“They Do It With Mirrors” by Agatha Christie

Funny, I was sure I’d read this one before, and by page 24—it was the line “her head kept its eager birdlike tilt” together with the titular reference to mirrors—I thought I knew at least part of what had happened (or would happen). As it turns out, I must have been remembering a different book! And this self-imposed red herring kept me wrong-footed all the way through.

In this story, Miss Marple is sent to visit an old schoolmate, Carrie Louise, where she lives on the grounds of a reformatory founded by her (third) husband, Lewis Serrocold. Carrie Louise's sister Ruth has a feeling that something bad is about to happen, and she's sure her old friend Jane can suss it out, whatever it is. The cast of characters is a bit convoluted, with various children and stepsiblings and the like. Can Miss Marple root out a potential murderer before it's too late? Or is Carrie Louise not even the one in danger?

Did I guess whodunnit? Well, if I hadn’t been so distracted by what I thought was the solution, I might have guessed right. As it was, I knew the drama in the study was not to be taken at face value. In hindsight, the killer was obvious. But I didn’t believe it until I was forced to. 

“A Murder is Announced” by Agatha Christie

Don’t mind me, I’m just over here bingeing the Dame. 

I don’t think I’d read this one before. It's the one where the local newspaper announced that a murder would occur at 6:30pm at Little Paddocks. Everyone, including the house's owner Letita Blacklock, seemed surprised by this, but a handful of curious neighbors turned up expecting some sort of exciting game. And in fact for a moment it does seem to be a game--the lights theatrically go out just as a masked man throws open the door and shouts "Stick 'em up!"--but then the masked man is shot dead. Then, in the days that follow, there is a poisoning, followed by a strangling . . . Just as one lie is often followed by a second and a third to keep the truth obscured, it seems it's the same with murder.

Did I guess whodunnit? No, not at all. I was too focused on Emma and Pip, and I didn’t even figure out who they really were until Agatha told me. 

“The Moving Finger” by Agatha Christie

On to the fourth of fourteen Miss Marple books. Although, oddly, Miss Marple was hardly in it! She didn't even appear until page 175 (out of 234). But she did, of course, play a pivotal role in the resolution of the mystery. 

This is the one narrated by the young (and apparently rich) invalid who moves to the countryside with his sister for rest and recuperation. His doctor had suggested they do so in order to find a calm and quiet place to convalesce, but instead Jerry and Joanna Burton are thrust into turmoil: there are anonymous letters, then an unexpected death, and then a murder. Hardly the tranquility they were expecting!

Did I guess whodunnit? Not at all. Once again, I suspected the poor narrator. (Was I meant to?) I found Jerry weird and creepy. I was just sure he was an unreliable narrator who was hiding something from me (like the fact that he was a murderous madman). But it turns out that no, Jerry is just charming and rich, if maybe also a bit impulsive and cryptic. 

“The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark” by Carl Sagan

To balance out the current glut of Agatha Christie, I'm actually in the middle of reading several other books and have just finished this one. I’d never even heard of this book (though of course I’d heard of Carl Sagan) until my friend BR mentioned that she was reading it. I looked into it, noted the author was one I’d always meant to read but hadn’t yet, and immediately ordered a copy (plus a copy of Cosmos, which at this point is still waiting to be read). 

Carl Sagan was obviously a highly intelligent individual, but happily that did not make this book inaccessible or inscrutable. Well… except for the part where he started discussing the four Maxwell equations for the behavior of electricity and magnetism in matter. At that point he might as well have been writing out what the teachers say in Charlie Brown specials (“wat wap wat waaah wah…”) for all the sense I could make of it. But barring those five or so pages, this book was suitable for the masses. 

That’s not to say I raced through it eagerly. This was definitely not as fun to read as Miss Marple. That’s the problem with reading more than one book at a time—sometimes it can be hard to pick up the ones that are more work than play. I circumvented this issue by bringing Sagan’s book with me on a plane, which made reading progress in leaps and bounds. 

It didn't take long to realize this book must have been a major inspiration for another book that I have read but have not yet blogged about: The Skeptics’ Guide to the Universe. (The reason I have not blogged about that one yet is because I am re-reading it—studying it, even!—and am not quite ready to move on.) Both books are about science and science communication, delving into logical fallacies, how to recognize pseudoscience, and the necessity and advantages of skepticism. I would venture to say that Skeptics' Guide is a better book: I found it more comprehensive, better organized, and it's certainly more up-to-date (although that comparison is a bit unfair, as Demon was published in 1996 and Skeptics' Guide was published more than two decades later). But I'm glad I've dipped my toe in with Sagan, and I'm looking forward to Cosmos. 

“The Body in the Library” by Agatha Christie

Number three in the Miss Marple binge! I think I’ve read this one before. I remembered the nail parings (but I misremembered their significance—I thought there was poison involved. Or maybe I’m conflating this story with another?)

In this story, Colonel and Mrs Bantry awake one morning to find that the dead body of a woman unknown to them is lying on the hearth rug of their library. Who is she? Who strangled her? And why is she in their house? The first question is answered relatively quickly: she's the cousin of a dancer at a the Majestic Hotel in nearby Danemouth. But the other two questions can't be answered without the help of Miss Marple and her endless knowledge of human wickedness.

Here's a funny thing: about 30 years ago I thought I might write a mystery novel. Everyone thinks they want to write a book at some point or another, right? I never got farther than mentally composing a one-sentence premise, but I think my idea must have been heavily influenced by the beginning of this book (though I didn’t realize it at the time, because of course I didn't actually have an active memory of this book or its plot).

Did I guess whodunnit? Sort of. I suspected 5 (or maybe 6?) people, and wasn’t sure which one(s) were really the killer(s). Could have been any combination of them, to my mind. So while I did guess at the truth, I also guessed at several red herrings, and it’s kind of cheating to allow myself so many guesses. I might as well suspect all the characters--if I do that, I'll be right every time!

“The Thirteen Problems” by Agatha Christie

I should probably slow down and savor these books a bit, but that’s a difficult thing to do. They’re just so, as they say, page-turney!

This one is a book of short stories, which only serves to increase the level of page-turney-ness. (What? That could be a word.) When the solution to a mystery is only a few short pages away, it’s really hard to put the book down. And then, once you’ve reached one satisfying conclusion, it’s so easy to just flip to the next page and start a whole new story. It’s right there. 

Surprisingly, I actually guessed the solution to several of these, so there goes my conviction that Christie always manages to surprise me. Of course, it’s entirely possible that I already read this book at some point in the past, and the solutions lodged themselves in my subconscious. That would be both a rational conclusion to draw, and one that preserves my amazement at Christie’s genius. (Because she was a genius. Don’t you agree?) But also—whereas in my memory I had guessed “most” of the solutions, in flipping back through the book I see that it was really only four of the thirteen…

Just one observation, neither here nor there; I don’t really understand the order that Harper Collins published these editions in. This book was published second chronologically (which is, of course, why I read it second) but it’s the second to last book in the boxed sets. There is another (Sleeping Murder) which was published second-to-last chronologically, but it appears fourth in the boxed sets. I believe this one and the last one may be the only Marple short stories, which explains their juxtaposition. Maybe I will understand the odd placement of Sleeping Murder later. 

“The Murder at the Vicarage” by Agatha Christie

It’s no secret that I love Agatha Christie mysteries. But it has to have been more than 14 years since I last read one. (The only reason I'm sure of this is because of my trusty blog. Since 2009, I would not have read a book without mentioning it here, and the only Christie book that appears on my blog is a Reading in Retrospect title: books I read before I started my blog, but kept notes on, and at some point I used those notes to create a blog post.)

My Agatha Christie reading was never very systematic. I have no idea how many of her 66 mysteries I've read, I certainly didn't go in any sort of order, and--excluding a small handful, probably comprising the ones I read more than once--with my memory (or lack thereof) it's as if I never read them at all; the only thing that remains is the certainty that I've always found the plots clever and enjoyable and compelling. 

We have recently enjoyed watching all three of Kenneth Branagh's Christie adaptations, and on the heels of that, my lovely husband surprised me with ALL FOURTEEN Miss Marple mysteries for my birthday. So of course I got started right away! Miss Marple makes her debut in the one where the vicar, Leonard Clement, returns home one evening to find Colonel Protheroe in his study as expected, though (quite unexpectedly, to be sure!) the colonel is dead, a bullet wound in the back of his head. But wouldn't you know it? Len's next door neighbor is none other than the intrepid Jane Marple. Who solves the mystery, of course, though it takes her three days and 298 pages. 

Did I guess whodunnit? No. I suspected the poor vicar all the way through, and I feel a bit guilty about that. And even if he didn’t commit the murder, I suspected him of peculation. But it’s his own fault. If you’re not the culprit, you shouldn’t have such a shifty demeanor! There were a few others I briefly suspected in a minor manner, though I won't list them all for fear of spoiling it for you. But I will confirm I had written the murderer off as innocent!

Remember how I was just saying I must be reading all the wrong books? Yeah, this was one of them. And there are thirteen more to come. But they're such fun, and it's still reading. It's not like they'll make my brain get fat. 

“Beyond the Door of No Return” by David Diop

Here's a book that has the honor of being on the short list for the National Book Award for Translated Fiction this year. And really, seeing the list (five finalists in each category, the other four categories being fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and young adult) makes me realize I must be reading all the wrong books. Not only have I not read any of the other twenty-four books; I hadn't even heard of them before nationalbook.org announced them.

So I'll just console myself with the fact that I have read this one! The story starts early in the nineteenth century with the protagonist on his deathbed, attended by his adult daughter from whom he'd been estranged for a large part of her life. Even if they'd always been close, however, he might not have told his daughter the formative story of his youth; anyway, the possibility is made moot by the fact that the formative story of his youth is the major reason Michel Adanson is not close to his daughter (or anyone, really). 

We learn Adanson's story along with his daughter, Aglaé, as she reads the memoir he had hidden for her where she would only find it if she truly cared for him. Adanson, a white French botanist, had traveled to Senegal at the age of twenty-three to collect specimens and make a name for himself as a scientist, but he found more than he bargained for: love and passion, and ultimately, tragedy. Hidden within his story is an attempt at explaining how someone who recognizes the horror and injustice of slavery could end up complicit in the very institution they abhor.

Expertly translated from the French by none other than my favorite traducteur (he's the best!), I would say this book is a shoo-in for the prize, though obviously I'm a poor judge, not having read the other four contenders. Fingers crossed, though!