A collection of short stories about Mr. Satterthwaite, an elderly bachelor who observes life rather than participating in it, and Mr. Quin, a younger man who appears mysteriously to catalyze a crucial change or realization in the lives of others - often though not always lovers - and disappears just as mysteriously. Shadows and reflections make Mr. Harley Quin appear to be masked and dressed in rainbow motley. He's obviously an avatar of Harlequin from the English Harlequinade, which was based on the Italian commedia dell'arte, where he's an acrobatic, romantic trickster figure with magical powers.

Mr. Sattherthwaite is very clearly coded as gay. (With Christie that sort of thing is deliberate, she absolutely knew about gay people and they're no more or less likely to be sympathetic than her straight characters.) He's a lifelong bachelor whose only romantic relationship with a woman was due to social expectations and apparently never went beyond hand-holding, if that. He's explicitly described as feminine.

The stories are all standalones in which either Mr. Satterthwaite solves a mystery, often after the fact, with Mr. Quin's help, or in which they help characters with some romantic problem. The mysteries themselves are mundane, but Mr. Quin is increasingly unambiguously magical, and Mr. Satterthwaite is increasingly unambiguously enthralled by him. Mr. Satterthwaite goes from feeling that he's a dried-up old man destined to be a bystander to taking on active roles in investigations, and seeing that his actions matter. Mr. Quin goes from a strange and distant figure to also taking on an active role in human life, and clearly develops a deep fondness for and connection to Mr. Satterthwaite. There's no real conclusion to their personal story, but there is a definite evolution.

I'd read some of these stories before, but this was my first time reading the entire volume in order. The mysteries are on the implausible/melodramatic side, but Christie conjures up a vivid atmosphere of romantic longing and subtle magic. They're basically fairytales, sometimes sweet, sometimes tragic, in the form of mysteries and wrapped around a barely-coded love story between a lonely old man and a magical being drawn to lovers.

Unsurprisingly, there is some excellent fic which removes the coding veneer.

Christie scale: MILD levels of ethnic stereotyping. In-character class snobbery.
"I wonder," she paused, "if you'd nothing to think about but yourself for days and days I wonder what you'd find out about yourself--"

One of six non-mystery novels written by Christie under the Mary Westmacott pseudonym. This is the first I've read. Christie wrote it in three days and thought it was one of her best novels.

Middle-aged wife and mother Joan Scudamore is passing through Iraq on her way back from a visit with her grown daughter when a flood strands her at a rest stop for a week with absolutely nothing to do. There's no other guests, she hates the food, she's hardly going to converse with the staff, there's nothing to see but desert, and she only has three books. With no other alternatives, she looks back on her life and slowly begins to realize truths about it and her that she refused to see or admit to before.

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While not a genre mystery, Absent in the Spring does have a central mystery - what is the truth about Joan? - and a sequence of reveals. It's very technically accomplished. It's not a fun book like a lot of Christie's mysteries as Joan is so awful and we're relentlessly inside her head, but it's interesting and I can see why Christie herself liked it. It was a very difficult concept to pull off and she pulls it off.

Christie scale: A single but HAIR-RAISING bit of anti-Semitism. A single but HAIR-RAISING bit of "rape: it does a woman good." MEDIUM amounts of racism.

She opened the morning room door, and Bob shot through like a suddenly projected cannonball.

"Who is it? Where are they? Oh, there you are. Dear me, don't I seem to remember -" sniff- sniff- sniff- prolonged snort. "Of course! We have met!"

"Hullo, old man," I said. "How goes it?"

Bob wagged his tail perfunctorily.

"Nicely, thank you. Let me just see -" he resumed his researches. "Been talking to a spaniel lately, I smell. Foolish dogs, I think. What's this? A cat? That is interesting. Wish we had her here. We'd have rare sport. H'm - not a bad bull terrier."

Having correctly diagnosed a visit I had paid recently to some doggy friends, he transferred his attention to Poirot, inhaled a noseful of benzine and walked away reproachfully.


While Poirot and Hastings are having breakfast together, Poirot receives a letter from an old woman, Emily Arundell. It's very circuitous as well as written in spidery handwriting, refers to some incident that's never explained, and says she wants to consult Poirot. Hastings thinks it's nothing, but Poirot notices the date: two months ago. Why was it mailed so late?

He and Hastings go to her home village to investigate, where they learn that Miss Arundell died shortly after writing the letter, of long-standing liver problems. Hastings, of course, would let it go at that; his biggest interest is in her terrier Bob, who he understands very well... to the point that he translates all of Bob's barks and body language into English! This becomes a running thing and is hilarious and charming. I have never liked Hastings more.

Poirot, however, is interested to learn that Miss Arundell tripped over Bob's ball and fell down the stairs shortly before writing the letter to him, and then changed her will to leave everything to her dithering companion rather than to her closest family members, her adult nieces and no-good nephew. ("Companion" is not a euphemism for lover. Miss Lawson was hired help, and relatively recently hired at that.) Was her fall a murder attempt? Did her shady nephew who joked about bumping her off really do it? What about her niece's suspiciously Greek doctor husband, who would know about poisons? Did she really get a premonition of death at the seance Miss Lawson dragged her to shortly before the murder?

The mystery itself is fine, with one particularly clever bit involving the seance, but not one of Christie's best. The characters are also fine (apart from Bob, I particularly enjoyed the supposed psychics, from whose offer of a dinner of "shredded raw vegetables" Poirot and Hastings flee in horror), but again, not Christie's best.

What makes this book shine, and it does shine, is in Poirot's unique approach to the case, Poirot and Hastings's interactions with each other and with the villagers, and in the dialogue and comedy scenes. It's really funny. Poirot tells a different lie about who he is and why he's there to everyone he meets, Hastings and Bob have an actual relationship arc with a very satisfying conclusion, and it's very difficult to read the book and not come away convinced that Poirot and Hastings are married, or at least joined-at-the-hip platonic life partners.

Christie scale: MILD levels of XENOPHOBIA against GREEKS and other FOREIGNERS.

I'm reviewing the audio version of this because it's so delightful. Hugh Fraser does a great job with all the voices, especially Bob-as-translated-by-Hastings. My mother and I listened to it while traveling together, and it was a very fun experience. It's available on Audible.

Miss Marple's writer nephew Raymond sends her on a relaxing Caribbean vacation, and even arranges for the perfect house sitter so she won't have to worry about that:

A friend who was writing a book wanted a quiet place in the country. "He'll look after the house all right. He's very house proud. He's a queer. I mean –"

He had paused, slightly embarrassed – but surely even dear old aunt Jane must have heard of queers.


I found that oddly sweet. Stereotypical, of course, but it's nice to know that Raymond has gay friends (who are writers!). And the joke is that Miss Marple absolutely, 100% knows about the existence of gay people. Miss Marple knows about all of humanity via her village microcosm.

(I now want the parallel book in which the gay writer friend solves a mystery in St. Mary Mead while Miss Marple is away.)

Raymond thoughtfully even provided a novel for her to read:


"Do you mean that you had no sexual experience at all?" demanded the young man incredulously. "At nineteen? But you must. It's vital."

The girl hung her head unhappily, her straight greasy hair fell forward over her face.

"I know," she muttered, "I know."

He looked at her, stained old jersey, the bare feet, the dirty toenails, the smell of rancid fat… He wondered why he found her so maddeningly attractive.


Miss Marple wondered too! And really! To have sex experienced urged on you exactly as though it was an iron tonic! Poor young things…


This book was published in 1964, and I regret to say that I know exactly what sort of novels this excerpt was parodying.

But on to the mystery. Miss Marple is a bit bored at her Caribbean resort... until another guest, the elderly old bore Major Palgrave, claims to have a photograph of a murderer who got away with it, hastily shuts up and hides it when he sees other guests approaching, and is found dead the next day, the photograph gone...

Miss Marple does more active sleuthing herself in this book than in some of the others, coming up with clever lies and excuses that play on people's perceptions of her as a doddering old lady. But the book really gets fun when she joins forces with another guest, a very old, rich, sick old man, Mr. Rafiel. He's her opposite in many ways - wealthy, cosmopolitan, privileged, used to ordering people around - but they recognize each other as intellectual kindred spirits. And they both want to see justice done.

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Christie scale: MEDIUM amounts of RACISM. Honestly less bad than I expected given the setting.

Next up: At Bertram's Hotel, another one where Miss Marple goes on a relaxing vacation. It's one of my favorite Christies and has a very different setting and tone to A Caribbean Mystery, despite surface similarities.

Changes have come to St. Mary's Mead. A big housing development (known as the Development) has sprung up, Mrs. Bantry has sold her house to a movie star after her husband's death, and Miss Marple has become frail enough that her doctor has ordered her to have a 24-7 caregiver. The caregiver, Mrs. Knight, is obnoxious and infantilizing, and Miss Marple is depressed and diminished under her care. But a murder turns out to be (literally!) just what the doctor ordered...

This has a great hook for the mystery. Marina, the movie star, and her director husband Jason host a charity open house. A local woman, Heather Badcock, is a huge fan of Marina and met her once some ten years ago. While Heather is recounting well-worn story to Marina, Mrs. Bantry sees a frozen look of utter shock come over Marina's face as she stares straight past Heather at the party crowd. When Heather's drink is spilled, Marina gives Heather her own drink. Heather drinks it and dies.

Who or what did Marina see? Was the poison meant for Marina? Will Miss Marple ever get out from under the thumb of the awful Mrs. Knight?

I'd read this before and had remembered the murder mystery fairly well, particularly its very memorable motive. (I read this while on vacation, and [personal profile] freegratis had also read it and recalled the motive.) I'd forgotten the storyline involving Miss Marple and her caregiver, and was very invested in it on this read.

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I have to note that this book includes characters named Badcock, Allcock, Lowcock, and Clithering. That is a lot of cocks and clits, in addition to the inevitable "old pussy."

Christie Ism Scale: Ableism, both embedded in the narrative and depicted but not narratively endorsed. Anti-Italian slurs.

Next up: A Caribbean Mystery.

This one starts with a banger of an opening - an old lady traveling on a train sees a murder take place on a different train traveling on parallel tracks - and then turns into a delightful comedy-drama starring one of Christie's most memorable and likable characters, the housekeeper-entrepreneur Lucy Eyelesbarrow.

Miss Marple, who is friends with Mrs. McGillicuddy (the murder witness), needs someone to stay in a household that's near where she thinks the body was dumped and search for it, but she's gotten too old and frail to do the legwork herself. Enter Lucy, a brilliant businesswoman who has gotten rich and even somewhat famous by being England's greatest short-term housekeeper.

Lucy, who loves her work, is intrigued by this unusual assignment and gets herself hired on to do some housekeeping (officially) and search for the body (unofficially). She promptly gets entangled in the affairs of the household, where she receives proposals of extremely varying nature from literally every male person in it, from becoming the second wife of the crotchety and very elderly father to joining the business of the prim married son to running off to be a criminal with the no-good son, to, via the delightful young son of the boyish former fighter pilot, becoming his step-mother!

The actual mystery, after the excellent opening, becomes almost a subplot (and is not one of Christie's best), because the real meat of the story is following Lucy on a job that is both typical and very unusual. Lucy is marvelous and I wish Christie had made her a series regular; this is one of my very favorite Christies even though the mystery's solution isn't the most interesting.

A particularly fun element is that it's a peculiar sort of romcom with an absurd number of men for Lucy to choose from, but no guarantee that she'll choose any of them. Miss Marple points out very early that it would take a very special sort of man to match with Lucy, given her strong personality and that she's clearly not planning to stop working.

Lucy's suitors are a hilariously motley crew, but she has two (and a possible stealth third) who seem like real possibilities. One is Cedric, a cynical artist living in Spain, with whom Lucy enjoys bickering. The other is Bryan, the fighter pilot who never found anything to match his wartime adventures and whose emotional development was arrested at about age twelve. Neither of them seem good enough for Lucy - Cedric is too full of himself and Bryan needs a mommy, not a wife - though Bryan does have the benefit of a terrific young son. Who she chooses, if any of them, is left open at the end, but...

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Christie Scale: I don't recall anything offensive. Some characters express mild sexism, but it's clearly their opinions and not the author's.

Next up: The Mirror Crack'd From Side To Side.

Hercule Poirot gets involved in the sort of case he normally doesn't handle - a series of semi-random murders by an alphabet-obsessed serial killer. His involvement is because the serial killer sends him taunting letters teasing the location of the murder that he hasn't yet committed, forcing Poirot and the police to scramble to prevent a murder when all they know is the town, the day, and the alphabet letter the victim's name begins with.

One of the interesting aspects is that when it was written and published (1936) profiling serial killers was apparently just starting to become a thing, and we get to see Poirot working with a series of police detectives to do so.

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This is a fun book with a very clever plot and some nice Hastings-Poirot banter, but lacking in memorable characters. It's not a particular favorite of mine, but I did enjoy revisiting it.

A murder is announced in the local paper of a small village, to take place at Little Paddocks, the large home of Miss Leticia Blackwood. Locals assume it's a murder game and show up; Letitia is baffled but knows people will show up, and prepares for an unexpected party. The lights go out, everyone screams happily, there's a gunshot, and the lights come up on the very real corpse of a man nobody knows...

This is set after WWII, when rationing and black market food trading is still going on, and one of the consequences of increased social and literal mobility is that there's a lot more new people and being able to know people from birth to death is no longer such a thing. As a result, it becomes much harder to tell if people really are who they say they are.

This is one of my favorite Christies. It has a clever but solvable mystery, a fun cast of characters including a sympathetic lesbian couple, some heartbreaking tragedy, an interesting setting, and a fun premise.

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Christie Scale: MEDIUM levels of stuff about refugees, but the refugee character, while caricatured, is heroic (in a way that involves taking advantage of stereotypes about refugees) and gets a happy ending.

This is the first time I ever read this book - a bit of a rarity for me with Christie.

It opens with a very funny scene in which a business executive keels over after drinking a cup of tea, and the office workers are thrown into a tizzy trying to figure out how to summon medical help. No one knows who his doctor is, they think 999 is only for police matters, and doctors are not listed in the phone book under "D." It was both historically interesting, a playful poke at the "summon a doctor!" trope, and deeply relatable.

The businessman dies in the hospital of an unusual poison, and it's discovered that his pocket is full of rye. Yes, the grain. No, not the bread. No, not a breakfast cereal, as the police inspector gets very tired of explaining when he inquires about it. Everyone is either baffled or pretends to be baffled by this.

The police investigate his home, which contains his eccentric elderly mother living in the attic, his thirty-years-younger second wife, his pompous son and the son's unhappy wife, his frustrated daughter, and a number of servants including a maid, Gladys, whom Miss Marple used to know, and the omnicompetent housekeeper, Mary Dove, who provides the dish on everyone to the investigator, confessing at the end, "I'm a malicious creature." Later, the black sheep son Lance and his charming wife Pat show up.

Lance is Pat's third husband, though she's still quite young. Her first was a fighter pilot who was shot down almost immediately after they married, and her second had financial bad dealings and killed himself when he was caught.

Something that comes up here as well as in some other Christie books is the idea that some people are much more suited for war than peace, and a heroic ace may find himself adrift in peacetime. Her autobiography mentions that she knew a number of people like this - including her brother, who wasn't notably heroic but was certainly better suited for war than peace; he performed fine when there was a war, and was a disaster when there wasn't. I remembered that theme of hers when I read Manfred von Richthofen's autobiography - he seemed extraordinarily well-suited for war, but not for peace unless he could do nothing but hunt and play sports.

The murder victim turns out to be a terrible person with plenty of money and a somewhat complex will, so almost everyone has a motive. Family history seems relevant, up until the point when Miss Marple shows up and points out the significance of the pocket full of rye...

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CHRISTIE SCALE: Some mild classism and ableism, I think? Nothing egregious enough for me to remember specifically.

Modesty forbade Miss Marple to reply that she was, by now, quite at home with murder.

An old friend of Miss Marple is worried about her younger sister, who has married a man who runs a home/reform school for juvenile delinquents, and wants Miss Marple to investigate. The friend rather nervously suggests asking her sister to invite Miss Marple for a visit as she's poor, proud, and needs a rest; to her relief, Miss Marple is completely fine with both being thought a charity case and going under false pretenses, if a friend thinks it's necessary.

This book combines an intricate family saga with the juvenile delinquent home setting to pleasing effect. It's not one of my very favorites but it's a great setting and a very fair mystery with a satisfying solution. This one is clearly set post-WW2, when the country was just starting to economically recover. One of the characters is an American pilot who married a young English/Italian woman whose Italian side of the family got in trouble for being fascists.

The mirrors are not literal, but refer to the idea of a stage magician tricking the audience. Amateur and professional theatrics play a minor role, and misdirection by murderer plays a major one.

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Christie scale: MEDIUM-HIGH levels of ableism (mental illness) and attitudes about juvenile delinquents, but surprisingly less endorsed by the author than I'd initially assumed; different characters have different opinions, and the juvenile delinquents we meet are fairly sympathetic and likable.

Poirot is approached by a beautiful but less-than-bright actress, Jane Wilkerson, who wants him to get rid of her husband, Lord Edgware, who is refusing to divorce her. She's a little vague on what exactly she thinks Poirot can do, but is very clear, in front of multiple witnesses, that she'd like a divorce but would prefer him dead.

Poirot does go to see Lord Edgware, and is thunderstruck when the lord says he's already agreed to divorce her. He tells Jane, who is puzzled as it's the first she's heard of it. Then Lord Edgware turns up murdered. Jane has a perfect alibi, and her motive is now questionable due to the divorce. Does anyone else want him dead...?

The most interesting thing about this book is very spoilery. Read more... )

Otherwise my favorite thing about the book is that if you add one letter, you get a gentle satire on wellness trends, Lord Edgware Diets.

Though there's a couple clever bits and the end is good, this is overall not one of Christie's better books. Jane is a good character but the rest of the cast doesn't have Christie's usual deft touch with supporting characters. Also, even by Christie standards, it is HORRENDOUSLY bigoted. Skip it.

Christie scale: MEDIUM levels of HOMOPHOBIA. HIGH levels of RACISM. EXTREME levels of ANTI-SEMITISM.

Tommy and Tuppence, a delightful middle-aged married couple, solved mysteries when they were young. Now they have nothing to do with that world except for Tommy's yearly conference on national security issues, where he meets with other aging former espionage agents.

When they go to visit Tommy's disagreeable elderly aunt in a nursing home, she promptly kicks Tuppence out for being a scarlet woman; Tuppence, amused, goes to the common room and sits by a sweet old lady drinking milk, who tells her it's not poisoned today and asks if it's her dead child who's walled up behind the fireplace.

The aunt dies soon after, and Tuppence inherits a painting of a house that she recognizes, though she's not sure why. She also finds that the sweet old lady, who gave the aunt the painting, has mysteriously vanished. While Tommy is at the conference, Tuppence sets out to solve a mystery that may not even be one, sifting for clues in her own memory, the memories of various people with memory loss and dementia, old crimes, urban legends, and garbled accounts of things that may or may not have happened. There's women who may be witches, dead birds and old dolls that fall down the chimney, a beautiful house with exactly one half of it falling into ruin, and far too many murdered children, some of whom may be imaginary.

Agatha Christie started writing about Tommy and Tuppence when they were young, and aged them in real time. Their books are pastiches of various genres, from specific Golden Age mystery writers to espionage. [personal profile] sovay reviewed this book as folk horror, and I can't disagree.

There are elements of traditional mystery, an unexpected element of organized crime, and it does have a mystery with a solution. But it doesn't feel and isn't structured anything like a traditional mystery. It's instead a swirl of thematic elements and creeping dread; the reliability and unreliability of memory and intuition are major themes, and the plot reflects that. You don't know exactly what's going on, but you can feel that it's something bad.

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Christie scale: VERY LOW levels of ANYTHING OBJECTIONABLE.

Poirot goes on a cruise along the Nile, where he sees a tragedy in the making but is unable to prevent it. After one of the passengers turns up murdered, he has a very short time in which to solve the mystery before the ship reaches the nearest port.

One of Christie's best books, with vivid, memorable characters, an excellent puzzle, and some real emotional heft.

The central characters, apart from Poirot, are introduced before the Nile cruise and some time earlier. Linnet Ridgeway is a beautiful, young, fabulously wealthy socialite who's generous and means well but is also high-handed and blinkered by privilege. Her best friend, Jacqueline, is poor, passionate, and quick-witted. Jacqueline's fiance, Simon, is also poor, not terribly bright or sophisticated, but very handsome. Jacqueline loves him with a consuming, somewhat scary passion.

When we meet them on the Nile Cruise, Linnet is married to Simon and Jacqueline is stalking them. Poirot tries to warn her off this path, to no avail. So when Linnet turns up dead with a bullet in her head, suspicion should point straight to Jacqueline (her enemy) or Simon (who will inherit her money). But at the time that Linnet was murdered, both Simon and Jacqueline were in the presence of multiple others for most of it... and then Jacqueline shot Simon in the leg! After that, he had a broken leg and she was sedated and watched by a nurse. So they (and some of the people who witnessed all this) have unimpeachable alibis. Is there anyone else onboard who might have wanted to kill Linnet?

This trio isn't just a set of Christie's best characters, but great characters in general. They feel very alive. They're joined by a very fun set of other characters, of whom my favorite was Cornelia, who's poor and plain and helping out her rich aunt and is in a Cinderella situation, but loves traveling and is actually having a wonderful time. Others include a young angry Communist, a has-been author of erotic novels, and a soup-slurping German doctor. Everyone has secrets.

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Christie scale: MEDIUM-HIGH levels of RACISM.

In the opening scene, murder mystery writer Ariadne Oliver gets dragged to a Hallowe'en party for kids ages eight to eighteen.

"But you've written lots of books," said Joyce. "You make a lot of money out of them, don't you?"

"In a way," said Mrs. Oliver, her thoughts flying to the Inland Revenue.

"And you've got a detective who's a Finn."

Mrs. Oliver admitted the fact. A small stolid boy said sternly, "Why a Finn?"

"I've often wondered," Mrs. Oliver admitted truthfully.


She had intended to help out but mostly hangs around eating the apples that are supposed to be saved for party games; she regrets this when Joyce, one of the teenagers who had earlier claimed to have once witnessed a murder and is dismissed as a liar, turns up drowned in the bucket they used for bobbing for apples.

Mrs. Oliver calls in her old friend Poirot, who is forced to do a lot of outdoor detecting in unsuitable patent leather shoes; key locations include a sunken garden, multiple cottage gardens, and a forest. A lot of the main characters are children and teenagers, who are viewed in a distinctly unsentimental manner.

No one seems to have much liked Joyce the murder victim, who is widely believed to have been a liar. But her original claim, which was that she saw something years ago which she only realized had been a murder when she got older, intrigues Poirot. It certainly seems like an odd thing to lie about. And there's no other apparent motive to kill her unless it was a homicidal maniac. (It is almost never a homicidal maniac.) So Poirot starts looking for a murder an unknown number of years in the past that a girl could have seen without realizing what she saw...

This was a re-read of a book I'd re-read relatively recently, so I remembered who the murderer was, though I'd forgotten some complex machinations over a will.

Though flawed by some annoying lecturing on the Good Old Days, the good parts of this are excellent: the opening scene at the Hallowe'en party, the near-magical sunken garden, Ariadne Oliver getting triggered by apples and having to resort to dates, some very funny bits, some deeply creepy bits, a memorable villain and murder motive, and one of my all-time favorite Christie characters, the child Miranda, wise beyond her years in some ways and heartbreakingly not in others. Had I re-read this book earlier, I would have requested Miranda for Yuletide; I really want to know what she did next.

Though multiple people go on and on about Kids These Days, the kids we see are as varied as the adults; some awful, some heroic, some ordinary). Apart from Miranda, I particularly enjoyed two fashionable teenage boys in amazing-sounding outfits (one of them appears in a flowy white shirt, a pink velvet coat, and mauve pants) who are very eager to help Poirot solve the mystery. One of my favorite bits of the book was them spinning theories about the murders and then looking hopefully at Poirot, "like dogs who had fetched their master a bone."

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Christie scale: MEDIUM levels of xenophobia, directed at a Russian refugee who deserved better. HIGH levels of ableism on the subject of mentally ill people being crazed murderers who should be permanently locked up.

Currently $1.99 on Kindle.

After young pilot Jerry Burton is severely injured in a plane crash, his doctor advises him to recuperate in a small, dull, relaxing place. His sister Joanna is delighted to accompany and care for him, as she's a social butterfly recuperating from her latest disastrous love affair. They rent a house in a small English village which, surprisingly, is NOT St. Mary's Mead. It is, however, plagued with a mystery rash of nasty anonymous letters.

Jerry and Joanna get slowly sucked into village life, but retain their very funny bewildered outsider point of view. They befriend the unhappy Megan, who is almost 21 but whose family treats her as a child they don't much care about. They get to know Mrs. Dane Calthrop, the unsettlingly acute Reverend's wife. And they start poking into the matter of the anonymous letters...

This is one of Christie's most delightful books. It's got hilarious dialogue and lots of very funny bits in general, has not one but two romances that I really rooted for, a solid and fair puzzle, and a whole passel of vivid, likable, memorable characters.

It also casually breaks several of the normal genre and series rules: it doesn't take place in St. Mary's Mead, it doesn't have any overlapping characters with the first two books until quite late, up until about the 60% mark the characters aren't aware that a murder has been committed (readers will be immediately suspicious of a supposed suicide) and Miss Marple doesn't appear until about the 70% mark. Despite Christie's reputation for rote potboilers, she actually broke a lot of rules and varied her form quite a bit.

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The characters and comedy absolutely sparkled in this book.

Christie scale: LOW levels of -isms. There's gay = feminine stuff (about a man who isn't identified as gay but is clearly meant to be), but he's a fun character who's clearly living his best life.

"Bodies are always being found in libraries in books. I've never known a case in real life."

The strangled corpse of a young blonde woman is found on the floor of the very respectable Mr. and Mrs. Bantry's library. They've never seen her before in their lives.

Mrs. Bantry promptly asks her friend Mrs. Marple to come over. Mrs. Marple says she's happy to provide what comfort she can. Mrs. Bantry replies, "I don't want comfort. But you're so good at bodies."

This book was enjoyable and a very good fair-play puzzle, but only sometimes hit the delightful fun of Murder at the Vicarage. (My favorite parts were the glee with which Mrs. Bantry approaches the bizarre murder early on, and the truly unexpected secret attached to the young man who recently moved to town and annoyed everyone by partying hard and carousing with blondes.)

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Christie scale: MEDIUM levels of CLASSISM and RACISM.

Everyone hates Colonel Protheroe, the magistrate of the sleepy English village of St. Mary's Mead. When he's found shot to death in the vicarage study, everyone without an alibi is a potential suspect. Miss Marple to the rescue!

Christie's first Miss Marple mystery, which I'd never read before. It's told in first person by the Len Clement, the vicar, a sweetly eccentric middle-aged man with a sweetly eccentric much younger wife, Griselda. They are a match made in oddball heaven. Len is the perfect narrator for a book that's as much a comedy about quirky people in a small village as it is a murder mystery.

There's a hilarious running theme in which the cops and other authority figures condescend to Miss Marple because she's a dear old lady who knows nothing of the grimdark realities of real life as seen by men doing manly things, and she condescends to them because they're dear sweet innocents who know nothing of the dark realities of human nature as seen by a lifetime of watching people in a small village.

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This is Miss Marple's first murder, and it was very heartwarming to see her belief confirmed that her longtime observation of human nature could allow her to solve an actual murder.

An extremely charming book. The murder mystery is very solid, with a number of moving parts that all fit together plus one genuinely startling twist.

For -ism levels in Christie books, I will be using a Christie-specific scale, ie, are they low, medium, or high for Agatha Christie. Picture a flip-sign like "Fire danger today is LOW/MODERATE/HIGH/EXTREMELY HIGH/RUN FOR YOUR LIVES."

Christie scale: MEDIUM-LOW levels of CLASSISM.

I have been re-reading Agatha Christie mysteries. In some cases, the last time I read them was thirty years ago (I was very fond of them as a child) and so I might as well have been reading them for the first time. Or maybe I am reading some for the first time. Who knows.

The flaws in Christie are pretty obvious: stock characters, mostly serviceable prose, sometimes mechanical plots, and problematic views of the period up the wazoo. (Not just racial stereotyping, sexist opinions, etc, but also jarring bits like offhand references to a dessert called "N-Word in his Shirt.") Also, while even her less-good books are reasonably amusing if you like that sort of thing, the quality did vary widely.

But obviously, I like her writing or I wouldn't be reading, so I'd like to talk about what's good about it.

Though she gets criticized for writing the same book over and over, she actually experimented quite a lot within the basic form of the mystery/thriller. A lot of her innovations have since become standard, but they weren't at the time. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and Murder on the Orient Express are famous for unexpected outcomes, but the little-known Endless Night is a creepy, atmospheric Gothic that gets a lot of mileage over breaking various Gothic rules. Death Comes as the End is a very well-done murder mystery set in ancient Egypt that benefits from the characters being completely unaware of the existence of murder mysteries. And Then There Were None, the one with ten horrible people trapped on an island, has been imitated many times but never done better. It's genuinely scary.

She did cold cases and bottle stories and purely psychological mysteries, and played a lot with tone, writing books that varied from tragedy to farce. A Murder is Announced is hilarious for much of its length, but also contains one of the most affecting and tragic deaths she ever wrote.

If you want to learn how to introduce a very large cast of characters and make sure that the reader always knows who everyone is and what their relationships are with each other, you could do a lot worse than studying Christie. She was great at that, and did it so easily that you barely notice that you're reading a short novel with thirty distinct characters whose plot hinges on the reader remembering who's secretly in love with who.

Some of her characters are stock types, but others, though lightly sketched, are more than that: Miss Marple, the sweet old lady whose very dark worldview doesn't spoil her enjoyment of life; Lucy Eyelesbarrow, the charming and efficient young housekeeper-entrepreneur; Henrietta from The Hollow, the sculptress who can't help loving her art more than any human being; Elinor from Sad Cypress, desperately in love with a man who will only stay with her if she never reveals the depths of her feelings; Miss Hinch and Miss Murgatroyd, the dog-loving lesbian couple from A Murder is Announced. I could go on. Christie's characters may not be fully rounded, complex characters, but they're often believable and memorable.

Re-reading now, one thing that I didn't notice before was how precisely placed in time the books are. You always know exactly when they are in terms of WWII-- during, with rationing and many men are off fighting; just after, when lots of items are still scarce and people illegally trade coupons for butter; years after, when there's always men who are young but prematurely aged, adrift in a world they no longer belong in, changed forever by the single year they spent on the front. I wasn't surprised to find Christie sensitive and accurate about veterans' various reactions to war, from what we'd now call PTSD to the men who loved the excitement and will now never find anything to equal it. I see that in fiction of the period quite a bit. But she also writes about something I've seen less, which is what happened to the women who went abroad, and have similar reactions with the addition that no one thinks a woman should feel that way.

Even if you don't like mysteries, I highly recommend her Autobiography. It's idiosyncratic in the very best way, shamelessly (and fascinatingly) recounting the stories she imagined for her dolls, then skipping ahead to noting that her great-grand-daughter seems to tell similar stories to her own dolls. As a portrait of a time and place, it's wonderful. The childhood sections are especially good. She remembers not only the facts, but a child's perspective. (It also confirms that yes, all those women living together in cottages in her novels are supposed to be lesbians. She mentions basing those characters in her books on women like that whom she knew as a child and only later realized were couples.)

Please rot13.com spoilers at the level of "this is who the murderer is." I've read most of Christie's books, but don't always remember. ;)
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