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She opened the morning room door, and Bob shot through like a suddenly projected cannonball.
"Who is it? Where are they? Oh, there you are. Dear me, don't I seem to remember -" sniff- sniff- sniff- prolonged snort. "Of course! We have met!"
"Hullo, old man," I said. "How goes it?"
Bob wagged his tail perfunctorily.
"Nicely, thank you. Let me just see -" he resumed his researches. "Been talking to a spaniel lately, I smell. Foolish dogs, I think. What's this? A cat? That is interesting. Wish we had her here. We'd have rare sport. H'm - not a bad bull terrier."
Having correctly diagnosed a visit I had paid recently to some doggy friends, he transferred his attention to Poirot, inhaled a noseful of benzine and walked away reproachfully.
While Poirot and Hastings are having breakfast together, Poirot receives a letter from an old woman, Emily Arundell. It's very circuitous as well as written in spidery handwriting, refers to some incident that's never explained, and says she wants to consult Poirot. Hastings thinks it's nothing, but Poirot notices the date: two months ago. Why was it mailed so late?
He and Hastings go to her home village to investigate, where they learn that Miss Arundell died shortly after writing the letter, of long-standing liver problems. Hastings, of course, would let it go at that; his biggest interest is in her terrier Bob, who he understands very well... to the point that he translates all of Bob's barks and body language into English! This becomes a running thing and is hilarious and charming. I have never liked Hastings more.
Poirot, however, is interested to learn that Miss Arundell tripped over Bob's ball and fell down the stairs shortly before writing the letter to him, and then changed her will to leave everything to her dithering companion rather than to her closest family members, her adult nieces and no-good nephew. ("Companion" is not a euphemism for lover. Miss Lawson was hired help, and relatively recently hired at that.) Was her fall a murder attempt? Did her shady nephew who joked about bumping her off really do it? What about her niece's suspiciously Greek doctor husband, who would know about poisons? Did she really get a premonition of death at the seance Miss Lawson dragged her to shortly before the murder?
The mystery itself is fine, with one particularly clever bit involving the seance, but not one of Christie's best. The characters are also fine (apart from Bob, I particularly enjoyed the supposed psychics, from whose offer of a dinner of "shredded raw vegetables" Poirot and Hastings flee in horror), but again, not Christie's best.
What makes this book shine, and it does shine, is in Poirot's unique approach to the case, Poirot and Hastings's interactions with each other and with the villagers, and in the dialogue and comedy scenes. It's really funny. Poirot tells a different lie about who he is and why he's there to everyone he meets, Hastings and Bob have an actual relationship arc with a very satisfying conclusion, and it's very difficult to read the book and not come away convinced that Poirot and Hastings are married, or at least joined-at-the-hip platonic life partners.
Christie scale: MILD levels of XENOPHOBIA against GREEKS and other FOREIGNERS.
I'm reviewing the audio version of this because it's so delightful. Hugh Fraser does a great job with all the voices, especially Bob-as-translated-by-Hastings. My mother and I listened to it while traveling together, and it was a very fun experience. It's available on Audible.
"Who is it? Where are they? Oh, there you are. Dear me, don't I seem to remember -" sniff- sniff- sniff- prolonged snort. "Of course! We have met!"
"Hullo, old man," I said. "How goes it?"
Bob wagged his tail perfunctorily.
"Nicely, thank you. Let me just see -" he resumed his researches. "Been talking to a spaniel lately, I smell. Foolish dogs, I think. What's this? A cat? That is interesting. Wish we had her here. We'd have rare sport. H'm - not a bad bull terrier."
Having correctly diagnosed a visit I had paid recently to some doggy friends, he transferred his attention to Poirot, inhaled a noseful of benzine and walked away reproachfully.
While Poirot and Hastings are having breakfast together, Poirot receives a letter from an old woman, Emily Arundell. It's very circuitous as well as written in spidery handwriting, refers to some incident that's never explained, and says she wants to consult Poirot. Hastings thinks it's nothing, but Poirot notices the date: two months ago. Why was it mailed so late?
He and Hastings go to her home village to investigate, where they learn that Miss Arundell died shortly after writing the letter, of long-standing liver problems. Hastings, of course, would let it go at that; his biggest interest is in her terrier Bob, who he understands very well... to the point that he translates all of Bob's barks and body language into English! This becomes a running thing and is hilarious and charming. I have never liked Hastings more.
Poirot, however, is interested to learn that Miss Arundell tripped over Bob's ball and fell down the stairs shortly before writing the letter to him, and then changed her will to leave everything to her dithering companion rather than to her closest family members, her adult nieces and no-good nephew. ("Companion" is not a euphemism for lover. Miss Lawson was hired help, and relatively recently hired at that.) Was her fall a murder attempt? Did her shady nephew who joked about bumping her off really do it? What about her niece's suspiciously Greek doctor husband, who would know about poisons? Did she really get a premonition of death at the seance Miss Lawson dragged her to shortly before the murder?
The mystery itself is fine, with one particularly clever bit involving the seance, but not one of Christie's best. The characters are also fine (apart from Bob, I particularly enjoyed the supposed psychics, from whose offer of a dinner of "shredded raw vegetables" Poirot and Hastings flee in horror), but again, not Christie's best.
What makes this book shine, and it does shine, is in Poirot's unique approach to the case, Poirot and Hastings's interactions with each other and with the villagers, and in the dialogue and comedy scenes. It's really funny. Poirot tells a different lie about who he is and why he's there to everyone he meets, Hastings and Bob have an actual relationship arc with a very satisfying conclusion, and it's very difficult to read the book and not come away convinced that Poirot and Hastings are married, or at least joined-at-the-hip platonic life partners.
Christie scale: MILD levels of XENOPHOBIA against GREEKS and other FOREIGNERS.
I'm reviewing the audio version of this because it's so delightful. Hugh Fraser does a great job with all the voices, especially Bob-as-translated-by-Hastings. My mother and I listened to it while traveling together, and it was a very fun experience. It's available on Audible.
