Showing posts with label Belgian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Belgian. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

Agatha Christie

When people think of authors from the 1920s I don't think many people think of Agatha Christie because she was prolific for such a long time, her final book being published posthumously in 1976 a few months after her death. Hercule Poirot might be inseparable from the the Art Deco trappings of the 1920s but Christie herself has become timeless. Yet her first book featuring the Belgian detective, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, was published in 1920 and she went on to publish ten more books during this decade. From an early age it was clear Christie was a voracious reader and budding writer. Her mother, due to some whim, decided that Agatha wasn't to learn to read or write until she was eight. Agatha taught herself at age four. By age ten she had written her first poem, "The Cowslip," which is so beautiful and elegant it's hard to imagine a girl of only ten writing it. By age eleven her father died and she viewed it as the end of her childhood. What came next was marriage and war. Two things that would forever change her.

On Christmas Eve, 1914 she married Archie Christie while he was home on leave. To do her patriotic duty she worked first as a nurse and then as a dispenser, which is where she learned all about medicine, and more importantly, about poisons. No one could ever fault her writing for getting these details wrong due to her experience. During the war in 1916 she wrote her first detective novel, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, being inspired by her work in the dispensary and the Belgian refugees she encountered in the hospital. But before she would see it published the war would end and she would have a child. The twenties also brought about the death of her mother and her divorce, which lead to her own mysterious disappearance in 1926 that was never explained and had the country in an uproar. Whether the public thought it a publicity stunt or not, one thing was clear, they needed Agatha Christie and her books. Lucky for them she wrote 66 detective novels and 14 short-story collections in total that have sold over two billion copies, an amount surpassed only by the Bible and the works of William Shakespeare.

Friday, May 17, 2013

Book Review - Agatha Christie's Poirot Investigates

Poirot Investigates by Agatha Christie
Published by: Harper Collins
Publication Date: 1924
Format: Hardcover, 320 Pages
Rating: ★★★
To Buy

While Poirot takes on cases that are immense in scope, occasionally he takes on those smaller, but still significant cases, sometimes with the fate of the world in the balance, that can be solved very quickly, comme ca. From jewel heists to mysterious deaths, people in disguises to Egyptian curses, disappearances, both staged and unfortunate, to a will most cunningly hidden, Poirot has a host of clients, thankfully none of them with missing dogs. Poirot's genius succeeds at every turn and the police and Hastings are baffled that his little grey cells are able to make such leaps of intuition, in more than one case, without even leaving his bed. Because all you need is your little grey cells, everything else is just fodder.

Recently I read an article about Terry Pratchett and his distaste for modern storytelling, in particular Doctor Who. In the interview he said "On planet Earth it's generally taken for granted that it's a bad thing to introduce into a narrative some last-minute solution that was totally unexpected and unheralded ... The unexpected, unadvertised solution which kisses it all better is known as a deus ex machina – literally, a god from the machine. And a god from the machine is what the Doctor now is. A decent detective story provides you with enough tantalising information to allow you to make a stab at a solution before the famous detective struts his stuff in the library. Doctor Who replaces this with speed, fast talking, and what appears to be that wonderful element 'makeitupasyougalongeum'."

This is exactly my problem when you take a Poirot story and make it short. I have always had reservations about short stories. They can be shallow and way too short. With the case of Poirot, you don't get the joy of following him every step of the way so that it's conceivable that you could solve it, instead you get his, and here's how it happened, with Poirot as God. We aren't given "enough tantalising information!" Also, while I was familiar with a lot of these stories from the TV series, I can see why they had to expand and pad them out, they were making them what Christie should have made them in the first place, fully formed stories without "unexpected and unheralded" endings. Instead, we are left with Hastings scratching out heads. And if I've said it once I'll say it a thousand times, I do not want any comparison between me and Hastings, thank you very much.

Speaking of Hastings... he seems really a little hard on Poirot in his narration. Always commenting on how Poirot is full of himself, a little man with a big ego and unjustifiably vain in his abilities. I'm sorry Hastings, but seeing as he can solve cases without leaving his house and is able to get a result every time, that isn't unjustifiably vain, it's justifiably vain. That lovely little Belgian has every right to toot his own horn, and you even are going "How does he do it?" and marvelling at his little grey cells. You can't praise him to his face and then grumble about his genius too! You can't have it both ways the way you are written. Either you think he's vain or he's a justifiably vain genius, you aren't written to begrudgingly talk about his genius. You are astounded so much that your carping on makes you sound like a bitter little man not accepting of his friends personality quirks but still riding his coattails. Another reason not to like Hastings. The Argentine can't come soon enough for you matey.

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