The ABC Murders by Agatha Christie (1936)

It's hard to believe that The A.B.C. Murders is #13 in Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot series, yet there it is. It is the story of a serial killer running rampant through England killing people in the chronology of the alphabet. So Mrs. Ascher is murdered in Andover and Betty Barnard is murdered in Bexhill, and so on and so forth. Clearly a madman is behind the murders, and like most serial killers, this individual must write a letter to someone, either to give them a sporting chance at stopping them or to gloat over their genius. The recipient of said letters is, naturally Hercule Poirot, and so he partners with the police on this manhunt.

The A.B.C. Murders is undoubtedly intriguing, but it would have been more so if it hadn't been for Captain Hastings as the storyteller. I've only really read one or two other Poirot novels, so I found Hastings to be quite the irritant. This is a shame, because I love Hastings in the series with David Suchet, but found him irksome in this novel.

Poirot was his usual genius self, as expected, and I enjoy that he has a twinkle in his eye and good humor about many things as the story progresses. I heard Suchet's voice in my head and enjoyed envisioning an episode of the series that I know remarkably well.

Agatha Christie is quite the master craftsman. The plot is excellent from start to finish and based on my understanding, she developed the ending first and them worked backwards, which makes a lot of sense and is probably the best way to write a solid mystery. If you're not familiar with this story then you may have some surprises in store.

The copy of The A.B.C. Murders in the photo is one that I newly acquired. It is a HarperCollins edition and was available for purchase from England through Waterstones. I love the art deco cover style and am pleased with the quality.

I am very slowly reading Agatha Christie novels as part of my personal Agatha Christie Project. Emphasis on the slowly. And clearly I am not reading them in any particular order.

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Book Review: Hallowe'en Party by Agatha Christie (1969, Hercule Poirot)

Read for my own Agatha Christie Project that is a bit of a slow starter, but I'm determined to focus on more in 2022, Hallowe'en Party is considered to be book #40 in the Hercule Poirot series by Agatha Christie.

While I've not read very many of Ms. Christie's books starring the famous Belgian detective, Hallowe'en Party is one of my favorites of the miniseries' adaptations. It's chilling and brilliant and perfectly spooky for the Halloween season, so long as you don't mind the idea of murdered children.

Considering that it is written and set in 1969, there is definitely a different vibe in Hallowe'en Party than her earlier work. All of a sudden there's the question of whether crimes are sex crimes, and young people look slightly wild with younger men wearing long hair, possibly even sandals, and brighter colored clothing. The hippie era struck a blow and not even Poirot was safe from it. Not that I really mind, it's just rather funny considering most of Ms. Christie's books that I've read were primarily written and set in the 1920s or 1930s and that is a MUCH different culture than what one finds in 1969.

All that being said, I loved this novel. I resented having to put it down after breaks or lunch and return to my appointed duties. I stole moments in between conversations with family in order to read just a few more paragraphs, because you see, I was desperate to learn if it ends the same way as it does in the miniseries, and actually, the book and the miniseries episode are remarkably similar. In all of the best ways, even down to my favorite character of Ariadne Oliver, crime fiction authoress and overall crazy lady.

There's an enchantment in Hallowe'en Party that really took some effort to achieve. Michael Garfield, Judith Butler, and her daughter Miranda are all elfin creatures in their own right, somehow otherworldly, and so it's thrilling for there to be a sunken garden in an old rock quarry that has been transformed into a place of beauty and old-world magic. I've visited Butchart Gardens in Canada, also designed out of an old rock quarry, and it is a sight to behold. The murder almost takes a backseat to that garden, but then, we are talking about a 13-year-old child murdered at a Hallowe'en party in 1969, a dreadful affair, and something no one should really like to think about. Even if the child was a braggart and a liar, she certainly did not deserve to die.

A few changes were made in the miniseries' episode that I think were unnecessary, like the "witch" being an uninvited outsider to the party whereas, in the novel, she was a planned part of the festivities and told fortunes to the children. The murdered child, also, did not have to be so overdone towards an embittered fat child in the episode whereas, in the novel, her weight is never mentioned. The children are never mentioned to wear costumes in the novel but are definitely in full modern Hallowe'en costuming frivolity in the episode. There's also the peculiar addition in the episode of adult children to one of the leading characters, a completely unnecessary addition, in my mind.

But if those are the only changes of any note that I can remember, then I must say that overall it's a job well done. The episode adaptation was brilliant (and that's saying a lot considering I'm not overly partial to Mark Gatiss), and the novel itself is an absolute must-read. I may end up re-reading it every year just as I rewatch the episode every year as soon as those pumpkins start appearing on front stoops and the breeze turns crisp. I love fall.

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The Pale Horse - Yet Another Non-Masterpiece by Sarah Phelps

The Pale Horse

miniseries released 3/13/20

written by Sarah Phelps

starring Rufus Sewell, Sean Pertwee, and Kaya Scodelario

Since I've never read Agatha Christie's novel, I can't speak into the adaptation's accuracy. All I can speak into is whether I enjoyed it, and . . . I didn't.

Sarah Phelps just rubs me the wrong way with her cold, impersonal writing.

This is supposed to be Agatha Christie, but I already know that it probably isn't a faithful adaptation because it doesn't feel like Christie. It feels like Sarah Phelps and is the reason why I'm not calling it Agatha Christie's The Pale Horse, other than in this sentence.

Why she doesn't just write her own stories is beyond me, but then that would be a challenge because she wouldn't be able to mooch off anyone else's ideas. Instead, she just steals from Agatha Christie, changing the entire tenor of the woman's writing style to something that just doesn't fit.

To give Rufus Sewell credit, he did what he could with the leading role. 

He's an excellent actor that I've loved for quite a few years now and he never fails to disappoint. But what am I supposed to do with a leading man who's cheating on his second wife with a burlesque dancer? It made him very cheap and tawdry. Maybe he's that way in Ms. Christie's work, I don't know. I'm on hold for the ebook; we'll see how long that takes to come in for me. I'm supposed to care about Rufus Sewell's character (see, I can't even remember his name!). It's supposed to matter to me that his first wife was electrocuted in a bathtub. But I just was never fully engaged in the story enough to care.

Then you have his second wife, the marvelously talented Kaya Scodelario. I love her, but her character obviously has some sort of mood disorder, bouncing from normal to violent in the span of two seconds. Maybe it's Ms. Phelps's attempt at showing us the emotional oppression women were under in the 50s and 60s? They can't allow themselves to genuinely express what they're feeling and so they bottle it up until they explode? I don't know, but if that was the message, I couldn't really relate to it because it didn't fit the story.

Of course, Sean Pertwee is one of my absolute favorite actors, so it's always a delight when he pops up in a British miniseries now and then, even though I didn't enjoy The Pale Horse.

Here's the thing, though. If you're going to use Sean Pertwee then please give the man something to do! He was the police inspector and pretty much walked into scenes and out of them again with nothing resolved. That is a terrible use of his talent.

I just expect more. Don't give me cold, icy people speaking cold, icy dialogue in impersonal rooms. 

Overall, The Pale Horse just bored me.

These are good actors, some of the best, really, and the script fell painfully flat. Pairing that script with the filming style of Leonora Lonsdale (whoever she is) was a mistake. There needed to be a livelier script and a director with a bit more life in their style to make the miniseries at all memorable.

As it is, I've watched it once and will never watch it again because I have no incentive to do so. The story isn't interesting, the filming style isn't interesting, and I'm pretty sure that Agatha Christie never wrote f**k in any of her books. That last bit is really just disrespectful of the originator of the story.

Despite my disappointment and boredom with Sarah Phelps' The Pale Horse, I am excited to read Agatha Christie's book.

I may just break down and buy it since it will take weeks for my library hold to come in. We'll see. 

UPDATE: I've now read the novel, and you can read my thoughts in my blog post Classics Club: The Pale Horse by Agatha Christie (1961).

If you've watched The Pale Horse, what did you think?

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Anthony Andrews Mystery Collection: Agatha Christie's Sparkling Cyanide

Anthony Andrews and Deborah Raffin in Sparkling Cyanide (1983)

Go to the Anthony Andrews Blog Count or the Delights of Anthony Andrews . . . or a Valentine's Month Blog Hop! pages for links to the other blog hop participant articles!

What is up with this man? Every time I turn around right now, Anthony Andrews is popping up in some mystery or other. First Columbo then Miss Marple then Rosemary and Thyme and now he's starring in a stand-alone Agatha Christie known as Sparkling Cyanide. I suspect that the screenwriters probably butchered Ms. Christie's original story, but like my fondness for By the Pricking of My Thumbs, it doesn't entirely matter.

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Book Review: By the Pricking of My Thumbs (Tommy and Tuppence) by Agatha Christie

By the Pricking of My Thumbs by Agatha Christie
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I admit it, I'm now a die-hard Tommy and Tuppence fan. Ok, so my adoration actually started upon seeing Anthony Andrews play Tommy in a rather muddled interpretation of this story. But if I hadn't watched the episode, I would have never decided to read the book! A book which, as it turns out, is loads better than what the screenwriters pieced together. Who knew they created such a dreadful Frankenstein's monster?!

When Tommy's aged Aunt Ada dies in a home for elderly ladies, her belongings are disposed of by Tommy and Tuppence, all except for a few knick-knacks, odds and ends, and a painting that originally belonged to one of the other elderly ladies in the home. Tuppence remembers quite vividly her encounter with Mrs. Lancaster, and talk of a child being buried behind a fireplace. In a sudden fit of whatever you want to call it, Tuppence decides to return the picture to Mrs. Lancaster, thinking the woman might want it back. Except that Mrs. Lancaster has been rather suddenly removed from Sunny Ridge, and now Tuppence is sniffing out some sort of foul play much to Tommy's chagrin. He's helpless to stop her, and while he's off at a very hush-hush meeting of English politicians and officials, Tuppence is doing reconnaissance of her own, determined to find Mrs. Lancaster just in case the woman was right about her stories of a dead child in a fireplace, perhaps even the house in the painting.

By the Pricking of My Thumbs is delightful. I literally never wanted to put it down, and I wouldn't have except that I had to work. It is absolutely nothing like the tv episode, and for that I'm glad because the book is so much more like Agatha Christie. A kindly old vicar of the highest virtue in a town full of mostly friendly people. This is Agatha Christie, perhaps not at her best, but at my favorite. I love Poirot and Miss Marple, but I do believe that Tommy and Tuppence Beresford are now my favorites of her characters. It's time to read the rest of their series, short stories and all!

For the rest of my reviews, see my page HERE.

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By the Pricking of My Thumbs: The Trouble with Tommy

Anthony Andrews and Greta Scacchi as Tommy and Tuppence in By the Pricking of My Thumbs (2006)

Go to the Anthony Andrews Blog Count or the Delights of Anthony Andrews . . . or a Valentine's Month Blog Hop! pages for links to the other blog hop participant articles!

I vaguely remember reading this Agatha Christie novel once, quite a few years back, and being surprised that she'd written something without either Poirot or Miss Marple. It didn't snag my interest for very long, possibly because I didn't have a visual to go with the story. Now I do, and I wish to high heaven that some genius had leapt to his/her feet and declared the necessity of a Tommy and Tuppence miniseries! Just a single season, possibly only 4 episodes, but each one casting this brilliant duo of Anthony Andrews and Greta Scacchi.

Now that you've had my prologue (although I confess that Anthony doesn't have nearly enough scenes for a die-hard fangirl like me!), we can move on to the meat of Tommy and Tuppence's relationship.

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