Oh to have Poirot’s level of self-confidence. I’d personally design the hats big enough to fit his head.
Dr James Sheppard has just come back from confirming the death of Mrs Ferrars. Suicide. Upon this, suspicions are aroused, and Mr Roger Ackroyd is overcome with uneasiness and apprehension. Consulting his long time friend, Dr Sheppard—questions of extortion, affair and guilt are surfaced. That same night— Roger Ackroyd is found dead in his study. Who in his life could profit from his death? Who in his life is threatened by his knowledge? Lets investigate. Ahem, how dare I? Let’s let the one and only do the honours: Hercule Poirot and his unmatchable use of his ‘little grey cells.’
This was voted the best crime novel ever, by the Crime Writers Association in 2013. ‘Ever.’ Bold statement, but deservingly attributed. As far as orthodox, hard-boiled mystery’s go— this was ingenious. The hard-boiled element did make a chunk of it quite dry for my cozier taste in crime novels, but it definitely got me riveted towards the end. Poirot has a knack for timing. I think in his past life— He was a theatre director.
Thoughts: is it just me or did this novel seem a lot like Sophie Hannah used it as her blueprint for Closed Casket? Charming secretary, use of psychology to suss out suspects, allusions to Shakespeare. If you’ve read Closed Casket, let me know what you think.
“Fortunately words, ingeniously used, will serve to mask the ugliness of naked facts.” Damn Agatha. I felt that one.
