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A review by mariafernandagama
Mrs. McGinty's Dead by Agatha Christie
2.0
Ugh. So. I kinda expect contemporary mystery novels not to make any sense. That's basically because I think most mystery writers nowadays are just trying to make it very big and very quick, so they can sell the movie rights as fast as possible so they can finally fulfill their dream of living in a farm, or something like that. And who can blame them, right? It's a method that works. As long as you keep them guessing the big picture, nobody cares if you screw up in the details. People will forget your book as soon as it's finished, and then move on to next one like they don't know better.
But not you, Agatha! I'm sorry, you don't get to do this. You're a true genius. So of course I expect your books to make some sense. I'll even look past every time somebody turns into a completely different person just because they put on a wig and makeup (only the type of makeup that was available in the '30s and '40s, mind you) or what is, for me, your most tiresome little habit: making a character remember something was wrong, but not being able to tell exactly what was wrong. Come on! That just doesn't happen to people in real life! But it's all good. I'm willing to forget those things when Hercule or Jane round everybody up and just let the murderer have it by explaining everything really slowly. There were so many times when you made me feel so dumb in these moments. I loved every second of it! Mainly because it was right there in my face all along! Of course! Everybody is a suspect, so everybody must have done it! If everybody is dead then the killer must be a victim! German measles!!!!!!
But right here, you see... it wasn't in my face all along. It wasn't in anybody's face. Where the hell did you come up with this? Somethings just can't be guessed if you don't at least give us the tiniest clue. You know this. I know you do. So this feels like really lazy work. It was only a bit amusing watching Hercule Poirot suffer at a place that wasn't up to his standards, but that wasn't worth it by any way you look at it. I'm disappointed. You let me down before with your nonsensical ideas, but at least I knew you believed in them. In this book, it's very clear you don't believe in anything. Were you hoping to sell the movie rights? Did you dream about the farm? Did they put too much pressure in you to keep the books coming? They shouldn't have. This, just like the awful food at the inn, is not up to your standards. I am hoping to be enthralled again in the near future.
But not you, Agatha! I'm sorry, you don't get to do this. You're a true genius. So of course I expect your books to make some sense. I'll even look past every time somebody turns into a completely different person just because they put on a wig and makeup (only the type of makeup that was available in the '30s and '40s, mind you) or what is, for me, your most tiresome little habit: making a character remember something was wrong, but not being able to tell exactly what was wrong. Come on! That just doesn't happen to people in real life! But it's all good. I'm willing to forget those things when Hercule or Jane round everybody up and just let the murderer have it by explaining everything really slowly. There were so many times when you made me feel so dumb in these moments. I loved every second of it! Mainly because it was right there in my face all along! Of course! Everybody is a suspect, so everybody must have done it! If everybody is dead then the killer must be a victim! German measles!!!!!!
But right here, you see... it wasn't in my face all along. It wasn't in anybody's face. Where the hell did you come up with this? Somethings just can't be guessed if you don't at least give us the tiniest clue. You know this. I know you do. So this feels like really lazy work. It was only a bit amusing watching Hercule Poirot suffer at a place that wasn't up to his standards, but that wasn't worth it by any way you look at it. I'm disappointed. You let me down before with your nonsensical ideas, but at least I knew you believed in them. In this book, it's very clear you don't believe in anything. Were you hoping to sell the movie rights? Did you dream about the farm? Did they put too much pressure in you to keep the books coming? They shouldn't have. This, just like the awful food at the inn, is not up to your standards. I am hoping to be enthralled again in the near future.