24. Death in the Clouds (1935)

{also published as Death in the Air}

When I first sat down to blog about this book, I thought, How could it have taken me nearly 3 weeks to read this?  I probably read half of this book in the last two days - it was so fun.  But then I remembered that we did have an adoption, an adoption party, Thanksgiving, Peter's birthday, and lots of other things in between that kept me busy and out of my book.

Once again, I failed to find the answer.  Especially when I thought, about a third of the way through, that I had at least the weapon figured out.  Lots of false leads in this one.  Probably all of them, actually. 

I was disappointed in the murderer.  Really wanted a happy ending for him and his love.  Poor choices, my friend.

This sounded a bit autobiographical:

An Englishman thinks first of his work - his job, he calls it - and then of his sport, and last - a good way last - of his wife.  yes, yes, it is really so.  Why, imagine, in a little hotel in Syria was an Englishman whose wife had been taken ill.  He himself had to be somewhere in Iraq by a certain date.  Eh bien, would you believe it, he left his wife and went on so as to be on duty in time?  And both he and his wife thought that quite natural; they thought him noble, unselfish. But the doctor, who was not English, thought him a barbarian.  A wife, a human being - that should come first. To do one's job - that is something much less important.

This (and much of the later chapters) made me laugh. 

"Ah," said (detective writer) Mr. Clancy. "But, you see, I have my methods, Watson.  If you'll excuse my calling you Watson.  No offense intended. Interesting, by the way, how the technic of the idiot friend has hung on. Personally, I myself think the Sherlock Holmes stories greatly overrated.  The fallacies - the really amazing fallacies -that there are in those stories - But what was I saying?"

Looking forward to the next book, narrated by the "idiot friend" of Poirot. 

A reference to Orient Express:

"I've questioned the passengers too.  Everyone can't be lying." (spoken by Japp)
"In one case I investigated everyone was!"

I really enjoyed this story, Agatha.  I was tired the other night and sat down to read a chapter or two - before I knew it I had read ten.  Love, love, love.

b.

23. Three Act Tragedy (1934)

{also published as Murder in Three Acts}

Oh, dear Agatha, how I loved this story!

You brought Satterthwaite back from The Mysterious Mr. Quin.  He makes a great protagonist.  I love how you capture his essence so well.

This made me smile:  "'It's the Only Thing to Do,' he said, obviously speaking in capital letters."  It reminds me of a common texting trend right now.  We might say:  It's the Only. Thing. To. Do.  

In chapter 13, Mrs. Babbington is interviewed.  I was so moved by her sincere love for her husband and the way that she described their marriage.  Your writing absolutely made me hurt for her loss... and then I worried through the next 14 chapters that it was all a lie and she would be found to be the killer!  (I should've known to put my mind at ease because even when I think I'm being sly and I have it figured out, I don't.  I kind of wondered if one of the investigating team was involved, but I leaned more heavily toward another in that team than the actual.)

Dame Agatha, I thought you used the theater trope perfectly.  From the title, to the text divisions, to the main character being an actor who seems to go in and out of character throughout the story... it was delightful.  And to continue your metaphor, Monsieur Poirot lingers backstage for more than half the novel, then comes in and steals the show.  

I did keep wondering when Poirot was going to show up!  That said, I thought watching Egg, Charles, and Satterthwaite do much of the investigating was very different from your typical pattern.  I don't know how you do it, actually - coming up with such completely different stories with all of the books you've published.

Amazeballs.

And, Agatha, the final words of the novel sure left me with a smile on my face:

"My goodness," (Satterthwaite) cried, "I've only just realized it!  That rascal, with his poisoned cocktail!  Anyone might have drunk it!  It might have been me!"

"There is an even more terrible possibility that you have not considered," said Poirot.

"Eh?"

"It might have been me," said Hercule Poirot.

On a personal note, Murder on the Orient Express comes out this weekend on the big screen.  My Beth friend and Christianne are both reading that.  Josh is in possession of Roger Ackroyd, Grace has Peril at End House, Ro has Listerdale.  I am getting a little twitchy with all my children in the possession of others.

Always in admiration,

Beth