by Agatha Christie
Yea, I know I’ve been slacking recently. It shouldn’t take me more than a week to read a 200 page book, but I’ve been pretty busy lately- a lot on my plate, so to speak. I’ll try to do better in the future.
Cat Among the Pigeons is another one of those books my mom got me many a Christmas ago and I just never got around to reading. She used to read the Poirot books and I’d seen the show with her a couple times (in my youth), but I hadn’t ever actually read any. I therefore have no basis for comparing this to other Christie/Poirot/mystery novels.
Having said that, the first thing that struck me was that Poirot didn’t show up till the last third of the book. I thought he was going to be the main character, but I didn’t learn anything about him, which is odd when the book proclaims itself “A Hercule Poirot Novel.” When he did show up, he seemed pretty tight, which makes me wonder why he wasn’t really in the book at all. I probably just stumbled upon the one book that he’s not really in, kind of like how James Bond isn’t really in The Spy Who Loved Me.
Anyway, the action here starts out in the Middle East. An Arab prince senses that a revolution is about to take place, and attempts to have his personal pilot, an Englishman, get his jewels out of the country safely. Both are killed, but the jewels disappear, presumably taken home by the pilot’s visiting sister and niece. After they return, the young girl heads off to Meadowbrook, a progressive all-girls school in the countryside.
At this point, a revolution had already happened, and I generally consider that a good start to a novel. This one, however, then went on and on and on about the girls, their families, the school, its staff, and all kinds of nonsense that I suppose is necessary to the setup of a mystery. Without a main character to anchor it, though, I was kind of confused about what I should be paying attention to, which also might be part of the point. As you can see, I’m not good at reading mysteries.
Anyway, before long, murders start happening, and then everyone turns on each other like it’s the end of Reservoir Dogs. It picks up again, and eventually someone has the clever idea to bring in Monsieur Poirot. I’d been telling them to call him for at least 100 pages, but nobody wanted to hear it. He comes in and Poirots the shit out of the mystery.
So yea, maybe the mystery novel isn’t for me. I never really knew what was going on, and I was frustrated by the fact that Poirot was able to solve the mystery and I wasn’t. It’s like watching SVU, except on the show the detectives generally follow the same hunches that I have, and the mystery is resolved within an hour. And again, it bothered me that this Poirot novel was so Poirot-less.
Cat Among the Pigeons wasn’t bad, but I expected better from Agatha Christie, who’s pretty much supposed to be the mystery writer. On the other hand, I’m also pretty sure I just don’t have the patience for mysteries in general.