Review – Murder on the Orient Express

Murder on the Orient Express – Agatha Christie

The Hamlyn Publishing Group Ltd., 1969 (published as part of the Agatha Christie Crime Collection)

Originally published in 1934

On the surface, Samuel Ratchett is an unremarkable American traveller, albeit a paranoid one. When his fears come true in the most extraordinary fashion, his body found savagely stabbed aboard the snowed-in Orient Express, the civilised mask falls away and the dead man is revealed to be a notorious kidnapper. Revenge, it would seem, has finally caught up with him. The case is a tangle of conflicting clues and inexplicable alibis, but the killer has made one crucial mistake: they committed murder aboard the same train as Hercule Poirot.

The thing I like best about Agatha Christie’s books is when she proves her credentials as the Queen of Crime by disassembling all your expectations of how a mystery novel is supposed to go. Christie’s work is so very much of its time, with all the racism and sexism that entails, and yet remains so readable – Murder on the Orient Express is a story that only gets creepier the more you think about it, which is probably why it has become one of her more famous books. Though most of the characters are drawn only in broad strokes, as is Christie’s usual style, the writing is clear, concise and somehow convincing, even when it shouldn’t be. And I am always happy to read about Hercule Poirot being cleverer than other people.

Review No.237 – Hercule Poirot’s Christmas

Hercule Poirot’s Christmas – Agatha Christie

Fontana, 1957

Originally publishd in 1938

‘Tis the season of peace and goodwill – unless you happen to be living under the roof of Simeon Lee, wealthy patriarch and habitual tyrant. After years of quiet living, he has decided to shake things up. From the disreputable eldest son to the estranged youngest, the Spanish granddaughter no one has ever met and a handsome stranger who simply appears on the doorstep, the family and friends of Simeon’s long lifetime are all descending on the house for a Christmas reunion. What could possibly go wrong?

There are all sorts of things that frustrate me about Agatha Christie’s writing – the tendency to infantilise women, the little xenophobic asides and casual classism – all of which are present in Hercule Poirot’s Christmas, along with some very creepy familial banter that never gets properly addressed. But she’s just so damn good at this. No one can structure a mystery with the same mixture of clarity and obfuscation as the Queen of Crime, or make massive contrivance seem so natural. As is often the case, Hercule Poirot takes a while to show up, but from the moment the famous Belgian detective sets foot in the story it is 100% his. This isn’t the most cheerful seasonal storyline, but it’s a glamorously gruesome romp and very easy to read.