Since his appearance over a hundred years ago, Hercule Poirot has become part of the cultural landscape. Agatha Christie wrote thirty-three novels featuring him, as well as several plays and short stories over a period of fifty-five years. The little Belgian is her most famous and recurring character, with his existence not confined to books, with adaptations for small and large screens, stage and radio. The Mysterious Affair at Styles (1920) marked not just Poirot’s first appearance, but also Christie’s. Not to mention it was also my introduction to the Queen of Crime.
The genesis of the novel is that Christie’s sister wagered that no one was capable of crafting a detective story that stumped readers armed with the same facts as the detective. Christie stepped up. The solution is elaborate, for sure, with attentive readers having to latch on to many throwaway details in the hope they are crucial. Personally, I saw it less a game than an entertainment so was more sloth than sleuth in my scrutiny of the facts, being on board more for the story than any challenge.
As Watson is to Holmes, The Mysterious Affair at Styles is narrated by Captain Hastings, on sick leave at Styles Court in Essex, owned by the eventual victim, Emily Inglethorp. Also at this country house are Emily’s toyboy husband, seen as a gold-digger by her family; her stepson, John Cavendish, and his wife, Mary; Mary’s friend, the famed toxicologist, Dr Bauerstein; John’s brother, Lawrence; an orphan called Cynthia, and an mix of the house’s staff. Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard is the official investigator on the case, but of course Poirot and his “little grey cells” are destined to unlock the mystery.
It’s a clever piece of plotting, chesslike in how many steps have to be intuited from the clues, if separated from the red herrings. Hastings’s frustration at Poirot’s unwillingness to indulge his theories sees the narrator trying to form his own connections, adding further uncertainty. And come the big reveal, how could it be any other way? But it’s all about the intricacy and less the characters, who are there to serve the plot even if their motives suggest they are there to serve themselves.
The genesis of the novel is that Christie’s sister wagered that no one was capable of crafting a detective story that stumped readers armed with the same facts as the detective. Christie stepped up. The solution is elaborate, for sure, with attentive readers having to latch on to many throwaway details in the hope they are crucial. Personally, I saw it less a game than an entertainment so was more sloth than sleuth in my scrutiny of the facts, being on board more for the story than any challenge.
As Watson is to Holmes, The Mysterious Affair at Styles is narrated by Captain Hastings, on sick leave at Styles Court in Essex, owned by the eventual victim, Emily Inglethorp. Also at this country house are Emily’s toyboy husband, seen as a gold-digger by her family; her stepson, John Cavendish, and his wife, Mary; Mary’s friend, the famed toxicologist, Dr Bauerstein; John’s brother, Lawrence; an orphan called Cynthia, and an mix of the house’s staff. Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard is the official investigator on the case, but of course Poirot and his “little grey cells” are destined to unlock the mystery.
It’s a clever piece of plotting, chesslike in how many steps have to be intuited from the clues, if separated from the red herrings. Hastings’s frustration at Poirot’s unwillingness to indulge his theories sees the narrator trying to form his own connections, adding further uncertainty. And come the big reveal, how could it be any other way? But it’s all about the intricacy and less the characters, who are there to serve the plot even if their motives suggest they are there to serve themselves.