The Monogram Murders, by Sophie Hannah (2014)

The Monogram Murders,  by Sophie Hannah (2014)


thAuthor: Sophie Hannah,
born 1971, came to the public eye first as a poet and a translator of children’s books. In 2006 she published the first of what so far has been nine well-received works of crime fiction in what’s known as the Waterhouse and Zailer series. The series has sold exceptionally well in the U.K. and two very popular ITV television productions have been based on her works.

For further information about her published works, the Wikipedia article is here; I recommend care since they have not provided a clearly chronological listing but instead divided her publications into a number of different categories.  (A surprisingly large number of different categories; this author has many interests.) For an interesting take on her career considering her as a poet, the British Council’s take is found here, and the author’s own website is here. The British Council material has a couple of interesting observations about her crime fiction in general.

Sophie HannahHannah has entered into an arrangement with the estate of Agatha Christie to publish this new work using Christie’s character Hercule Poirot.

Publication Data: The first edition of this novel was published September 9, 2014; about four days before the writing of this post. It is currently available in bookstores everywhere and, doubtless, is stacked to the rafters on pallets at Costco. There is a Kindle edition available here and doubtless other formats, but not, at the time of writing, paperback. The copy I used was electronic and from my local library (thanks to a helpful librarian who prefers to remain nameless but, like all her kind, is devoted to bringing books to people who want to read them and deserves our respect).

About this book:

Spoiler warning: What you are about to read will concern large chunks of information about the plot and characters of this book. Please read no further if you wish to preserve your ignorance of its details. You will also probably find here discussions of the content of other murder mysteries, perhaps by other authors, and a similar warning should apply.

In this particular review I have not come close to naming any guilty party or revealing any crucial plot details. 

Monogram-Murders_612x952I’m not going to say much about the plot of this book because I expect that it will affect your enjoyment of it should you choose to read it. In bare bones, here’s what happens at the outset; Detective Catchpool of Scotland Yard has fallen into the orbit of Hercule Poirot, who is enjoying a bizarre staycation at a rooming house to get out of his regular routine without leaving town. Three people are found dead in separate rooms on separate floors of a hotel, and in each of their mouths is found a monogrammed cufflink. It is soon discovered that all three people have been involved in each other’s lives in the past, and a long-ago death seems to have had repercussions that reverberated into the present. Catchpool investigates the physical circumstances of people and objects, and Poirot wanders around and says enigmatic things about things that might have happened, or how to view and interpret small events, in order to urge Catchpool to greater effort in improving his detecting skills. Catchpool thereby comes to a number of wrong conclusions, including a couple into which Poirot maliciously misleads him.

At the end, Poirot gathers a large number of people, including hotel staff, into a hotel ballroom and delivers three chapters of explanation as to what happened in everyone’s lives that led to the three deaths. After a fairly exciting and dramatic conclusion, almost everyone lives happily ever after.

monogram-murdersheaderWhy is this book worth your time?

Well, you know, it barely is worth your time. It’s certainly not worth your time at the price you’ll have to pay for a first edition, even at Costco. As I like to say, this is the sort of work that you can wait until it comes out in paperback and THEN avoid it. But there is just enough skill here to keep it from being part of my category of “100 mysteries you should die before you read.” This one won’t kill you, unless it annoys you to death. Sophie Hannah is an able writer who has marketable skills, and this is a competent novel. There are no obvious plot holes, nothing that just doesn’t add up.

I deal with a lot of people regularly who are interested in Golden Age mysteries, and they read them and review them and talk about them. For people like us, this book is environment-forming; this is a significant development in the history of the single most important Golden Age mystery writer and, if this catches on, we may find ourselves inundated by Poirot and Marple authorized fanfic, as it were. But if this is the level of quality we’re going to get, no, it will not be worth much of our time, and after a few such contractually-obligated efforts, the re-animation of Poirot will cease.  (The literary equivalent of a DNR.)

This is not a great mystery or even a believable one. It merely has the legal right to say that Hercule Poirot is a character within its pages. Thus it is interesting in a way that — oh, how can I put this.  If you’re at a dinner party and someone serves you a dish like this, you think of something to say that’s complimentary about a particular excellence of the creative effort, like the innovative spirit that made the chef put fresh lime juice on the scalloped potatoes, and then you push it around with your fork until it’s time for dessert. It doesn’t really matter that the chef is well-known for cooking other kinds of food. It doesn’t matter that only a very few people in the world have the right to add that very particular flavour of Belgian lime juice to the potatoes, because it still tastes weird. And all you can really do is refuse the next invitation to dinner from such a chef.

“People have been cooking and eating for thousands of years, so if you are the very first to have thought of adding fresh lime juice to scalloped potatoes, try to understand that there must be a reason for this.”

Fran Lebowitz, Metropolitan Life (1978)

I haven’t used the word “fanfic” lightly; as near as I can tell, the impulses that lead a person to produce an original work about a copyrighted character and publish it on the internet, or in a photocopied hard copy, are that the person honours the writer, respects the character, and is unable to stop living in that character’s world without new fantasies. Obviously this is a different impulse than that which motivated Sophie Hannah. Hers was probably immense buckets of cash and an iron-clad contract for four more with an option. But the outcome is the same. This is a novel about Hercule Poirot that had nothing to do with Agatha Christie’s mind, or inspiration, or pen, and its reasons for existence have nothing to do with literary achievement.

This sort of post-mortem continuation has been rare, thus far (except in the rarefied reaches of trufan fanfic, which frankly are beyond either my understanding or my patience). The first such continuation I can recall in the puzzle mystery world is the series about a little old lady detective named Miss Seeton, with the five-book series begun by Heron Carvic in the late 60s – mid 70s and continued well after his death in 1980, first with three by James Melville under a different pseudonym, and then 14 by Sarah J. Mason under yet another pseudonym. The complicated bibliography, courtesy of stopyourekillingme.com, is found here, but the point is that the original author only wrote 5/22 of the series. Later on, Rex Stout’s series about Nero Wolfe has continued post-mortem with nine novels by Robert Goldsborough, the latest of which was in 2014.

And of course Sherlock Holmes, where frankly the weight of accumulated fanfic, parody, homage and secondary materials would probably sink 221B Baker Street into the ground were anyone foolish enough to load the building with it. Sherlock Holmes has become the fictional character who is in more films than any other (Dracula is second). In my personal collection I have two textbooks on how to bid at contract bridge wherein Sherlock explains it all to Watson, and a kind of Biblical treasure hunt wherein Sherlock explains complex and fairly ridiculous points of Biblical hairsplitting in the voice of the author. I also have a complete set of the animated cartoon “Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century” wherein Holmes is a reanimated clone, Watson is a robot, and Lestrade is a beautiful female expert in hand-to-hand combat. Yes, really. The character of Sherlock Holmes has been assraped so many times by so many callous authors that his current American television incarnation as a New York tattooed hipster with a drug problem, and an Asian female Watson, is barely even remarkable.

I have spoken in these pages before about the “tie-in” novel which leads to objects like “Ann Sheridan and the Sign of the Sphinx” or “The Gracie Allen Murder Case Game”. The tie-in is based on the premise that, if there is a particular piece of writing that you like, you are likely to like other pieces of writing which take place against a common background. For instance, I have squirrelled a bunch of “Indiana Jones” paperback originals. They have no relationship to any existing film except that they all have a drawing of Harrison Ford on the cover; the stories seem designed to appeal to a 12-year-old pre-pubescent boy. Closer to home, you should take a look at the entry in Wikipedia for Ellery Queen. Among the ancillary products associated with this character are comic books, board games, computer games, films, graphic novels, radio and television programmes, and a couple of postage stamps. Tie-ins in the mystery realm are nothing new. This sort of tie-in material that we’re looking at here — because a “continuation novel” is pretty much the same to me as a “tie-in novel” — has the same quality as a tote-bag bearing Hercule Poirot’s silhouette, or a Hercule Poirot video game of “Murder on the Orient Express” (which I’ve played, and it’s pretty good).

poirot-link_1I think, though, that it’s necessary to talk about what is being purchased here, because I have a feeling that a lot of people think they’re about to read something that is like an Agatha Christie novel. Think of it instead as a tote bag. The purpose of the object is to fulfill a function that could easily be fulfilled by many other similar objects, most of them less expensive; a tote bag holds shopping and a novel can be read. But the purpose of purchasing the object is to somehow associate yourself with an evanescent quality; the feeling that you, as a reader, had when you read those authentic Christie novels.

This is very hard to describe; perhaps it’s easier to understand with the tote bag standing in (the one with a silhouette of Poirot on it) for The Monogram Murders. You bought that tote bag because of how it made you feel; perhaps, as you pick it up to go out the door for a round of shopping, you get a little smile knowing that other people will know that you are a connoisseur of good Golden Age detective fiction. Perhaps it’s that you are very fond of Poirot; perhaps it was an idle whim that prompted your purchase. (Even if it was an idle whim, something made you select Poirot as opposed to, say, Mike Hammer or the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Marilyn Monroe.) The fact that it holds your shopping is a good thing, but to be honest there are many such bags and some are free at the supermarket. You bought the tote bag not because of function but because you wanted to have an emotional experience associated with the pleasurable experience of reading Agatha Christie novels. In a way, you have chosen to advertise for the brand of your own accord.

And that’s what’s happening here. I suspect that 98 percent of the people who buy and read this novel in first edition will believe, as they turn the last page, that they have just read a puzzle mystery that is as good as anything Agatha Christie ever did; that they have been dealt with fairly, so that no clues have been omitted or hidden; and that their friends will draw certain favourable conclusions about their intellectual activities and abilities, should they happen to see “The Monogram Murders” lying on the coffee table. They choose, in fact, to associate with the Agatha Christie brand experience and advertise on its behalf. (Remember, if one such book is much like another, they can certainly do the job more cheaply by buying, of all things, an authentic Agatha Christie novel and carrying it around.) And whoever is responsible for putting together this package on behalf of the Christie estate will have brought in a lot of money and created a lot of buzz.

The remaining 2 percent of us — some of whom will be reading this, I trust — know what they’ve read, because they have read huge numbers of similar novels. We have already associated ourselves with the Agatha Christie brand, because it’s a useful form of shorthand when explaining our reading tastes to strangers at cocktail parties. “I read Golden Age mysteries.  You know, like Agatha Christie.” “Ahh, yes.” We are familiar with whodunits and whydunits and howdunits and open mysteries and police procedurals, locked rooms and unreliable narrators and Ten Rules for this and that.  And we have pretty much already read ALL the Agatha Christie novels. It’s you — us — to whom I’m speaking here.

For us, I think it’s safe to say that we will be disappointed in the book qua book. This is not, in fact, a very good mystery. It is a so-so mystery that happens to have Hercule Poirot walking through it. It is far too … embellished; there are plot flourishes and idle references to other topics, and incomprehensible character arcs, and the occasional piece of extraneous philosophy. The crimes at the core of this novel are difficult to understand, certainly. They are complicated and involve events that happened 20 years ago, the reverberations of which have concatenated into the present. Bad blood for decades, old festering motives, strong emotions.

And the whole thing is just nonsense, because it doesn’t hang together. It’s missing one essential element that Agatha Christie could nearly always bring; the actions of the plot arise organically from the personalities of the characters. To pick a Christie at random, The Hollow, the crime that takes place would not have occurred in precisely that way if it weren’t for the characters of Gerda and her husband, and the young sculptress, and Lady Angketell.  We see these people sufficiently clearly to realize what they would and would not do, and we believe the emotional truths that Poirot discerns that determine guilt and innocence. In “The Monogram Murders”, we have a farrago of nonsense that’s been cobbled together in order to meet the plot demands of the story hook — three different corpses on three different floors of a hotel. Once that set piece of fireworks has been fired off, well, then someone has to explain it and it has to be complicated. So Hannah seems to have invented three very morally twisted people in order to generate the long string of plot twists that results in three full chapters of explanation; then she has to get them into the same village. Then she has to have someone do an action which is apparently completely against her character, so much so that she spends the rest of her life regretting it. Death, recriminations, hugger-mugger, brouhaha, three accusatory chapters, resolution.

I’m not even sure that it’s possible to write a sensible story based around that story hook, three bodies on three floors of a hotel. The convolutions that Hannah has to take her characters through in order to generate motive and situation are just tortuous;  I think, as a general rule of thumb, if it takes three full chapters at the end of the book to explain the activities of the plot, then there is a little too much plot. Part of that problem is that by the time we are introduced to the three most interesting characters in the action, they are dead. Which is fine, except that everything we are told about their behaviour and actions we have to take with a grain of salt because they’re not around to testify themselves. It adds an air of distancing to all the activities where Catchpool pokes around the nasty underbelly of the charming rustic community, and that takes away from any immediacy the novel might have. You’re listening to other people’s versions of important things that happened 20 years ago.

Then there’s a bunch of stuff that falls into the category of what I call “mystery cement”, because it’s put in only to make the mystery harder.  One, at random, is that our intrepid Scotland Yard investigator has a thing about dead bodies, and there are little flashbacks of his childhood to explain why. Later on in the book, he realizes that it’s not dead bodies per se by which he is revulsed, it’s being left alone with said dead bodies. Great. I think we are meant to grasp that he is making progress in detection, because he is learning that the simple assumptions about what underlies human behaviour are not always precisely correct. There’s an old quote from Chekhov, which I paraphrase as “If there’s a gun on the wall in Act I, it has to go off by Act III.” Agatha Christie’s guns on the wall always went off by Act III; Hannah’s do not. Far from being part of an exciting climax in which Catchpool gets left in a room with a dead body, this little piece of information just … vanishes.  And there’s quite a bit too much of that sort of thing for my taste in this book. Poirot gives Catchpool a significant look and winks and mugs, indicating, “Oh, this is an important clue, reader, it’s just that Catchpool is too stupid to know what it signifies.  So why don’t you worry at it for the next 150 pages until I tell you that it meant … absolutely nothing.”  I still don’t really know why the downward view of one of the hotel employees embracing a woman was even remotely significant, but I think I was just too darn exhausted after three chapters of explanation to take it all in. (Well, that and I’m lazy that way. Once I figured out it went nowhere, I ignored it.)

There are a few good things in this book, though; I must give full credit to the spirit of inspiration that put the lime juice on the potatoes in the first place. Hannah has created a couple of memorable minor characters, including a saucy waitress who really is the best writing in the book, and a feisty elderly lady villager who is hampered by having to mouth ridiculous plot developments. For some reason for me these two characters rang more true than others; the entire staff of the hotel, for instance, is 100% cardboard. (One of them tells lies for no more good reason than to delay a piece of information for a couple of chapters, which is annoying.) The book is structured well, such as it is. Story hook, Act I is competently handled where the principals are accumulated at the hotel; Act II is kept moving more briskly than some (like Ngaio Marsh) where the regrettable sag as dozens of people are interviewed is balanced by different viewpoints and geographical motion. And again, if you have to shovel out three chapters of blow-off as the second half of Act III, that’s hard to manage.  Given the enormous amount of bumph that she has to get across, it’s organized well and presented with reasonable clarity.  I’m not saying that it’s enjoyable to read, or even very interesting, but when I undertook my usual process of trying to follow the path of the crimes in chronological order, step by step, I found it clear.

While I was working on this piece, I had a vision of an editor at Hannah’s publishing house.  This person has perhaps not an enormous amount of knowledge about mysteries in general and Agatha Christie in particular, but is able to keep track of the guns on the wall in Act 1 and knows that some few people like us will actually be reading this book looking to know if the plot makes 100% sense. Now, I got the feeling that this person worked very, very hard in the line edit. I saw no typos, no formatting errors, and no shifts like the one to which I have become prone here, where Catchpool becomes Catchpole and back again. No, this has been professionally line-edited and quite beautifully so, I think. Where this person had to throw up her hands and admit defeat was in bringing this editing to the plot. I can imagine what happened if this book hit my desk. I would have read it through perhaps three times, making sure I grasped the entire structure of the plot and the motivations of the characters, and then — tried in vain to find a way to make this hang together in the way that Agatha Christie’s work did, such that the actions of the characters are created by their motivations, and these actions come together to form a plot that has inter-related elements.  (Murderers plot murders for victims who have done things deserving of murder, in simple terms.) This editor also knows that Belgian lime juice is not habitually consumed on top of scalloped potatoes, as it were, and that if you’re introducing a feature element into your dish, you’d best compose the remainder of the dish to make it stand out. And this editor could do nothing with the nonsense mess of scalloped potatoes — the weirdly recomplicated plot, based on making sense of the three-victims/one hotel paradigm — and the lime juice — Hannah’s take on Hercule Poirot. So the editor gave it a darn good line edit and passed it up the line to people who approved its publication because it will make a shitload of money, as I’m sure they would put it.

So should the 98% of casual occasional mystery readers read this book?  Oh, why not? It’s as good as anything else they’re likely to pick up at random in a bookstore, nine times out of ten. It may make them feel silly that they cannot figure out the solution to the crimes even though it seems to be expected that they will; c’est la vie.  Personally I’d use the money to take a friend out for a nice dinner; the costs are roughly equivalent. But we know our own pleasures best.

Should the 2% of of who are really well read and knowledgeable about mysteries in general and Agatha Christie in particular read this book? Not really. I suspect that one or two of my associates in the GAD blogosphere will enjoy the act of not enjoying this book, as I rather have myself. It is certainly pleasant to know that you have better taste in mysteries than 99% of the world due to your erudition. and it is occasionally pleasant to take one’s sharpest claws to a ready-made scratching post. Those are pleasures that should be beneath me but rarely are. But if you expect intelligent characterization, deft and clever plotting, and an understanding of how the best-selling fiction writer of all time worked her magic, you will definitely be disappointed.  You will find little pieces of nice writing and a few clever bits — early on, there was a piece about the meaning of a sentence where Poirot discerned a very different meaning from other listeners and it gave me false hope for the intellectual level of the remainder.

Ultimately, I think what it all boils down to is, what would this book be like with an original detective character and not Poirot?  On that basis, I think you’ll agree — ugh. This is a turgid, slow-moving book with a far too complicated plot, and a complete disconnect between what people do and why they do it.  And when it has the brand of Agatha Christie and Hercule Poirot attached to it — well, as Nero Wolfe would say, “Pfui.”

If you want a good mystery that’s like Agatha Christie, go find one of hers you haven’t read and read it.  And if you want to advertise that you are the kind of person who likes Agatha Christie — buy a tote bag.

Notes for the Collector:

It’s hard to say if this book will have any value in the future. The first edition has been published in immense quantities and it may end up being a situation where, at least for a year or so, it’s more difficult to get a second printing than the first.

Without specific reference to this book, I have noticed in the past that items like this that are attached to the oeuvre of a much more famous author have a way of developing value at a distance that is far greater than the investment required to obtain them. The only problem is, you have to hold them for 30 years for that investment to become worthwhile, and there are no guarantees. Strangely, I suggest that value accretes in relationship to the perceived value of the work, but in a way opposite than you might expect. For instance, if this book is the first in a series of 60 Poirot books by Sophie Hannah, then the first edition will have a relatively low value because millions of copies will remain in circulation, being traded by people who have an interest in the series. If this book is the first and only such Poirot book by Hannah because the public isn’t interested, then it will have an extremely low value for a number of years, the millions of first editions will pass from circulation, and the few remaining copies will be valuable. I have to say that this is the way it used to work, at least. Now that anyone who wants a reading copy can have an electronic one, I don’t know how that will affect the value equation.

 

 

23 thoughts on “The Monogram Murders, by Sophie Hannah (2014)

  1. Thanks Noah – I am quite certain now, after sampling rather a lot of reaction, that your review is much more entertaining and engaging than the book – I really will give it a pass and never think of it again! 🙂

    • Noah Stewart says:

      Thank you for the kind words!! It’s sometimes fun to shred books that deserve it, although I’ve damned this one with a little faint praise. But yes, I think you can safely give this one a miss, especially if there are other Agatha Christies actually written by the author herself that you haven’t yet read.

      • Must admit, the only one of hers I think i have missed (I’ve fogrotten a few probably) is POSTERN OF FATE, which i am reading soon just to see if it really is quite as bad as they say it is! I am very far from being a true Christie acolyte but there are hundreds of fabulous GAS mysteries I need to read for the first time before I get within snorting distance of this facsimile 🙂

      • Noah Stewart says:

        If you REALLY want to dig deep, try the Mary Westmacott books. They’re fascinating for many reasons.

      • I read one, UNFINISHED PORTRAIT, and I was actually very pleasantly surprised, though I think it is by far the most autobiographical, yes?

      • Noah Stewart says:

        I’ll leave that judgment to people more familiar with her personal life than I am, although I’ve read a couple of biographies. I am very wary about ascribing personal beliefs to writers, or thinking that they’ve revealed aspects of their personal lives, merely because of what I read in a work of fiction; the writers I’ve known have taken great pride in not allowing that to happen. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I’m very hesitant.
        I think authors sometimes use their personal lives as a basis for a situation, but since they get to make things up, they do so freely. But if you’re prepared to think it’s autobiographical, I’ll bow to your better-informed
        judgment.

      • Well, it is certainly based quite closely on her own family and the house she was brought up in, while the situation at the heart of the book is a fictionalised presentation of the break up of her first marriage. beyond that, who knows and I agree, not that important – I just thought that it tmay have explained its unusual depth of feeling

  2. John says:

    Reading this post was like taking a pop culture course. You covered so many topics — branding of fiction, fanfic, the bugaboo of the continuation of fictional characters, etc. etc. (P.S. I read *all* the Miss Seeton books when they first came out, but have never been tempted to read any of the knock-offs.) I really enjoyed this post. “…the literary equivalent of a DNR.” HA! There ought to be legal forms some authors can sign to prevent works like this one from being written and published.

    Your summary of the novel makes it sound like a Martha Grimes novel (crimes in the past, overly complex plot, nonsensical red herrings) by way of Ruth Rendell. I stand by my assertion that Hannah is poor imitation Rendell. This proves it. Corpse-o-phobia?! Ugh. At the Cleveland Bouchercon a few years ago I heard Hannah speak articulately and informedly about abnormal psychology, how she is fascinated by it, and why she loves to create characters who are troubled. Why am I not surprised that her personal tastes overcame her in the writing of this book? I can think of plenty of troubled Christie characters but as you say she always found perfectly good reasons for the crimes (often bizarre and made to look like accidents) they committed. Look at the abnormal psychology of Honoria Waynflete, for example.

    I’m skipping this one completely.

    • Noah Stewart says:

      You know, upon reflection, I think you’ve nailed it. This IS like a Martha Grimes novel, or at least what I remember about them before I stopped reading her books. Ridiculous plot based on crimes in the past, odd and incomprehensible story hooks, and the necessity to wedge all the action into a plot line that will concern a pub, as I recall. Good call!

    • Murder Is Easy is far better on both cohesive plotting and credible abnormal psychology than The Monogram Murders. I think the basic problem with Sophie Hannah is enthusiasm is not enough to to make a great mystery novel. Of course her books are labeled bestsellers in England and this new one will be one worldwide, so she’s doing all right for herself anyway!

  3. Albert says:

    I am not aware of any story with a corpse each on three floors, but Roy Vickers (of Department of Dead Ends fame) wrote Murder in Two Flats (1951) which had a corpse each on two different floors. I thought it was pretty good. Maybe Sophie Hannah had one floor too many.

    I can conceive why the Christie estate would want to publish this, but I can’t conceive why anyone would want to read an imitation Agatha Christie book, when you take into account just how prolific she was and how long it would take to read through all the books she wrote herself. Life is too short for that kind of thing.

  4. Rita Burns says:

    I adore Miss Seeton. Although not aware of the change of authorship ahead of time I was immediately so when I started reading one other than the five by Carvic. I kept trying for awhile hoping against my better judgment but eventually gave up. The best I can say for them is they kept the originals in print a little longer. Balanced against that is that I would suppose any who would have liked Carvic’s Miss Seeton were put off by the imitators.

    • Noah Stewart says:

      What I thought was especially devilish of the publisher was their insistence that each of the two post-mortem contributors should use pen names with the initials H.C., but not Heron Carvic. Just enough similarity to perhaps confuse someone into thinking they had misremembered the name of the author. I think something else that stood out for me was that the publishers didn’t just create a house name, like Carolyn Keene or Franklin W. Dixon. Instead they went for individual but absolutely bogus pen names. (I can think of no fate more horrible than becoming a house name.) It was a very modern development in mystery publishing, I think. “This is just a product and you’ll buy it no matter what name we put on it.”

  5. lesblatt says:

    Thanks for the review, Noah. I’ve been holding off reading the book, waiting to see what people such as you (and Curt, for that matter) have to say. I’m not sure I could add much. Maybe after I get through a lot more Golden Age mysteries on the TBR pile…and, for that matter, there are a few Christies I don’t have, and THEN I can try this one. Or perhaps not. Sigh.

    • Noah Stewart says:

      I recommend the un-read Christies before this one … and perhaps a tote bag ROFL. Just because we all have a huge respect for Christie doesn’t mean we have to martyr ourselves in her honour.

  6. Hi Noah, thanks for the link, but you’re too kind! I found so much insight and dare I say wisdom in your review. You have helped me understand why some people (I hope it’s not the 98%!) not only settle for books like The Monogram Murders but give them five stars. The shame is, I have no doubt Hannah genuinely loves Christie’s books, yet she doesn’t connect with them like she thinks does or she wouldn’t miss Christie’s style by such a wide mark. Hannah seems to love complexity for complexity’s sake. Christie loved tricky plots but she also loved a smooth-running narrative mechanism. Hannah just doesn’t seem to comprehend the latter.

    Hannah also has little sense of drama. She has this story of great passion, buried in the past, crushed under the weight of reminiscence. As you point out, the most interesting characters are dead. It’s interesting to compare this book with Christie’s Murder in Retrospect, where Christie is able to give very real drama to murder-in-the-past story.

    For me the explanation section started eight chapters from the end, although as you know it’s a complicated rolling out. Poirot and Catchpool are talking about clues right up to the end of the book. Hannah had clues and some of them were clearly meant to be in the style of Christie (you know the sort of thing I mean SPOILER: the reflection clue, the paint clue, the grammar clue, the misunderstood conversation clue END SPOILER), but it just didn’t click like in Christie. When Poirot and Catchpool are having the long conversation about the age of a ghost, I was just thinking, you have got to be kidding me!

    Also there really wasn’t misdirection, was there? Hannah’s narratives aren’t fleet enough for that. There are few real suspects, it seemed to me and the clues often are signposted. She also willfully distorts Poirot’s character just so she can geta clue of some kind (coffee house).

    All in all, a very frustrating book. You can see Christie-like elements here and there, but it’s all so flat-footed. I’m sure there will be at least one more because the initial sales for this book are sure to be huge, but I wonder whether anything will change? It’s hard for her author to change her style and Hannah seems quite confident she knows Christie better than anyone else!

  7. I found that really helpful and interesting as well as highly entertaining, Noah: well-reasoned, well-argued and fair. And confirming me in my opinion that I really don’t need to read it. As I said somewhere else, I am likely to get it as a present, because friends & family know what a Christie fan I am. But I shall stick with re-reading the original.

    • Noah Stewart says:

      Oh, I know — and indeed that’s part of the delightful and intricate function of branding. All your friends and family know is that you are a Christie fan, and here’s something with the Christie name on it, so it MUST be something you want, right? You should pray for a tote bag ROFL. I’m in exactly the same spot except that my relatives have been trained to expect lists, with Amazon links and ISBNs 😉

  8. George Freeman says:

    The other problem with the book is the time frame. It never feels like 1929. The police work does feel like 1929. No constables are introduced. This inspector does everything. And he’s too modern. If he was born in 1900 then he was traumatised around 1906-8. No Edwardian child was traumised by death. That was saved for the clean pristine 50’s and 60’s.

  9. George Freeman says:

    Sorry. “The police work doesn’t feel like 1929.”

  10. […] not usually invented by the original creator of that character. I’ve posted an article (found here) about Sophie Hannah’s authorized continuation of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot […]

  11. […] can probably tell, I’m not far from that opinion; my review of the first such continuation is here) , her two recent “continuations” of Hercule Poirot are more like examples of how NOT […]

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