The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Murder Monday
What I've Finished Reading
I was a little surprised that I had no osmosis going into The Sittaford Mystery, because it's an ideal mystery in a lot of ways. It's not one of Christie's breathtaking feats of plotting, like Murder on the Orient Express, but it's very clever and brisk, and thoroughly enjoyable by all the standards of Country House Murder Entertainment. In the middle of a snowstorm, murder is committed that at first looks like an ordinary break-in, but it soon becomes clear that the break-in was faked. Who can have come out to the middle of nowhere over miles of snowed-out roads just to kill a guy? One of the victim's relatives gives a bad alibi and is arrested on suspicion, but Emily Trefusis, his energetic and efficient fiancee, knows perfectly well he's not guilty, just an idiot.
The back cover of this one emphasizes the instigating seance and "the spirit world," but this is partly misleading: post-seance, the plot is entirely about Emily teaming up with an Intrepid Reporter to solve the case before the police spoil everything. A good time is had by all, except maybe the hapless fiancee stuck in prison and the robust local population of red herrings with secrets of their own. Ok, a good time is had by Emily. And me.
Also presented for the connoisseur: a typical jaunty Christie romance (of the popular non-strangling variety) with a typical twist. Christie heroines are an opinionated bunch and I love them for it, though I can't say I always agree with or understand their opinions.
What I'm Reading Now
THE TIME HAS COME
Giant's Bread begins with a short prologue showing the opening night of a wonderfully Thirties opera about Man and the Machine. We hit some bullet points about Modern Music: it's weird and cacophonous, some of the people pretending to like it don't really, but sometimes it's the only thing weird enough to express what it feels like to live on the threshold of an unimaginable and probably terrifying future. I can relate, fictional Thirties composer! There is some speculation and some confident guesses about the nationality of the mysterious composer, because of course you can always tell an Englishman (but you can't tell him not to generalize about National Character).
Christie isn't trying to hide her writing style at all here:
The musical composition given was The Giant, a new work by a hitherto unknown composer, Boris Groen. In the interval after the first part of the performance a listener might have collected the following scraps of conversation:
"Quite divine, darling." "They say it's simply the - the - the latest!! Everything out of tune on purpose. . . and you have to read Einstein in order to understand it. . . " "Yes, dear, I shall tell everyone it's too marvellous. But, privately, it does make one's head ache!"
"Why can't they open a British opera house with a decent British composer? All this Russian tomfoolery!" Thus a peppery colonel.
"Quite so," drawled his companion. "But, you see, there are no British composers. Sad, but there it is!"
"Nonsense - don't tell me, sir. They just won't give them a chance - that's what it is. Who is this fellow Levinne? A dirty foreign Jew. That's all he is!"
The prologue introduces two elements that will reappear throughout the book: a depiction of the prejudice faced by Jews in England, and a liberal application of the convention that all Jewish characters should speak with a lisp. Later we'll meet a sympathetic Jewish character (in fact, this fellow Levinne, a friend of Main Character Vernon Deyre) who also makes a lot of offhand comments about how much power the Jews have. He has a slight lisp, but it's not spelled out, only alluded to occasionally to remind you that it's there.
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The Christie style works nicely for the episodic childhood perspective in Part I, where her simple diction and attention to detail get the chance to shine. Little Vernon is a lonely child with sensitive ears and a comfortable cohort of imaginary friends. His father is an unhappy philanderer who isn't good with emotions, his mother has a heart of custard. People think he's not musical because he's afraid of the piano, but there are hints (including the prologue and back cover copy) that he might just be musical in a different way. A GENIUS way? I like these kid-perspective chapters, even if the poor parents are a hopeless couple of caricatures.
Maybe you'd like to see the cover of my paperback edition? It's nothing spectacular, but I appreciate those helpful musical notes hovering in the air behind Vernon:
[Cut for being a picture]
What I Plan to Read Next
After Giant's Bread, I'm going to take a brief break from Christie and read some of the other murder tales I have in my TBR pile - there are a couple of Ruth Rendells, another P.D. James I picked up off a free books shelf on impulse, and Val McDermid's Common Murder - among other things. Peril at End House is next up in the Great Christie Mega-Read.
I was a little surprised that I had no osmosis going into The Sittaford Mystery, because it's an ideal mystery in a lot of ways. It's not one of Christie's breathtaking feats of plotting, like Murder on the Orient Express, but it's very clever and brisk, and thoroughly enjoyable by all the standards of Country House Murder Entertainment. In the middle of a snowstorm, murder is committed that at first looks like an ordinary break-in, but it soon becomes clear that the break-in was faked. Who can have come out to the middle of nowhere over miles of snowed-out roads just to kill a guy? One of the victim's relatives gives a bad alibi and is arrested on suspicion, but Emily Trefusis, his energetic and efficient fiancee, knows perfectly well he's not guilty, just an idiot.
The back cover of this one emphasizes the instigating seance and "the spirit world," but this is partly misleading: post-seance, the plot is entirely about Emily teaming up with an Intrepid Reporter to solve the case before the police spoil everything. A good time is had by all, except maybe the hapless fiancee stuck in prison and the robust local population of red herrings with secrets of their own. Ok, a good time is had by Emily. And me.
Also presented for the connoisseur: a typical jaunty Christie romance (of the popular non-strangling variety) with a typical twist. Christie heroines are an opinionated bunch and I love them for it, though I can't say I always agree with or understand their opinions.
What I'm Reading Now
THE TIME HAS COME
Giant's Bread begins with a short prologue showing the opening night of a wonderfully Thirties opera about Man and the Machine. We hit some bullet points about Modern Music: it's weird and cacophonous, some of the people pretending to like it don't really, but sometimes it's the only thing weird enough to express what it feels like to live on the threshold of an unimaginable and probably terrifying future. I can relate, fictional Thirties composer! There is some speculation and some confident guesses about the nationality of the mysterious composer, because of course you can always tell an Englishman (but you can't tell him not to generalize about National Character).
Christie isn't trying to hide her writing style at all here:
The musical composition given was The Giant, a new work by a hitherto unknown composer, Boris Groen. In the interval after the first part of the performance a listener might have collected the following scraps of conversation:
"Quite divine, darling." "They say it's simply the - the - the latest!! Everything out of tune on purpose. . . and you have to read Einstein in order to understand it. . . " "Yes, dear, I shall tell everyone it's too marvellous. But, privately, it does make one's head ache!"
"Why can't they open a British opera house with a decent British composer? All this Russian tomfoolery!" Thus a peppery colonel.
"Quite so," drawled his companion. "But, you see, there are no British composers. Sad, but there it is!"
"Nonsense - don't tell me, sir. They just won't give them a chance - that's what it is. Who is this fellow Levinne? A dirty foreign Jew. That's all he is!"
The prologue introduces two elements that will reappear throughout the book: a depiction of the prejudice faced by Jews in England, and a liberal application of the convention that all Jewish characters should speak with a lisp. Later we'll meet a sympathetic Jewish character (in fact, this fellow Levinne, a friend of Main Character Vernon Deyre) who also makes a lot of offhand comments about how much power the Jews have. He has a slight lisp, but it's not spelled out, only alluded to occasionally to remind you that it's there.
:|
The Christie style works nicely for the episodic childhood perspective in Part I, where her simple diction and attention to detail get the chance to shine. Little Vernon is a lonely child with sensitive ears and a comfortable cohort of imaginary friends. His father is an unhappy philanderer who isn't good with emotions, his mother has a heart of custard. People think he's not musical because he's afraid of the piano, but there are hints (including the prologue and back cover copy) that he might just be musical in a different way. A GENIUS way? I like these kid-perspective chapters, even if the poor parents are a hopeless couple of caricatures.
Maybe you'd like to see the cover of my paperback edition? It's nothing spectacular, but I appreciate those helpful musical notes hovering in the air behind Vernon:
[Cut for being a picture]
What I Plan to Read Next
After Giant's Bread, I'm going to take a brief break from Christie and read some of the other murder tales I have in my TBR pile - there are a couple of Ruth Rendells, another P.D. James I picked up off a free books shelf on impulse, and Val McDermid's Common Murder - among other things. Peril at End House is next up in the Great Christie Mega-Read.