Tag: Agatha christie

My Week in Words

23rd March 2025

On this grey and drizzly Sunday I have taken refuge in my local spa, a brief weights session, a dip in the pool, and a book to finish just about distracted me from the gloomy outdoors. This week we travel to Ancient Greece to trace the story of an exiled goddess; to Essex where we join Hastings and Poirot on their inaugural case; and finally, for a break from the fiction, to a decade ago in America where a Vice journalist unravels the passage of events that led to the 2017 Charlottesville tragedy. I hope you enjoy this week’s reading.

Circe, by Madeline Miller

I picked up Circe on a whim a few months ago, drawn in by the setting of Ancient Greek gods, and finally tempted by the flattering reviews on the front cover – and though one should never judge a book by the latter, the ornate bronze and black cover was pleasing to the eye. Greek mythology has always fascinated me. The mainstream religious texts portray their deities as paragons of virtue, and rarely acknowledge the hypocrisy contained within the pages, Greek mythology is much less forgiving. The gods are of course, omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, but they are also jealous, bitter, resentful, merciless. Humanity manifest. Showing a deep contempt for mortals, especially among the most powerful gods, they see humans as nothing more than flies, fleeting lives that will disappear in an instant. They hold themselves superior in every way, and yet they squabble, deceive, slaughter, much in the same way as the creatures they see as no more valuable than dirt. The only difference is they can’t die, so they can go on feuding and hating and pillaging for millennia – okay, they have some pretty awesome powers too. I could continue for pages about Greek Mythology – perhaps that is another post – but this lays the groundwork well for understanding the themes explored in Madeline Miller’s Circe, the retelling of a classic mythology.

Circe, daughter of Helios, god of the sun, and Perse, an Oceanid nymph, is born a disappointment to her parents, with a mortal voice and no significant destiny. Her fleeting childhood, for gods grew quickly, was marred by rejection from her family. Her mother had been disappointed she was not fated to marry a great god, and discarded her in favour of trying for another child. Her siblings Pasiphae and Perses, spent most of their days tormenting Circe in their father’s great halls, disparaging her looks, voice and demeanour with vile and repulsive taunts. Her father cared not for his children, until they became a problem, or a means to an end. So, Circe spent her first few hundred years in misery, resigning herself to a life among gods and nymphs who, while malevolent toward one another, seemed to unite in torment of her. It is an exaggerated parallel that I’m sure many of us can relate to on a mortal degree, not fitting into society’s cookie cutters is a lonely existence and it is not difficult to feel Circe’s pain – though some small grace is not having to face it forever.

Circe realises her destiny when the flowers she enchants transform her mortal love into a powerful god of the sea, but her gift comes at a price. Her artistry in witchcraft threatens Olympus and in penance for her defiance against the gods she is exiled to the island of Aiaia. There she builds her sanctuary, practicing and refining her art, taming wild beasts and growing herbs in a well-tended garden. Not before long visitors begin to arrive, some bring friendship, some bring terror, and one brings destiny; Odysseus, Greek hero of the Trojan war, favoured mortal of the goddess Athena. Circe is a story of family, love, and tragedy, and ultimately of discovery. Circe, a lesser goddess trying to dazzle in a world of unparalleled nymph beauty and hideous god power, discovering her limits and how to exceed them.

A Homer for the modern age, Miller beautifully retells the tragedy of Circe in an adaption fit for the modern age, yet retaining the majesty of the original mythology. I highly recommend this book to any keen reader or lover of Greek mythology.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles, by Agatha Christie

I first fell in love with Monsieur Poirot, and by extension the works of Agatha Christie, when curled up on my Grandma’s sofa we would watch the ITV adaptation of the famous detective, played expertly by David Suchet. Reading the books takes me back to those times, the tattered sofa in garish floral tribute, with covers hiding worn arms in equally dated textiles – for all the love I have for my Grandma she had interesting tastes in interior design. The house was always heavy with the scent of living; pets, books, soap, it was the quintessential loved family home. It is shocking then, that having been a fan of Poirot and Christie for so many years – for those sofa days are further back than I care to calculate – that I have never gone to the origin, to the novel that started M. Poirot on his journey to becoming one of the most famous fictional detectives in history.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles was not Christie’s first literary attempt, but it was her first detective story, born of a dare from her sister, Madge, who “bet you can’t write a good detective story”. Inspired by the Belgian refugees arriving in her hometown of Torquay, and her job in the local hospital dispensary, Christie devised her detective and her murder. Persisting through a number of refusals to publish, Christie eventually found a publisher willing to work with her, and her first book went on sale on 21st January 1921. Reviews of the book were favourable, and despite Christie’s initial insistence that she would not pursue a writing career, and luckily for the rest of us, The Mysterious Affair at Styles set in motion the dawn of a prosperous career for Christie.

Having read a number of Poirot novels by now, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I journeyed back to the beginning. Are books like pancakes, does the first one turn out a little bit wonky before you perfect your technique? Besides perhaps a slight repetition I have not noted in her subsequent works, The Mysterious Affair at Styles embodies all the thrilling misdirection that is the crux of Christie’s work. The path through suspicions, motivations, and little evidence, to the murderer is a turbulent ride with a number of cleverly placed veers in suspicion. I have to admit I let out an incredulous chuckle when Monsieur Poirot revealed the identity of the killer, feeling some of the shock that poor Hastings must have felt, and perhaps some of the foolishness that I was so far wrong yet again. And yet, time after time it is a delight to be bested by one of the best literary minds in humanity.

With well-written characters and carefully timed intrigue, The Mysterious Affair at Styles is thoroughly enjoyable, ingenious, and hard to put down.

Black Pill, by Elle Reeve

How I Witnessed the Darkest Corners of the Internet Come to Life, Poison Society, and Capture American Politics.

Black Pill is a stark journalistic view from the trenches of the incel and alt-right communities that laid the foundations for the 2017 Charlottesville terrorist attack, resulting in the tragic death of Heather Heyer.

In Black Pill, Elle Reeve recounts her exploration of the events that led to the Charlottesville ‘Unite the Right’ rally, subsequent riot, and tragic death of an innocent woman. From a proto-incel community on 4chan a seed of hate blossomed into a subculture where self-proclaimed ‘involuntary celibates’ developed the belief that their lack of sexual gratification was the fault of women. This manifested over time, in the sordid, anonymous, corners of the internet, into a passionate and violent philosophy. These men were owed what they were being denied. Rape and assault were celebrated as the just response to the injustice being compelled upon them. The danger of this philosophy was realised when it crept out of the internet and into the real world; when mass murders were committed by members of the subculture who had been taken in by the misogynistic, self-pitying, entitled ethos of the community. The name of Reeve’s book draws its inspiration from a belief held, most commonly, by incels; that women are shallow creatures who choose only the most handsome, society-approved, men, the ‘Chads’. To be ‘blackpilled’ is to believe that society is broken, geared only towards the ‘perfect people’, that your place in the system is anchored, hopeless. Takers of the black pill believe they have been dealt an unlovable hand in life, that nothing they can change (personality, looks or otherwise) will ever help them achieve their romantic and sexual dreams.

It was when this community collided with another, a Nazi movement growing in confidence, that the extremism reached new heights. Fred Brennan had developed 8chan as a place for free speech, that is another thread unpicked in Black Pill, but it was eventually infiltrated by a growing alt-right movement that expelled users with neutral, or at least more neutral ideals than their own. It became the birthplace of QAnon, where conspiracies and absurdities were woven into truth and ultimately stormed the Capitol in 2021, in one of the worst attacks on democracy America has seen in recent years.

Reeve is brave, not afraid to put herself in danger so that the world may know not only of injustice, but of the events that lead to it. Resilient and resolute in interviews that would have had most of us seething in anger. Her ability to remain outwardly unbiased in interviews to gain the trust of her subject, is an art. She knows how to lay her words carefully to unravel the darkest motivations of the interviewee, pressing them just enough to reveal themselves, but not so much that they build a wall. She sees that behind the faces of “evil” are complex emotions, motivations, tragedies, and ignorance. Understanding the steps in the path to Charlottesville; rising confidence in racists, a lonely man lamenting his disability, ignorant views on eugenics, and the rise of social media that gives platform for all the latter to be turned over in anonymity, is a stepping stone on the path to understanding extremism. We can condemn racists, bigots, misogynists, but without being willing to understand the root of their beliefs, we cannot hope to combat, or educate, it.

One question that Reeve explores, that I played over and over in my mind on closing the book, and continues to fascinate me, is the question ‘are fascists stupid?’ Most people would probably say “Yes. No argument, they are stupid, they are idiots”. I see it repeatedly when Trump or Musk raise their moronic heads in conversation or on social media, and there are clamours of ‘he is so stupid’, ‘he doesn’t know what he is doing’. Whilst many of the decisions we see being made in the Oval Office are beyond the comprehension of any sane person, the fact is they are occupying the Oval Office. These two ignorant, bigoted men occupy the highest office of one of the Western power houses. The decisions they make are stupid, their beliefs are stupid, but are they? Whilst I don’t disagree with the general sentiment that fascists are stupid, Reeve raises an important point, by dismissing people as stupid or idiotic, you underestimate them, you think they cannot possibly achieve what good, intelligent people can achieve, and yet history has proven this to be a flawed philosophy time and time again. There have been many awful, but awfully intelligent people, so why are we so resistant to the fact that intelligent people can be evil? Reeve puts it eloquently in her book:

“Smart people have been told all their lives that being smart is a virtue, and, implicitly, smart people are virtuous…the sick, sad truth is that the world is not being ruined by dumb monsters but by smart people just like us.”

The Nazi’s who feature in Reeve’s interviews can be eloquent, even politically astute, as Reeve puts it, “they notice that smart people need to feel like they’re logical, principled thinkers, so they create cringe propaganda to make them feel alienated from activists for social justice.” Those are not the actions of the stupid, but of intelligent, if thoroughly misguided, people. I must say at this juncture that I do believe the atrocious, tangled web of entitled eugenic misogyny at the heart of the incel and Nazi belief systems is unquestionably stupid. But the people who lap it up, lap it up for a reason, and if we want to educate against fascism and extremism we must lower our own prejudices and understand the root cause. Extremism can be a learned behaviour, it can be based in faith, or a response to legitimate dilemmas. Confused, alienated, frustrated, people come together with a shared goal and leave with a shared ideology, often targeted at something besides the root cause of their unhappiness, for it is far easier to imagine an enemy than to self-reflect.

I could go on, but I do not want to detract from Reeve’s work. An important piece of journalism for the modern age Black Pill lays bare the power of the meme, of social media, and of combined discontentment and ignorance.

I hope you have enjoyed this week’s reading, I would love to hear what you have read this week.

Happy Reading!

My Week in Words

16th March 2025

Welcome to a new series where each Sunday I write about the books, articles, or other literature I have read in the week prior. Having struggled with writer’s block for the past year or two, I am diving head first back into the creative pursuits that bring me joy and inspiration. I (or the tag team of anxiety and depression) have starved my creativity with work and inane social media consumption, and whilst I must continue with work, I have ruthlessly curtailed the latter. So, now is the time when I must turn the lens inward and nurture myself with the hobbies I have been depriving myself of. Forever one of life’s great mysteries is why we consume content or partake in platforms that drive the dark storms in our minds, rather than taking the time to engage in healthy, positive activities. Of course, we know it comes back to dopamine, the old chestnut of immediate gratification and long-term loss, and I must admit I do still enjoy the occasional capybara video. I digress, please enjoy the summary of my week’s reading…

This series is partly coming about because this Christmas just gone I set a rule to our family that I was not allowed any more books until I had started to make my way through the many I had purchased that year. To my dismay everyone obeyed the rule. There are still many books I wish to purchase, and so I have decided to abide by my own rule and make my way through my bookshelves. This week I have consumed After the Funeral and Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie, and Machines Like Me, by Ian McEwan.

After the Funeral, by Agatha Christie

Part of the combined joy and frustration of reading Christie is knowing that she will lead you down a veined road of motivations, intuitions and evidence, only to best you every time with a beautifully placed twist. Knowing there is a twist coming never seems to take away the magic from Christie’s books, and that is part of her genius. After the Funeral is no different, a complex amalgamation of family feuds and vain ambitions, and at the end a delightfully unexpected flourish when the murderer is revealed. Initially I found it one of the least gripping of Christie’s novels I have read thus far, I think in part to the late appearance of Monsieur Hercule Poirot, who joins a few chapters in. It was nonetheless an enjoyable and easy read. The plot is engaging, once you get the hang of who is who in the Abernethie family, admittedly I had to refer back to the family tree at the beginning of the book a number of times to discern whether we were reading about a brother, nephew, widowed sister-in-law or other relative. A few times I was sure I knew who the killer was, and a few times I was wrong. Although I found the book a little slower than some of her other novels, the ending was one of the best. I highly recommend this book, an enjoyable and comforting read.

Evil Under the Sun, by Agatha Christie

Following After the Funeral I was on a bit of a Christie kick and had recently bought a beautiful old copy of Evil Under the Sun, I discovered halfway through the novel I had actually already bought a copy of the book a couple of years ago, and you will now start to understand why I laid down the ‘no new books’ rule.

Evil Under the Sun is one of my favourite Christie books so far. I felt some compassion for Poirot, who, even on holiday, finds himself in the throws of an investigation. When an expected murder (the reader gets a small win early on when the person we expect to be murdered actually is) mildly startles the holidaymakers at the Jolly Roger hotel, we follow Poirot and Inspector Colgate as they attempt to unravel the motivations of the murderer. Jealousy, affairs, witchcraft, and drug smuggling, there are no shortage of suspects…except they all seemingly have alibis. It is a gripping novel that kept me up late as I desperately wanted to know who had killed the beautiful man-magnet, Arlena. Once again Christie has woven the threads delicately to a conclusion that makes you skip back through the pages to see if you could’ve guessed right with a little more time. It was a thoroughly enjoyable read that anyone who likes crime and Christie will find captivating.

Machines Like Me, by Ian McEwan

Having reliably been bested twice in a row by Agatha, I decided to divert to a different genre. McEwan has written some of the most enthralling and chilling books I have read, Comfort of Strangers and The Cement Garden being two titles worthy of their own reviews. I settled on Machines Like Me, one of McEwans more recent titles published in 2019, and based in a dystopian alternative 1982 where Britain had lost the Falklands War, JFK had evaded his assassination, and Alan Turing was alive and pioneering research into Artificial Intelligence. I chose an interesting time to read this novel, with the sharp upsurge in AI hitting the media in recent months, it felt like a stark reminder of the complications that come with entangling our lives so profoundly in technology.

The scene is set with a young man, Charlie, living in London, and his purchase of an Artificial Life-form, Adam, his love interest, Miranda, and his precarious means of survival by playing the stock market. McEwan continues his ability to make the mundane complex, recognising that human beings, with all their idiosyncrasies, are rarely simple. We follow Charlie and Miranda as they fall in love and navigate ownership of one of 24 flagship Artificial Life-forms. The book is as much an exploration into human impulses and complexities as it is into our advancement of Artificial Intelligence. McEwan expertly shows how little we understand ourselves, our motivations that are so based on the moment, on experience, and on intuition, rather than logic. Two worlds collide in Machines Like Me, impulsive, unpredictable, humanity, and logical, considered, computers. Some make the assertion that we are no different from computers because our brains work in a similar fashion, the brain uses chemicals to transmit information, a computer uses electricity to do the same. There is no denying we are machines, in a sense, bio-mechnical in nature, however, this doesn’t account for the fact that we still understand so little about how our brains truly work, and recreating something you don’t understand is something Science Fiction has warned us fervently against. This is why Machines Like Me is such a fantastic read, the overarching story is a little “everyday mundane”, but deeper it is an analysis of what can happen when the world moves forward too quickly. As we advance forward technologically, at a pace unprecedented throughout human history, literature like McEwan’s remind us we still have a long way to go and we will make mistakes along the way.

Machines Like Me is not stomach churningly page-turning, but it is fascinating and it will leave you rolling over the progress of humanity in your mind. Reading it against the backdrop of the current world stage, it will ignite in you a debate on the moralities, practicalities, complexities and philosophies of our drive to advance Artificial Intelligence.

I hope you have enjoyed this weeks reads, and I look forward to sharing more with you next week.

Happy Living!

Book Review – Appointment with Death

Appointment with Death by Agatha Christie {Poirot no. 17}

Among the towering red cliffs of Petra, like some monstrous swollen Buddha, sat the corpse of Mrs Boynton. A tiny puncture mark on her wrist was the only sign of the fatal injection that had killed her.

With only 24 hours available to solve the mystery, Hercule Poirot recalled a chance remark he’d overheard back in Jerusalem: ‘You see, don’t you, that she’s got to be killed?’ Mrs Boynton was, indeed, the most detestable woman he’d ever met.

I am writing this post from my phone on a dog walk. The wind is blowing over Minchinhampton Common with an icy ferocity and I’m hoping my fingers will last for the entire post.

I will admit, ashamedly, that Appointment with Death is the first Agatha Christie I have ever read. For years I have wanted to start working my way through the legacy of the most famous crime author, and now that I have started I am addicted. It can be nerve-wracking when introducing yourself to a new author. Will you like their writing style, their story telling? Will you be able to relate to the characters, and will the story captivate you page after page?

Agatha Christie has a way of drawing the reader into the world of her characters. There is no over-the-top action, gratuitous violence or fantastical events that make you want to read on, but you become involved in the crime, and guessing the assailant becomes a game. One that Christie inevitably wins. Christie clearly lays out the crime in each novel, cleverly directing the reader to assuming the guilt of this character, and then maybe that one, before at the end a reveal is made; bringing together the evidence dotted throughout the novel in a surprising, genius, twist. The writing is intelligent and well thought-out, but easy to follow. Knowing that there will be a surprise does not spoil the reading of Christie’s books. In fact, it makes you all the more convinced to read every word carefully, desperately trying to see what Monsieur Hercule Poirot sees that gives him such confidence in the innocence or guilt of a character. Christie expertly guides you to one character, then another. In Appointment with Death there are a myriad of obvious suspects, the worn down family, the would-be heroin, or someone we never suspected?

The most brilliant aspect of Christie’s detective stories are that all the evidence is there, as Poirot says, “It is a profound belief of mine that if you can induce a person to talk to you for long enough, on any subject whatever! Sooner or later they will give themselves away.” It is the great frustration of the reader that, once all is revealed, you can see all the pieces of the jigsaw come together and they were right in front of your eyes the whole time.

Appointment with Death is an interesting read because it focuses very much on the morality of murder. The victim is one Mrs Boynton, a despicable old bat who revels in the emotional torture of her family. We spend a few chapters viewing the effect Mrs Boynton’s controlling and narcissistic personality has on those around her. Her family, worn down, all adults who are emotionally bound to serve the great shadowy mass that hangs over them, begin to taste freedom. Outsiders, who are both inclined to help the family find a life beyond the tyrannical rule of Mrs Boynton, and intrigued by the unusual family dynamic, play a key role throughout the events of the book. It is safe to say by the time the old lady meets her fate everyone, reader included, is relieved that the world became that bit nicer.

Poirot, however, is driven by his morality to investigate the death, especially after it appears that old Boynton’s demise was not natural. Through meticulous psychological analysis of all parties present, Poirot accomplishes his task and unmasks the murderer. I will allow you to discover the murderer for yourself, but I will say, prepare to be surprised.

Happy reading!