Reading Agatha Christie
My mother has, at one time in her life, had every Agatha Christie book. Perhaps, like me, she feels that reading Agatha Christie is a good bet: not especially demanding, intriguing and an interesting insight into a way of life – house parties, butlers, and maids who lived up the back stair – which has disappeared from all but the most privileged households. (And recently watching episodes of ‘The Crown’, I’m not even sure I would ever want to be part of that kind of privilege.)
AC’s books also offer intriguing insights into the moral standards of the time, for example, that it was shameful for a woman of a certain class to work, to earn her way by serving others behind the counter, or in a dress shop. No young lady worth her salt would stoop to anything too grubby – she would certainly not serve as a waitress in a Lyon’s tea house – but even helping others to choose dresses was considered rather shameful. (Coincidentally, understanding this kind of social nuance also helps me to grasp why Jane Fairfax, in ‘Emma’ is so utterly appalled at the prospect of working as a governess…) How times have changed.
Social mores apart, Christie’s books are also intriguing because of the way the plots are set up, the old device of having a fixed number of characters, all congregated in the same place. “And Then There Were None” (I regret to say, my daughter’s favourite AC book) gives one of the most contrived examples of this; so contrived that I have great difficulty admiring anything else that might be considered ingenious about this particular story. If some old bam-pot wrote anonymously to me, I’d hardly be likely to turn up chez lui… but then, perhaps we are also expected to suspend our sense of reality, when reading mystery stories.
Except that, for me, one of the most compelling elements of thriller writing is realism – or at least, an integrated reality, however fanciful its premises might be.
Since Mum has left her home in France and come to live in Scotland, I am sent regular packages with AC books in them. I am reliably informed that, “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” is considered her masterpiece, so I’m saving that for last. I’ll let you know what I think of it, when I finally read it.
Please share:
Jane Risdon
March 28, 2018 @ 12:38 pm
Fabulous, thanks. So interesting. I’m a huge AC fan. Love her books. Enjoy The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. It is wonderful.
Fran Macilvey
March 28, 2018 @ 2:13 pm
Thanks, Jane! I’m glad to be saving it til last, though at the rate I’m going, it’ll probably be next year before I get to it. There’s no hurry, is there?! xx 🙂
Kirsten McKenzie
March 29, 2018 @ 9:49 am
I’m halfway through AC’s ‘The Big Four’. She didn’t muck around with her writing did she! Straight into the action, no filler to speak of. Very much getting on with it. Looking at my own work, I now feel I have about 100 pages too many based on her writing!
Fran Macilvey
March 29, 2018 @ 9:59 am
Hi Kirsten! Thanks so much for visiting my blog and commenting. I do like AC, but some of her later books are a bit wordy, as if an editor has said, “You need more filler” and she has said something in 20 words where ten would do. I think we develop our own style, and as we write, we learn what our own weak spots are and how to fix them. Good luck with all your writing! 🙂
Elouise
May 4, 2018 @ 3:39 pm
I’m a big fan, especially of her Miss Marple mysteries. Not just because of their unlikely plots, but because our Miss Marple is virtually always unnoticed, underestimated and written off by the big boys. Until they’re in a pickle and are forced to listen to her. So true to life in any generation…. 🙁 🙂
Elouise
Fran Macilvey
May 4, 2018 @ 4:51 pm
LOL! Actually, my mum had an interesting thing to say the other day, which was, ‘never take advice.’ I had to think about that for a while. I like Miss Marple too; it’s interesting how because of the way AC structures her stories, she so often needs a foil to the genius, a narrator, like Holmes’s Watson. Perhaps that’s why there are few Miss Marple’s compared to Hercule Poirot.
Thanks for commenting, Elouise! 🙂 xx