hulttio 's review for:

Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie

5.0

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But have I not heard you say often that to solve a case a man has only to lie back in his chair and think?

Apparently, May is Mystery Month, and who better to kick it off with than the queen of it all, Agatha Christie? (Yes, my choice of read was certainly, 100%, indubitably intentional. Let’s just roll with that.) This is my second Christie after And Then There Were None, though my first of her Poirot novels. We have a vivid cast of curious characters, all packed together on a train car stuck in a snowdrift. And though Poirot is on vacation, naturally, the man attracts murders like nothing else, and he is of course on the case. Nothing is what it seems, least of all the dead man.

One thing that surprised me with this one is how many French phrases are peppered throughout; I don’t recall the same degree in And Then There Were None, but it does make sense given that Poirot and his friend, Monsieur Bouc, are Francophones. Having a French-English dictionary would be helpful. I also found some of the character archetypes to be predictable and somewhat flimsy, but that may be more a sign of the times and how indelible these archetypes have become since Christie penned this. Poirot is such an endearing character, and his excitement and single-mindedness for solving a good mystery are infectious. There are a few elements that become dated with a modern audience and some linguistic quirks, but nothing that is insurmountable.

Christie also does a great job of setting the scene with the transcontinental railway; the characters are taking the Simplon route of the Oriental Express, which cuts through the Alps. Unfortunately for them, however, they get stuck somewhere in the Balkans. The falling snow and immobile train do set a certain mood; this would be a great read for December, perhaps, more than May. Her writing is evocative without being laborious; this is a prototype of the page-turner, to be sure. I’ve read that Christie herself used her extensive travels to create the settings for her stories, and here it is quite effective. It really makes you want to go take that great European train adventure. I almost pity that Poirot doesn’t get to stay and enjoy exploring Istanbul (or, as they call it, Stamboul).

Without delving too much, the plot is brilliantly crafted and the mystery is sufficiently tantalizing. The pacing in the first third or so was a bit slow, especially with the interview scenes, but I appreciated the procedural and methodical nature of that portion of the investigation; it made it easier to keep track of things. I had a lot of fun guessing along with the clues presented, as the story of the murder slowly unfolds, but naturally Hercule Poirot is leagues ahead of the reader and from another atmospheric layer entirely. While I anticipated some of the directions of the certain characters’ actions, I am happy to report that the final reveal was a pleasant surprise and, despite all appearances to the contrary, makes perfect sense once you wrap your head around it. I’m almost tempted to go back and re-read it, but I may settle for the 1974 film adaptation. I’m definitely eager to read more Poirot — kicking myself for not doing so earlier.

P.S. Watching the film adaptation now, and one thing I neglected to mention—Christie’s writing is so subtly hilarious. There are so many choice one-liners, and they come across brilliantly even in the adaptation. It’s remarkable how she captures your attention not only with the mystery and the clues, but also with the ever-present humor sprinkled generously throughout.