A Quick Rundown of my Christie Kicks Feelings

 Day ONE

What’s going on with me attempting to read Agatha Christie’s The Mysterious Affair at Styles?  I’m 28 pages into the book and find myself uninterested.  Two things are occurring to me:

1. Given that Christie pretty much created every mystery trope, the reading is feeling rote (see what I did there).  I don't think it's necessarily the book, per se.  But the mood generated from the experience feels rote–I guess that's the word for it.  Here I was attempting to officially take on a Christie novel.  Yet, I've read so many mysteries and am so late to her that I'm bored with the template presented here.  I already know what is about to happen in Styles, not necessarily who will do it.  This leads me to my other problem…

2. Christie's characters are flat.  Now I experienced this realization before when attempting to read her first Miss Marple book before abandoning it.  Nevertheless, I thought I would get over this in Christie's first Hercule Poirot book.  Nah, man.  These characters are flat, 2D, and uninteresting.  Another problem I have, which is usual with me with any type of book, is the lack of illustrations behind characters, scenes, settings, everything.  There is no color here.  Just automatons are doing their master's bidding.  Heck, my reading of the first two Sherlock Holmes novels came close, but at least Holmes and Watson had character.  That's it, Christie's characters lack character... well… let’s just say dept.

So what shall I do next?  Mmmmmm.  I think I’m going to give myself more pages.

 

Day TWO

So, I managed to scoot up closer to the table and read up to fifty pages and found my interest in the book drastically improved.  Between the first 28 pages until now, the actual death has occurred and what an exciting scene it provided.  All the bells and whistles that tickle my mystery-loving fancy are on full display.  I am now on board.  I am now interested.  The death scene and Poirot's character/personality finally taking stage broke from the initial stale taste the book was giving me.  I am still not engaged with Christie's light writing style; as matter-of-fact, her style makes me hungry for some more of P. D. James's work.  I kept glancing at one of my shelves, wondering would it be appropriate to plug in another Adam Dalgleish book after The Mysterious Affair at Styles.  P. D. James is undoubtedly an evolution of Christie with both her literary style and emphasis on characters.  I stress characters.  James does character.

FINISHING day

Well, the book was just okay to me.  Things started to pick up a little, and by "things," I mean my general interest.  Poirot was an enjoyable character to navigator the mystery with.  However, at the end of the day, I was tired of all the surrounding characters and the whole story.  Additionally, I had moments where I convinced myself maybe I was better off sticking to watching Christie's work on Amazon Prime or Britbox this point forward (I just never like to pay extra for them).  Until…

Two and a half weeks later…

In here lay the charm I was looking for in a Christie mystery.… I decided to target her classics, where her style really started to flourish, and picked up The Murder on the Orient Express. The Murder on the Orient Express is a study on plot and technique.  It was a raging stretch of a mystery.  I constantly had a finger lifted begging Christie to "wait just a dag-gone minute, homegirl."  She was asking a lot of the reader, as implausible as any mystery might be.

Nevertheless, I am not sure which word, phrase, turn of phrase, or glean into Poirot's deduction of the crime did it; something along the explanation of how it was done sold me.  I closed the book wishing I could write something as slick.  Nevertheless, the book wasn't as heavy, stimulating, and atmospheric (you know, stuck on a train in a clod of snow) as I had imagined it would be. Still, it was undoubtedly enthralling in its reminder that Christie is made of mostly plot and technique and warrants the credit as the queen of mysteries.

Nonetheless, I immediately followed The Murder on the Orient Express up with another classic and historically controversial change in titles and material, And Then There Were None.  I took the "going with the grain" and "rhetorically aware" approach, though loathsome of the history behind this book and Christie's prejudices.  But I digress then and here, deciding to give credit to those with enough sense to correct her problematic ignorance (yes, I SAID IT).  Anyway, I am currently about twenty-five pages from the end of this book.  And though I am enjoying it, about the seventh murder, I wish the story would move on.  Though it is picking up in the ending.  Once again, really enthralling.  Really showcasing how Christie is primarily plot and technique.  But also reminding me how much more arising to the reader's senses this would be in someone like James's hands.  Still good stuff, though.  As I write this (Friday 6/25/21 6:21pm), I have some decaffeinated green tea brewing to load this post and settle down to see what will happen at the end of And Then There Were None.

I am thinking of Death on the Nile as my next attempt.  Though probably not so soon...  We'll see.  As I am getting a kick out of Christie (cornball of me)...