Agatha Christie was well known throughout her life and after her death, her work proceeding her and lingering on for centuries. Her sixty-six detective novels that spanned her career remain to this day as some of the most iconic pieces of crime fiction in history. Therefore, she has been nicknamed ‘Queen of Crime’. Christie’s fluency in how she navigates her twists and turns in her novels is awe-inspiring; her clever and nimble mind works wonders in how they affect her characters, storylines and neurotic plot twists. For aspiring novelists like me, admitting defeat that modern murder mysteries will never compare to her captivating original ideas will forever haunt us, like the ghosts of her deadly characters. Her stories, such as Murder on the Orient Express (1934) and Hallowe’en Party (1969), gripped so many people that they became films to be enjoyed. With Mr. Poirot and his adventures, we witness how Christie uses plot lines that are so fantastical, but similarly very grounded in their contextual nuances.
And then, there were none left to talk about, except the very book of this name. As I sat on a beach in (let’s say sunny) Devon, my mind was whisked away to an island that no one could contact. Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None (1939) features eight characters who come from different backgrounds and lifestyles, yet all have one thing in common: they have all committed murder. Now spoilers ahead for anyone who hasn’t read this yet… (you might want to come back to this review once you have). They are stranded on an island – all called in to stay there from a Mr Owen. The characters then learn on the very first night that Mr Owen is just an acronym spelling out unknown. They are confronted with their crimes by an announcement on a recorded message, each individually getting called out for their murders. Over the course of this novel, they each die one by one, following a poem hung up in their rooms. Some by poison, some by gunshot, by stabbing and the last woman hangs herself. The story consists of conspiracies between the characters and paranoia on the highest scale. Its warping tension consists of people being desperate for their slowly diminishing lives, making the book a gripping read. In the end, the sealed bottle monologue shows us that one of the people on the island was Mr Owen, the perpetrator. The person who had devised the plan, including faking his own death before facing his real death, was Judge Mr Wargrave. This climactic conclusion shocks readers to their core, just what Christie fans expect from her work.
And Then There Were None (1939) is outrageously horrific, ominous, tense and sentimental. Christie’s classic plot twist in the conclusion is unforeseen and yet clings ultimately to the frame of this story. My honest reaction to this ending, again on a beautiful, sunny (pushing it now) beach in Devon, was near disappointment. In a strange type of wanting: I expected more. I found the Judge quite a dull character and, though unexpected, I felt we, as readers, barely knew him. He died so early on that he became irrelevant in my feelings towards this book. I do understand her choice of ending, as Mr Wargrave desires justice in life, and this is how he achieves it, in his own twisted way.
A section that had me gripping my Kindle excitedly was the pulse-racing and riveting part where the doctor disappeared, and we question whether his leadership was indeed a hoax.Yet, we find out in the end, his disappearance was a moment of his downfall (literally off a cliff). Initially, the doctor took on leadership, altering the course of the story by teaming up with Mr Wargrave, who agreed to help him fake his death to try to catch the killer undercover. However, Mr Wargrave betrays his trust by taking him outside, in the middle of the night, and leading him astray (and off a cliff).
Moreover, the leadership of the female characters is intriguing to observe throughout the novel. On one hand, you couldn’t imagine a woman being a murderer in that time, yet you see the defiance of expectations through the character of Vera. She is the only one left at the end, the one who is led to suicide. In my mind, she is the most important character. I believe she would have been an amazing anti-hero in this – if it were her monologue at the end, I would’ve been wholly satisfied. It would’ve made for a ‘wow moment’, as you call it: it all ends with her, and, in the end, she was the catalyst. Yes, I do know it wouldn’t have worked with her as the perpetrator, as the suicide wouldn’t have made sense, but a girl can dream. Or can she? In this novel, we see how Vera dreams of her life with her lover, and as he doesn’t have much money, she commits murder for him and, in the end, loses out. I relished in the difference between the three women, how each one is different in their crimes and their lifestyles, but still, they all have similar values and traditional views. What caught my attention throughout the novel, which I think sold it to me as one of Christie’s best, is the poem. The poem in each person’s room tells them exactly how each of them will die, and yet they all almost ignore it and joke about it at first. They only really focus on the soldiers disappearing, but they are told how the next person will die, and yet they still fall for the tricks of the lawyer. However, I enjoyed this as it proves how their pride and intellect clash – they believe they are above Mr Unknown, which to me is fascinating.
On the whole, this story not only entices and wraps you around its finger, but also hands you many ideas to toy with, especially to do with justice, femininity, rules, and what you can get away with. If you are not an English student reading this (I’m jealous you can read books for your own entertainment without it being seminar preparation), I am sure you will enjoy the trajectory and ending of this. My analytical and English student brain might have tweaked it slightly, but Christie still exceeds my outlandish expectations of her work with this novel and enriches my love of murder mystery novels to another level.
Editor: Ola Jakubowska