After my disappointment with going outside my known tastes, I have switched back to a tried-and-true. I’m sure somebody out there doesn’t like Agatha Christie, but they have yet to tell me to my face.
I had never heard of Towards Zero, and it involves neither Hercule Poirot nor Miss Marple. But it did have one of the most important Christie trademarks: a twisty-turny puzzle-plot that begs for the reader to try solving the crime before the end of the book. I, at least, am generally incorrect several times over because the plots of her books tend to double back on themselves so often.
This novel opens with a meeting of lawyerly minds (which you can see, incidentally, here), in which the title is explained. Most murder stories (and criminal trials), we are told, begin with the murder, when in fact the relevant story begins much, much earlier, and culminates in the murder as the result of all the previous action. Then we switch to the story at hand. In which…
Nevile Strange and his new wife, Kay, decide to visit Nevile’s mother-figure, Lady Tressilian, not at their usual time of year, but at the same time that Nevile’s first wife Audrey will be visiting. This, predictably, results in a number of uncomfortable, awkward, embarrassing moments and some conflict. (I found it interesting to observe the manners of the day which required referring to both women as “Mrs. Strange.”) Kay is rather bleatingly jealous and unsympathetic; Audrey is long-suffering and stoic but seems forgiving; Nevile is wont to refer to Audrey as “his wife” and ignore Kay, which of course irritates her still more. They make an interesting household, along with Audrey’s longtime admirer, Thomas Royde, just returned from overseas to pursue her; Lady Tressilian’s companion Mary Aldin; and visitor Ted Latimer, Kay’s childhood friend and admirer (parallel to Audrey’s Thomas, although rather opposite in temperament). So. All these folks in a classy country home together trying to be polite and play nice and dance around the love quadrangles, and then a murder takes place, and it’s one of those that could only have been committed by someone from within the household. Very Agatha Christie.
Missing was Hercule Poirot’s biting wit, though. [Aside. Here is where I admit that I’ve never read Miss Marple! Only Hercule Poirot! Also, I grew up with Poirot on television as played by David Suchet and can’t hear or see him in any other way, for better or for worse. But didn’t he make a wonderful Poirot?] There wasn’t really much humor in this story, which is a Christie-staple in my mind, so that was odd; but it was very, very enjoyable without it, so no foul.
Into this closed household comes the vacationing Superintendent Battle and his nephew, the local Inspector Leach, to solve the crime. There are red herrings by the bucketful, and false leads, and I thought I knew whodunit SO many times, but Christie is a tricky one. The final scenes involve the Superintendent talking through the crime with the lot of them and eliciting a confession – also Christie trademarks. Finally, a little surprise romance which I did not entirely see coming topped off this charming, delightful, delicious little tale.
I love Agatha Christie. There’s a reason she’s hailed as a master (and Wikipedia claims she’s the all-time bestselling writer of books). I haven’t read anywhere near a majority of her works, but what I’ve read is always entertaining and clever and usually funny, too. Recommend.
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