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goodthingsread 's review for:
Cards on the Table
by Agatha Christie
I’ve never read an Agatha Christie novel before.
I’ll probably never read one again.
This text is exemplary of everything I dislike in a classic mystery novel. The story is thick with details, so many as to make the head spin even if it weren’t a whodunit. But it is a murder mystery, so you stretch your brain to attempt to absorb everything and figure out what’s happening before the detectives point their finger at the murderer. It’s impossible to enjoy any story being told, if a story even were being told. There’s red herrings to distract you and take away from an enjoyable experience.
What’s more, I find that the explanation of what occurred, how the murder happened, to be pure conjecture and nothing that could hold up in a court of law. I hate this in law and order television serials and I hate it in novels, apparently. There’s no proof that the accused committed the crime, nor that he committed the crimes previous. The detectives say they will prove the previous acts, in the end, but the novel does not actually prove it. We’re left to sit there and admire how clever Poiroit is for making something up and seeing that it sticks only because the accused folds under pressure.
This just is not the genre for me.
Things I Liked About this Book:
+ I appreciate the way it establishes the genre. You can see where others might enjoy it and be inspired by it. It does require your brain to work more than in a standard novel, which isn’t a bad thing, just not what I wanted personally.
+ The audiobook is well performed. That was basically the only way I got through this.
Things I Did Not Like About this Book:
- The amount of dialogue and the lack of description. All telling and no showing.
- Despard’s story is absolutely ridiculous and sounds like the biggest pile of horse shit, but he’s a white man so he’s reliable.
- Oh, yes, the ABSURD AMOUNTS of casual racism in this book. I understand that it’s from a different era or whatever, but it’s still uncomfortable and lazy writing, quite frankly.
- Also the fat shaming and general joking misogyny? I’m still unclear-- One would think that Mrs. Oliver would be self-insert of the author, but instead she appears to be a caricature? I can’t tell without being told (and I don’t want to research further), but her portrayal makes me uncomfortable.
Basically, just… not my cup of tea. In the least.
I’ll probably never read one again.
This text is exemplary of everything I dislike in a classic mystery novel. The story is thick with details, so many as to make the head spin even if it weren’t a whodunit. But it is a murder mystery, so you stretch your brain to attempt to absorb everything and figure out what’s happening before the detectives point their finger at the murderer. It’s impossible to enjoy any story being told, if a story even were being told. There’s red herrings to distract you and take away from an enjoyable experience.
What’s more, I find that the explanation of what occurred, how the murder happened, to be pure conjecture and nothing that could hold up in a court of law. I hate this in law and order television serials and I hate it in novels, apparently. There’s no proof that the accused committed the crime, nor that he committed the crimes previous. The detectives say they will prove the previous acts, in the end, but the novel does not actually prove it. We’re left to sit there and admire how clever Poiroit is for making something up and seeing that it sticks only because the accused folds under pressure.
This just is not the genre for me.
Things I Liked About this Book:
+ I appreciate the way it establishes the genre. You can see where others might enjoy it and be inspired by it. It does require your brain to work more than in a standard novel, which isn’t a bad thing, just not what I wanted personally.
+ The audiobook is well performed. That was basically the only way I got through this.
Things I Did Not Like About this Book:
- The amount of dialogue and the lack of description. All telling and no showing.
- Despard’s story is absolutely ridiculous and sounds like the biggest pile of horse shit, but he’s a white man so he’s reliable.
- Oh, yes, the ABSURD AMOUNTS of casual racism in this book. I understand that it’s from a different era or whatever, but it’s still uncomfortable and lazy writing, quite frankly.
- Also the fat shaming and general joking misogyny? I’m still unclear-- One would think that Mrs. Oliver would be self-insert of the author, but instead she appears to be a caricature? I can’t tell without being told (and I don’t want to research further), but her portrayal makes me uncomfortable.
Basically, just… not my cup of tea. In the least.