She is the biggest selling novelist of all time; only beaten in total by the Bard and the Bible. Her literary style is a byword for veronal in the brandy glass, bodies in the library and grandstanding revelations in country house drawing rooms. She is the creator of Hercule Poirot, Jane Marple, Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, Captain Hastings, Inspector Japp, Superintendant Battle, Ariadne Oliver and countless other sleuths, spies, sidekicks and stooges. She is reknowned for the intricacy of her plotting, the subtlety of her clues, the power of her misdirection. She is, quite simply, the Queen of Crime.
But is Agatha Christie actually any good?
The American critic and novelist Edmund Wilson certainly didn't think so. His diatribe 'Who Cares Who Killed Roger Ackroyd?' was echoed by Raymond Chandler, purveyor of hard-boiled gumshoe fables and by latter day literary favourites like John Banville. They decry the wooden prose, the stock characters, the relentless formula, the lack of emotional investment. They are right to an extent. Christie novels can be all these things - some which came at the twilight of her career (Passenger to Frankfurt, Elephants Can Remember, Postern of Fate) are virtually incoherent. Some can be tough to read with a 21st century sensibility too. The casual racism and homophobia, whilst reflective of its time, leaves a nasty taste and the gratuitous anti-Semitism is very hard for a progressive readership to stomach.
Yet, as this list hopefully demonstrates, Christie is also perfectly capable of crafting three dimensional characters, engaging with the reader's emotions and transcending the limitations of the genre. She wrote 66 novels and well over 100 short stories; the law of averages dictates that some will be tripe, more will be moderately entertaining and a handful - those featured higher up this list - will be crime fiction at its absolute best; gripping, unpredictable and unputdownable. Because for all the carping about literary quality (whatever exactly that is) what a crime fiction audience craves most of all is exactly what Agatha Christie does better than anyone; a grisly murder (preferably involving an obscure poison), a maverick sleuth and a fiendish puzzle to solve from the comfort of your own armchair.
NB. This list is very Poirot heavy. This represents personal taste as much as critical opinion. The stand-alone thrillers are particularly poorly represented. Novels like 'Endless Night,' 'Towards Zero,' 'Murder is Easy' and 'Why Didn't They Ask Evans?' all have much to recommend them, but the lack of a heavyweight sleuth renders their narratives less memorable to me, I'm afraid. The fault, I have no doubt, lies with me.
This list is spoiler-free.
20
Hercule Poirot's Christmas (1938) - Poirot
This festive (although there is barely a mention of Christmas in the entire book) offering is possibly the archetypal Christie from the perspective of dismissive literary snobs. On the one hand, there is an undoubtedly satisfying puzzle at its core; the author's attempt at a locked room mystery is ingenious, coherent and pleasingly ludicrous. Yet the characterisation is thin, even by Christie's sometimes perfunctory standards, with the result that the actual motivations within the plot are wholly subordinated to the mechanics of the mystery. The victim, wealthy recluse Simeon Lee, is such an absurd cipher, cackling evilly to himself as he runs uncut diamonds through his fingers, and the assorted family members so relentlessly one note that there is zero emotional investment possible. Which is a shame as the big reveal of who and how-dunnit counts as one of Christie's neatest conjuring tricks. Poirot himself has some amusing lines about central heating and false moustaches, but otherwise feels underused.
19
Death in the Clouds (1935) - Poirot
The year after Christie assembled a group of travellers on a cross-continental luxury locomotive she repeated the trick on an aeroplane flight from Le Bourget to Croydon (yes, Croydon). Yet whilst the set up may be similar the fundamental premise is markedly different. In Death in the Clouds the murder may take place mid-air but the bulk of the action is set firmly on dry land. The emphasis here is almost solely on the 'how;' how could somebody blow a poisoned dart through a blowpipe in a crowded plane compartment without anybody noticing anything? It is a fascinating riddle and one that is, for the bulk of the narrative, explored compellingly. The suspects are an interesting bunch - although a couple are there just to make up the numbers - and there is some marvellous banter between the imperious Poirot and the stolid, unimaginative Inspector Japp. The trouble is that the puzzle's solution is so phenomenally tortuous and improbable that it rather undoes a lot of the good work that preceded it. Death in the Clouds remains an entertaining read and the chapters set in Paris are distinctive and evocative. But, ultimately, the novel falls just short of being top flight Christie.
18
It is not often that you hear the work of Agatha Christie compared to cocaine-fuelled double albums recorded by 70s rock bands but hear me out. The point is that those albums may have been ludicrous, overblown works of monumental hubris and vanity, but, in a lot of cases, they were still jolly good fun. Viz Death on the Nile. This is mega-Christie in her pomp, and possibly the most hyperactive mystery she ever wrote. For a start, this tale of love triangles and deceit on a luxury Egyptian river cruise is a good hundred pages longer than her standard Poirot novels and it certainly doesn't waste those extra pages. Nile is stuffed to the gills with secondary characters, lightly sketched side-plots and casually dropped red herrings. There is, frankly, just too much going on to make this vintage Christie and it doesn't help that this is the third recycling of a particular plot device thus far in her career (and it will be deployed again in later years). And yet for all that, there is no denying that this is a gripping and hugely entertaining read, with a trio of protagonists at its heart who are complex and interesting enough for us to actually care about. Poirot himself is on fine form and is allowed some intriguing ruminations on the nature of revenge and empathy.
17
Crooked House (1949)
We find ourselves back at a crumbling country pile for this gothic stand-alone effort, in which a wealthy, hard headed Greek business magnate is seemingly offed by his much younger wife. Of course all is not as it seems and, in the absence of a Poirot or a Marple, it falls to Charles Hayward, fiance of the late millionaire's granddaughter, to crack the case. There is a rich vein of menace running through Crooked House as a gaggle of wholly unlikeable suspects dissemble frantically and give vent to their abject venality. Ultimately, however, and despite the dark atmospherics on show, the novel stands or falls by its much lauded conclusion, and whether this retrospectively justifies what is, in reality, a fairly negligible amount of actual detection. It is undoubtedly a strong reveal and one that, rare in Christie's work, lingers uncomfortably afterwards. Yet I suspect that it is neither as shocking nor as unpredictable for a 21st century reader as it would have been for their 1949 counterpart. A solid, memorable entry in the Christie canon then, but not quite in the top rank.
16
Sad Cypress (1940) - Poirot
One of the major issues that many readers of literary (as opposed to genre) fiction have with the works of Agatha Christie is the formulaic nature of her plots and the privileging of intricate, and improbable, plot mechanics over rounded characterisation and emotional involvement. Sad Cypress would be a good book to wave under their noses. A rich woman dies intestate, leaving envy and simmering resentment between her relations on the one hand and an ingenue who had recently befriended her on the other. When the ingenue is murdered the old lady's niece, Elinor Carlisle, looks very much like the guilty party. A downbeat, reflective novel with a comparatively small cast of characters, there is a palpable melancholy and fatalism coursing throughout Sad Cypress that lends its protagonists an air of realism and empathy. True, the inevitable closing plot twist stretches credibility, but by that point the identity of the murderer has become almost secondary to the complex character flaws of the novel's cast. Sad Cypress is one of a handful of later works in which Christie regretted the presence of her famous Belgian detective. There is an argument for saying that the elegaic tone of the novel is at odds with the Rubik's Cube structure of a Poirot title but, really, it is always a pleasure to have his little grey cells along for the ride.
15
Lord Edgware Dies (1933) - Poirot
One of the most breathless, action packed Poirots Lord Edgware Dies is also a very metropolitan one; the venerable country house is swapped for the luxury apartments of the capital's smart set and, although 'old money' is present in the form of the titular tragic character, its cast of roguish actors, designers and hangers-on give the book an urban, Bright Young Things patina. The plot, which revolves around the double murder of an unloved peer and an up-and-coming actress, is packed with incident, misdirection and a host of red herrings. Once the layers are peeled back the solution feels a little pat and the fact that Poirot is alerted to a cogent plot point by a convenient comment from a passer-by smacks of crude contrivance. But the ride, while it lasts, is thoroughly exhilarating and a testament to the precision of Christie's plotting skills.
14
The Moving Finger (1942) - Marple
It is probably due to the sustained televisual presence of Miss Jane Marple that we feel that that scalpel sharp observer of human nature is a bigger part of Christie's oeuvre than she actually is. There are a mere thirteen Marple novels (as opposed to 33 Poirots) and she doesn't even feature very heavily in several of that baker's dozen. In The Moving Finger, for example, she only puts in an appearance sixty pages from the end; a deus ex machina drafted in by a village matriarch to clear up an affair of poison pen letters, suicide and bumping off the domestic help. The novel's narrator is Jerry Burton, who has moved to the sleepy village of Lymstock with his feisty sister Joanna to recuperate from a flying accident. The Burtons are a well realised duo although, as in a number of the Marple stories, the characterisation is uniformly strong, with plenty of wry observations on the pettiness of provincial life and the dark heart beating within bucolic England.
13
A Murder is Announced (1950) - Marple
Another Marple, albeit one in which the indomitable spinster plays a much more active role (she even hides in a cupboard at one point). A Murder is Announced is a typical example of the village murder mystery (this time we are in the wonderfully named Chipping Cleghorn) but it comes with one of Christie's most delicious premises; an advertisement is placed in the local newspaper announcing that a murder will take place at a set date and time at the residence of one Letitia Blacklock. When the homicide duly occurs, however, it appears that the murderer's plans have gone awry. A Murder is Announced is, comfortably, the most labyrinthine Marple mystery, with a plethora of skeletons bursting free from the closet and coincidence abounding throughout. The technical achievement just about outweighs the credulity stretching revelations and the novel is notable also, both as a social document concerning the changes the war has wrought on village life, and for Christie's - surprisingly sympathetic - depiction of a middle aged lesbian couple.
12
Evil Under the Sun (1941) - Poirot
The celebrated Peter Ustinov TV movies have made it de rigeur to compare Evil Under the Sun with Death on the Nile and, whilst the latter may have lodged itself more firmly in the public consciousness, this pacy tale of 'crime passionel' on the English Riviera boasts both a better story and a much tighter plot. A vacationing Poirot is dragged in to the murder of a sultry femme fatale and uncovers everything from festering unrequited love to dope smuggling. Whilst the suspects may be stock and one rather crucial loose end remains untied there is a concision and economy to the plot, when allied to a satisfactory solution, makes Evil Under the Sun a highly rewarding read.
11
Curtain (1975, written early 1940s) - Poirot
Poirot's much heralded final case was actually penned during World War II when Christie, fearful that she may perish in a bombing raid, decided to make sure that the great detective had a fitting send off. Curtain lay gathering dust in a vault for over thirty years until, in the mid-1970s, it became clear that the ageing Queen of Crime's writing days were behind her and the novel was finally published. It was certainly an explosive conclusion to her canon and the final twist still sparks controversy to this day. There is much to love here; the return of both Styles (the country house setting of the very first Poirot mystery, now transformed into a guest house) and the faithful Hastings, the intriguing premise (Poirot knows the identity of a serial killer and is attempting to stop them striking again) and a shocking pay-off. The end may not please everyone but there is no denying its bravery and unequivocal finality.
10
Peril at End House (1932) - Poirot
Written in 1932 Peril at End House marks the true beginning of Christie's Golden Age. Over the next decade she would barely put a foot wrong; the perennial favourites that are now part of British literary culture belong chiefly to this period. Peril finds Poirot reunited with his 'Watson,' Captain Hastings, and it is partly the relationship between the two old friends - affectionate, infuriating, condescending and productive - that lends the book its enduring charm. The plot, wherein Poirot strives to protect the flighty Nick Buckley (female) from numerous attempted murders is one of Christie's most satisfyingly constructed; the coincidences are not wholly ridiculous and the misdirection is truly artful. Added to this is an evocative and vivid depiction of the novel's Cornish setting and a gallery of suspects with more depth than Christie had attempted hitherto. Peril at End House is by no means perfect but it counts as an understated landmark in the evolution of Christie's craft and a thoroughly enjoyable murder mystery to boot.
9
The Murder at the Vicarage (1930) - Marple
Of all the things that Christie is seldom given credit for by the literati it is perhaps her sense of humour that feels most egregious. Poirot's vanity is a constant source of gentle comedy but it is in the Marple books where Christie's gift for irony and caustic wit is most in evidence. The first Marple novel, The Murder at the Vicarage abounds with witty observations about the tedium and conformity of village life and the legion of ever-watchful, all-knowing old busybodies that populate genteel English hamlets. Marple's village of St. Mary Mead - as lethal a place as Midsummer or Cabot Cove - plays host to the first of many murders, that of the irascible Colonel Protheroe, despatched whilst writing a letter in the vicarage study. One of the great joys of this novel is its narrator Rev. Leonard Clement whose wry, long-suffering humour suffuse what becomes an ever more elaborate plot. Christie herself came to feel that there were too many side-plots in Murder at the Vicarage but, whilst it risks confusion at times, the narrative is positively sparse compared to, say, Death on the Nile. And whilst it utilises one of Christie's most well-worn twists Miss Marple's debut arguably does it more successfully than anywhere else.
8
Cards on the Table (1936) - Poirot
Throughout her long career Christie was keen to emphasise the importance of criminal psychology. Poirot scores over his professional colleagues because he looks for the 'why' as well as the 'how' and 'who,' whilst Miss Marple's strengths lie in her shrewd - if pessimistic - analysis of human nature. Whilst sometimes this psychological angle can feel a bit superficial and melodramatic there are times when it both resonates more profoundly and becomes integral to the plot mechanics. Cards on the Table is one such example. A Mephistophelian 'collector of criminals' called Shaitana invites eight guests to a very unusual dinner party; four detectives, of whom Poirot is one, and four alleged criminals who have evaded justice for their crimes. Whilst two separate games of bridge are underway in adjoining rooms Shaitana is murdered, seemingly in plain sight. The techniques required in a game of bridge become shorthand for the psychological profiles of the four criminals (one of whom, Christie assures us, definitely did it) and the entire working out of the puzzle depends upon abstract theorising rather than cold, hard proof. Its a narrative gamble that works brilliantly well, particularly in the final third when twist piles upon twist and our elusive killer is finally revealed. Elsewhere there is tremendous fun to be had from the presence of the outspoken Ariadne Oliver, a popular crime novelist who is a thinly veiled self-parody of Dame Agatha.
7
After the Funeral (1953) - Poirot
When the psychological thriller writer Sophie Hannah was approached by Christie's estate to pen a new Hercule Poirot mystery the press asked her for her favourite Poirot novel. The answer she gave surprised a few people; rather than name-checking the ubiquitous acknowledged classics she opted for After the Funeral, a comparatively late excursion for the Belgian detective that the general public would be unlikely to recognise. But one can see why she chose it. The premise, for starters, is deliciously tantalising; a family patriarch dies seemingly of natural causes but at his funeral his batty sister claims that he was murdered. Her assertion is given further credence by the fact that she is found brutally slaughtered soon afterwards. From this compelling opening Christie treats us to a virtual parade of her greatest hits; masterly misdirection, skilfully buried clues, dubious identities and the the most scarlet of red herrings. Yes, it sags a little in the middle and there isn't as much actual Poirot action as one may like. But After the Funeral is one of Christie's most clockwork plots, boosted by well-drawn characters (particularly the victim's aloof niece Susan Banks) and excellent incorporation of, to use Hannah's term, the 'non-transferable motive.'
6
The Hollow (1946) - Poirot
After Christie had been writing crime novels of various stripes for a decade she began to grow restless with the constraints of the form. She longed to write a 'straight' novel which would allow room for more considered characterisation and so, in 1930, she produced Giant's Bread, the first of six novels published under the pseudonym Mary Westmacott. Giant's Bread sold well and garnered good reviews; nobody would know it was an Agatha Christie novel for a further fifteen years. The reason that I mention the Westmacott 'romances' in this context is because 1946's The Hollow, whilst published as a Poirot crime title under her own name, feels a little reminiscent of what Christie was trying to do under her assumed identity. The Hollow is a better book than any of the Westmacotts but it is still primarily a character driven work in which a murder happens to take place. The residents and guests of the eponymous country pad are (with a couple of exceptions) three dimensional human beings with inner lives, recognisable character traits and realistic personality flaws. There are no pantomime villains, melodrama is kept to a minimum and everybody's motivations feel like they stem naturally from the text. It is also a triumph of tone, delicately balancing elegant humour with unflinching psychological realism. As with Sad Cypress Christie regretted the interpolation of Poirot into the plot but, actually, the verisimilitude of the narrative forces Christie to give her iconic creation more light and shade than usual. A unique entry into the Christie canon, The Hollow deserves to be much, much better known than it is.
5
Murder on the Orient Express (1934) - Poirot
It is difficult these days to approach Murder on the Orient Express with fresh eyes considering that it contains arguably crime fiction's most famous reveal. Most readers who come to the novel now are likely to know the ending in advance and so evaluating its effectiveness as a whodunnit can prove tricky. For anybody who doesn't already know, an extremely cosmopolitan bunch of travellers book out the wagin lit coach of the iconic Orient Express only for one of their number to perish from multiple stab wounds in a frenzied night-time attack. A snowdrift halts the train, cutting off any assistance from the authorities but it's ok because - as luck would have it, the world famous detective Hercule Poirot is on board. As Death in the Clouds and Death on the Nile prove Christie is adept at 'closed crime' novels and Orient Express is probably the ultimate example of such a trope; the killer must be one of the wagon lit passengers. They are, with the odd exception, a fairly cardboard cut-out lot but the isolated, hermetically sealed environment engenders a genuine sense of claustrophobia and paranoia, whilst the clues, the misdirection and, crucially, the pacing show Christie at the top of her game. Ultimately, however, it is all about that ending and whether you know what is coming or not there is no denying the audacity with which it is accomplished or, indeed, the astonishing connotation of Poirot's final words.
4
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (1926) - Poirot
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd was Christie's breakthrough work. Her first two Poirot novels had been well received and sold moderately well, whilst she had also shown that she could turn her hand to spy thrillers with equal vim and vigour. But this superficially conventional whodunnit set in the sleepy village of King's Abbot (where the great Belgian detective has retired to grow marrows) had an absolutely killer twist in its tail that entranced and infuriated readers as no other murder mystery had done before or, arguably, has done since. Narrated by the village GP Dr. Sheppard, the book is a tale of two deaths; the suicide of Mrs. Ferrars, a well-off widow, and the murder of Roger Ackroyd, a wealthy businessman who had intended to marry Mrs. Ferrars. Around these two unnatural deaths Christie weaves her usual tapestry of suspicious encounters and red herrings until the moment at the novel's conclusion when the acknowledged rules of crime writing are unceremoniously thrown out of the window. Many outraged readers at the time accused Christie of not playing fair but a cursory re-reading of the text demonstrates that the evidence is all there, if not necessarily presented in the expected manner. What she had done may not have been attempted before but it springs from logical deduction and rational analysis just as much as her previous murder mysteries had done. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is the moment when Agatha Christie became the Queen of Crime. From hereon in all bets were off as to what she was capable of next.
3
Five Little Pigs (1942) - Poirot
In her literary dotage Christie employed the retrospective crime (or 'cold case') trope a number of times and with varying degrees of success. But she never did it better than in this superlative novel from the early 40s which marries the kind of psychological complexity of The Hollow to the technical brilliance of Murder on the Orient Express. Carla Lemarchant approaches Poirot fifteen years after her mother Caroline Crale was convicted of poisoning her husband (and Carla's father) the artist Amyas Crale, to assert her mother's innocence and to plead with the great detective to re-examine the case. If Caroline didn't do it then one of the 'five little pigs' present at the Crale residence at the time must be the guilty party. The central section of the narrative recounts the statements of each of these five fresh suspects and is not just a tour de force of characterisation and psychological insight but a structural marvel in itself. As in The Hollow Christie's characters are shown to be rounded, credible individuals and the disparities between their personas in 1926 and 1941 is sensitively and convincingly handled. Where Five Little Pigs scores over The Hollow is in the mystery element of the narrative; there is a genuine puzzle here with an ingenious solution and bittersweet conclusion. Many critics regard Five Little Pigs as the finest thing Christie ever did. Such a judgement is up for debate, but there is little doubt that it is her most emotionally mature work.
2
The ABC Murders (1936) - Poirot
1936 was a vintage year for Christie novels. Three were published in total; one great (Cards on the Table), one moderate (Murder in Mesopotamia) and one stone cold classic - The ABC Murders. There is so much to applaud in this terrific work; it reunites the dream team of Poirot and Hastings, reinvents the serial killer genre, creates - in Alexander Bonaparte Cust - one of the most fascinating characters in the Christie canon and possesses one of the most satisfying and thrilling denouements in crime fiction. It is also Hercule Poirot's finest hour. A homicidal maniac is picking off their victims according to the letters of the alphabet; Alice Asher is murdered in Andover, Betty Barnard is offed in Bexhill and Sir Carmichael Clarke is despatched in Churston. Most intriguingly of all the killer appears to be playing a cat and mouse game specifically with Poirot, as the Belgian detective receives cryptic notes ahead of each prospective slaying. Suspicion duly falls upon the aforementioned - and unfortunately initialled - Cust, who appears to have been at every crime scene. But surely the explanation cannot be that straightforward, can it? The most brilliant thing about The ABC Murders is that the solution is straightforward but, because of Christie's genius for misdirection, you never see it coming until Poirot reveals all in the final chapter. Additionally, The ABC Murders is genuinely scary in the remorseless, brutal way that the best serial killer material always is.
1
And Then There Were None (1939)
And while we are talking of serial killers this would be the optimal point to discuss one of literature's most notorious. And Then There Were None (to give the novel its more socially acceptable title) is the greatest rollercoaster ride in crime fiction. It is a work of so many moving parts that, in the hands of a practitioner less gifted than Agatha Christie, the plot would cave in on itself after a couple of chapters. Ten strangers are summoned to an art deco mansion on a remote, uninhabited island under false pretences. Once there they are accused of various murders for which they have, apparently, escaped justice. And then, one by one and via most methods imaginable, they are picked off by a sinister, unseen hand that must belong to one of them. What strikes the reader most clearly about And Then There Were None is its atmosphere of almost apocalyptic dread; people are dying horribly and they will keep on dying unless the perpetrator is uncovered. The race against time engenders a sense of helplessness, paranoia and, ultimately, hysteria which really makes the predicament of these - generally deeply unlikeable - characters pop off the page in a way they do in no other Christie novel. Rather than being a Poirot-esque slice of rational deduction And Then There Were None is tremendously exciting to read precisely because there is no infallible sleuth present to bring order to chaos. The best of these characters - Vera Claythorne, Philip Lombard, Dr. Armstrong - act and react as the reader would do under the circumstances, which makes the novel's inexorable march towards the abyss all the more terrifying. And the denouement, when it comes, makes such perfect sense that you can't believe you missed it first time round. And Then There Were None is Agatha Christie's masterpiece and a story that will endure as long as people want to be thrilled by literature.
Comments
Post a Comment