part of reading something like Decline and Fall an exercise in history - an opportunity to discover what were the mores and opinions of that era?
At an extreme, to take a modern scalpel to the Marquis de Sade would entirely undermine his stated intention to shock, and render worthless a piece of literary history (not that I would recommend it).
More prosaically, as fans of Agatha Christie will know, And Then There Were None is not the original title of this work, as published in 1939.
It's a tricky one.
It was published in 1928 and deals with English high society of the time.
It is basically a comic novel - intentionally (I presume) implausible at times. However, I find myself continuing with it.
Part of the story takes place in a private school in Wales. Waugh is quite disparaging of the Welsh, in a stereotypically comedic (though patronising) manner.
However, this is nothing compared to the sequence in which a wealthy female parent (white, upper-class, English) turns up at school sports day with a younger male companion who is black.
The racist observations made by various characters are quite extraordinary - and unprintable here - though I have no doubt they reflect what were considered the norms of the time.
My Penguin copy is not dated. The decimal pricing of £4.99 on the back cover tells me it is post 1970s - so I'd guess late 1980s or after.
I wonder if I bought a more recently published version would the offending section be expunged - or at least edited? (I guess I need to look in a bookshop.)
But this of course begs the question: 'Should the past be recast to comply with today's values and standards?'
Isn't part of reading something like Decline and Fall an exercise in history - an opportunity to discover what were the mores and opinions of that era?
At an extreme, to take a modern scalpel to the Marquis de Sade would entirely undermine his stated intention to shock, and render worthless a piece of literary history (not that I would recommend it).
More prosaically, as fans of Agatha Christie will know, And Then There Were None is not the original title of this work, as published in 1939.
It's a tricky one.
Whodunit?
And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie.
Firstly, I would like to include a trigger warning - as you will probably know the early editions of this book contained overtly racist language.
Originally published as Ten Little Niggers (I'll come to this shortly), it is a mystery about 10 largely unconnected people - each with a guilty secret - who are lured to an island off the Devon coast and who - as the narrative makes clear early on - are all going to die. But they are the only ones on the island!
As the corpses relentlessly pile up, tension builds among the dwindling survivors - meanwhile frustration grows for the reader, as the impossible seems to be happening!
It's a clever plot (all is revealed at the end), if a little far-fetched - but, hey - sometimes you have to give the author the benefit of the doubt in order to entertain!
In typical Christie fashion it is almost entirely plot-centric, and there is little of literary merit to get one's teeth into. In fact, technically, the writing isn't so hot. The setting is very stark (a 'modern' house), and so I also missed the usual nostalgia trip that goes with her novels. But it's all about the plot.
Regarding the former title, no such changes extend into the text of my edition, which sees the story unfold on Nigger Island (so named because it resembles the profile of a negro's head - one of the far-fetched aspects: that ancient Devonshire folk would invent such an appellation) and during which miniature statuettes and a nursery rhyme, both alluding to the original title, play an ongoing role. This aspect is more than a little unsettling.
Firstly, I would like to include a trigger warning - as you will probably know the early editions of this book contained overtly racist language.
Originally published as Ten Little Niggers (I'll come to this shortly), it is a mystery about 10 largely unconnected people - each with a guilty secret - who are lured to an island off the Devon coast and who - as the narrative makes clear early on - are all going to die. But they are the only ones on the island!
As the corpses relentlessly pile up, tension builds among the dwindling survivors - meanwhile frustration grows for the reader, as the impossible seems to be happening!
It's a clever plot (all is revealed at the end), if a little far-fetched - but, hey - sometimes you have to give the author the benefit of the doubt in order to entertain!
In typical Christie fashion it is almost entirely plot-centric, and there is little of literary merit to get one's teeth into. In fact, technically, the writing isn't so hot. The setting is very stark (a 'modern' house), and so I also missed the usual nostalgia trip that goes with her novels. But it's all about the plot.
Regarding the former title, no such changes extend into the text of my edition, which sees the story unfold on Nigger Island (so named because it resembles the profile of a negro's head - one of the far-fetched aspects: that ancient Devonshire folk would invent such an appellation) and during which miniature statuettes and a nursery rhyme, both alluding to the original title, play an ongoing role. This aspect is more than a little unsettling.
Does it spoil a whodunit if you solve the crime before the sleuth?
I am normally hopeless at deducing the person ‘whodunit’.
So much so, that I don’t even try any more.
I am content to wait – indeed, to relax – until Poirot, or his equivalent, is ready to gather the family around the fireside and deliver his pronouncement.
But in the past couple of weeks I made a concerted effort to change this state of affairs. I chose ‘After the Funeral’, by Agatha Christie.
I kept assiduous notes, marking down against each suspect anything that might relate to motive, opportunity, lack of alibi and suspicious behaviour. I collected 102 pieces of evidence!
And – eureka! Three-quarters of the way through the book, it came to me.
(Curiously, the apparent culprit was not on my list of suspects!)
This put me on tenterhooks for the remainder of the novel.
Having invested a ton of effort – and more than a pinch of professional pride – I did not want to be wrong.
And what does Ms. Christie do? She throws in a couple of curved balls right at the death. She had me doubting my judgement.
So it was quite a relief when Monsieur Poirot put me out of my misery. (I did get it right – though for the life of me I could not work out the motive!)
The upside? Satisfaction.
The downside? Anxiety.
On balance? I’m undecided! It created a challenge – but I’m not sure I could muster the discipline to do it every time.
Finally, it left me with even greater admiration for Agatha. Though her writing in this novel is as endearingly clunky as ever, the mystery she contrives is as endearingly masterful as ever.
So much so, that I don’t even try any more.
I am content to wait – indeed, to relax – until Poirot, or his equivalent, is ready to gather the family around the fireside and deliver his pronouncement.
But in the past couple of weeks I made a concerted effort to change this state of affairs. I chose ‘After the Funeral’, by Agatha Christie.
I kept assiduous notes, marking down against each suspect anything that might relate to motive, opportunity, lack of alibi and suspicious behaviour. I collected 102 pieces of evidence!
And – eureka! Three-quarters of the way through the book, it came to me.
(Curiously, the apparent culprit was not on my list of suspects!)
This put me on tenterhooks for the remainder of the novel.
Having invested a ton of effort – and more than a pinch of professional pride – I did not want to be wrong.
And what does Ms. Christie do? She throws in a couple of curved balls right at the death. She had me doubting my judgement.
So it was quite a relief when Monsieur Poirot put me out of my misery. (I did get it right – though for the life of me I could not work out the motive!)
The upside? Satisfaction.
The downside? Anxiety.
On balance? I’m undecided! It created a challenge – but I’m not sure I could muster the discipline to do it every time.
Finally, it left me with even greater admiration for Agatha. Though her writing in this novel is as endearingly clunky as ever, the mystery she contrives is as endearingly masterful as ever.
Journey or Destination?
They say life’s a journey, not a destination – but what about a novel?
Lately I have been alternating between Patricia Highsmith and Agatha Christie. I find them equally enjoyable, yet they could hardly be further apart on this roving scale.
To read a Highsmith is to ride a stagecoach through bandit country, hot and dusty, bumpy and uncomfortable, the sights compelling if obscure, nose pressed to the glass, in constant fear of attack. There is no destination, only eventual escape from such badlands.
In contrast a Christie is all about destination: simply, whodunit? Of course, there is a journey of sorts, but it is an undemanding affair, soothing upon the nerves, frothy and frivolous, light entertainment from Poirot and the Edwardian mores of the English upper-middle classes.
It is the classic dichotomy: Suspense and Mystery, those two great nations of popular fiction, Highsmith and Christie their respective queens.
The contrast got me thinking. I like them both – so what if they were to combine? Murder On The Orient Express meets Those Who Walk Away (set in Venice, as it happens): a journey to remember, a destination to take the breath away. The trip of a lifetime!
Perhaps this book exists. Any recommendations much appreciated!
Lately I have been alternating between Patricia Highsmith and Agatha Christie. I find them equally enjoyable, yet they could hardly be further apart on this roving scale.
To read a Highsmith is to ride a stagecoach through bandit country, hot and dusty, bumpy and uncomfortable, the sights compelling if obscure, nose pressed to the glass, in constant fear of attack. There is no destination, only eventual escape from such badlands.
In contrast a Christie is all about destination: simply, whodunit? Of course, there is a journey of sorts, but it is an undemanding affair, soothing upon the nerves, frothy and frivolous, light entertainment from Poirot and the Edwardian mores of the English upper-middle classes.
It is the classic dichotomy: Suspense and Mystery, those two great nations of popular fiction, Highsmith and Christie their respective queens.
The contrast got me thinking. I like them both – so what if they were to combine? Murder On The Orient Express meets Those Who Walk Away (set in Venice, as it happens): a journey to remember, a destination to take the breath away. The trip of a lifetime!
Perhaps this book exists. Any recommendations much appreciated!
The back-story - strictly for viewers?
I’m fairly sure that if I were writing a TV detective series the back-story would be de rigueur. Not only must the cop catch all the crooks, but he or she must cop off, too (whether it be with their partner in solving crime, the victim they have risked life and limb to save, or even the master criminal with whom they have traded blows). And it will probably end in tears.
But for books – I’m not so sure.
There are various pitfalls of the back-story, not least the risk that it becomes the front-story. Since whodunits don’t really work on TV, there has to be some easy underlying drama to sustain the viewer’s interest. Lazing on the sofa, it soon becomes all-consuming.
Nonetheless, I constantly anguish over how much back-story there should be in my books. Then I lean for support and reassurance on the great Agatha Christie. For her, ‘The Mystery’ was pre-eminent, all else – despite the immense fame of her detectives – was subsidiary.
Frankly I’m quite entertained by how little I know about Hercule Poirot. One can go through an entire novel and learn no more than he has a massive ego, smokes tiny cigarettes and harbours a penchant for syrop de cassis.
And even Ms Christie perhaps regretted giving him what little back-story she did.
Of course, she can’t have known when she wrote the first ‘Poirot’ in 1920 that she would call upon his services for the next 55 years – but it was a lack of foresight which had those poor little grey cells toiling well into their nineties!
But for books – I’m not so sure.
There are various pitfalls of the back-story, not least the risk that it becomes the front-story. Since whodunits don’t really work on TV, there has to be some easy underlying drama to sustain the viewer’s interest. Lazing on the sofa, it soon becomes all-consuming.
Nonetheless, I constantly anguish over how much back-story there should be in my books. Then I lean for support and reassurance on the great Agatha Christie. For her, ‘The Mystery’ was pre-eminent, all else – despite the immense fame of her detectives – was subsidiary.
Frankly I’m quite entertained by how little I know about Hercule Poirot. One can go through an entire novel and learn no more than he has a massive ego, smokes tiny cigarettes and harbours a penchant for syrop de cassis.
And even Ms Christie perhaps regretted giving him what little back-story she did.
Of course, she can’t have known when she wrote the first ‘Poirot’ in 1920 that she would call upon his services for the next 55 years – but it was a lack of foresight which had those poor little grey cells toiling well into their nineties!
Still game
In her autobiography Agatha Christie rued that she had started with Hercule Poirot “so old” – and indeed by the time of his last appearance his age has been estimated at 125!
Ian Rankin encountered similar problems with Rebus, who became too old to be a serving policeman and, eventually, too old to be credible... and so the author slowed down his ageing!
Colin Dexter was a little more judicious in his handling of Morse – but the erudite inspector became so closely associated with the actor John Thaw (whose ageing could not be curtailed) that similar problems arose.
Thankfully, a more enlightened approach has gained traction, as exemplified by Sherlock – after all, why would a fictional character need to age at all? Nobody seems to struggle with Dr Who and his/her continual rejuvenation.
The corollary, however, is some sacrifice of the so-called ‘back story’. If the great protagonist is trapped in a time warp, where will he or she find space to socialise and beyond? It means the pendulum swings towards the ‘series’ rather than the ‘serial’. But at least it avoids the bizarre phenomenon encountered in those eternal soap operas, where deceased characters are resurrected, requiring a suspension of disbelief of an entirely higher order.
Of course, no author really knows for how long they might champion their hero – but it seems from the above case studies to err on the side of caution would be good advice. And the ‘Sherlock’ method has inherent appeal to any writer who is in denial of their own ageing!
Ian Rankin encountered similar problems with Rebus, who became too old to be a serving policeman and, eventually, too old to be credible... and so the author slowed down his ageing!
Colin Dexter was a little more judicious in his handling of Morse – but the erudite inspector became so closely associated with the actor John Thaw (whose ageing could not be curtailed) that similar problems arose.
Thankfully, a more enlightened approach has gained traction, as exemplified by Sherlock – after all, why would a fictional character need to age at all? Nobody seems to struggle with Dr Who and his/her continual rejuvenation.
The corollary, however, is some sacrifice of the so-called ‘back story’. If the great protagonist is trapped in a time warp, where will he or she find space to socialise and beyond? It means the pendulum swings towards the ‘series’ rather than the ‘serial’. But at least it avoids the bizarre phenomenon encountered in those eternal soap operas, where deceased characters are resurrected, requiring a suspension of disbelief of an entirely higher order.
Of course, no author really knows for how long they might champion their hero – but it seems from the above case studies to err on the side of caution would be good advice. And the ‘Sherlock’ method has inherent appeal to any writer who is in denial of their own ageing!
'Golden Age' classic
The Mystery at Stowe by Vernon LoderMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
I came across the prolific Belfast-born John Haslette Vahey advertised on the dust jacket of an old copy of Agatha Christie’s The Mystery of the Blue Train. As a Golden Age contemporary of Christie, he published 22 crime novels between 1928-1938 under the penname ‘Vernon Loder’. Plenty to get one’s teeth into!
The Mystery at Stowe is the first of these, although as far as I could glean, there is no ‘hero’ detective, and if anything I found it difficult to identify a clear protagonist in this work.
For the most part it is a tidily written, tightly constructed traditional mystery, the archetypal country house murder. A well-intentioned benefactor gathers together an upper-middle-class crowd, and a poison dart from a wall-mounted trophy blowpipe does the ill deed.
The victim is the wife in a rumoured love triangle, and her female explorer rival becomes the chief suspect. Out of the blue from Africa, enter a long-estranged suitor (not universally welcomed), bent on proving the police wrong.
So far, so good. The narrative keeps the locus tight, and the police make steady progress. But … I had forgotten one thing … the ‘rules’ of the Detection Club: anything goes!
Authors were invited to ‘cheat’ by concocting a practically implausible but theoretically possible modus operandi – indeed, it seemed the more contrived the better. In achieving the unfathomable whodunit, no amount of jiggery-pokery was off limits!
All well and good, but a rather unsatisfying climax for the reader who seeks a credible scenario.
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