“Hercule Poirot’s Christmas” by Agatha Christie

 

I had such fun reading this book! And I'm sad that it's over. 

Could Hercule Poirot's Christmas be considered high literature? No. Did I learn anything from it? Not really. Is Agatha Christie a genius? Maybe. Did I enjoy the reading experience more than, say, the last six books I read? Yes. Definitely yes! And it was certainly a bonus that this book took place from December 22 to December 28. (When I first picked it up on December 20, I had brief thoughts about waiting and reading each part on the day it took place . . . but I let go of that idea pretty quickly). 

AND! And I guessed whodunnit! I had my first suspicions on page 74 (out of 272). I had my second (confirmatory) suspicions on page 84. And from there on out I continued picking up supporting clues. I was wrong about a few minor plot points (I thought there might be more than one death; I didn't guess who stole the diamonds--although I thought it must be one of three people, and it was one of those three people; and I was unnecessarily hard on the creepy manservant) but I was right about the broad strokes. Sam asked me whether this made the story boring or satisfying, and the answer is satisfying. Definitely satisfying! 

But here's what I'll never know. How was I able to guess the murderer? Is Agatha Christie's writing too formulaic? (Surely not.) Have I read too many of her books? (Is that possible?) Have I maybe read this book before, and that's how I guessed the killer--because actually, somewhere in my subconscious, I already knew who it was? (Entirely possible for a literary amnesiac. But at least I know that I had not read this book any time within the past sixteen years. Thanks, blog!)