Jottings - Slice of life - 426 ( A hundred years of Hercule Poirot, and thoughts on Agatha Christie)

On the evening of 3rd of December 1926, a thirty-six-year-old Agatha Christie, by then, a fairly established novelist, kissed her sleeping daughter goodbye and walked out of her house in Surrey. Her car was later found perched precariously over a cliff with a few tattered clothes and an expired driving license and nothing else; the whereabouts of Christie herself was unknown. At the time of this episode, Christie had three mystery novels to her credit, in which the enigmatic and punctilious Belgian Hercule Poirot featured as the detective. Just a month earlier, “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” had been published — a Poirot mystery that captivated the reading public for its startling conclusion. She had become a national celebrity. So when her car was found in a desolate place, and Christie was nowhere to be found, a nationwide frantic hunt began, with the entire police constabulary combing the country for any indication of her — alive or dead. Christie’s husband had asked for a divorce a few months back, and her close circle of friends indicated that Christie was devastated by the incident, and this disappearance could be a consequence of that distress. Many other similar speculations were floating around. After ten excruciating days of search, Christie finally surfaced in a Hydropathic ( a therapeutic treatment for stress and depression) hotel in Yorkshire, registered under the name of Mrs. Teresa Neele - the name of her Husband’s new lover. When asked how she landed there, she emphatically claimed that she had no memory of the last two weeks, or how and why she came to be in this hotel. The other guests in the hotel unanimously vouched for her egregious behavior — she danced and sang during the evenings — and swore they spotted nothing abnormal about Christie. She had behaved just like any other regular hotel guest. Once discovered, Agatha Christie returned to normal life and began writing again, as if nothing ever happened. But, on what happened during those two weeks, and what prompted her to put on such a facade? - Christie remained stoically silent, not then, and not at any time throughout her life. The real mystery of Christie's disappearance remains unresolved even today. Not a single note about the incident in her voluminous papers, or a chance statement to anyone explaining why?

By the time Agatha Christie died in 1976, she would write 66 full-length novels and 14 short story collections. She would in her own lifetime, and beyond, become one of the most celebrated mystery writers the world has ever known, eclipsing-in the opinion of critics and millions of readers worldwide-even the fame of Arthur Conan Doyle or Dorothy Sayers. Her novels would sell millions of copies worldwide, translated into more than 75 languages and dozens of film, stage, and television adaptations glorifying her immortal sleuths, and cheeky storylines, and exquisite literary craftsmanship. But the mystery of that brief disappearance in 1926 remained, and still remains, a question mark? While she reveled in bringing her fictional murder mysteries to a sparkling and rational solution in her books, she chose to keep the reasons for her sudden disappearance a closed capsule, and it will, in all probability, remain so forever.

I started writing this essay to commemorate the centennial of Christie’s first novel “The mysterious affair at Styles”. In 1916, a young Agatha Christie wrote this novel, in the middle of the first world war, in response to a challenge from her sister, who dared Christie to publish a novel If she could. Christie had grown up listening to stories and lost in imagination under her mother’s loving care. So storytelling came easily to her. At the time she wrote the novel, Christie was married to an officer in the Royal Flying Corps and working at an army hospital. She learned much about poisons during this stint as a nurse, which she later used to great advantage in many of her books — including the first one. From 1916 to 1919 the novel languished on editor’s desks or was rejected by publishers for one reason or the other. Christie had almost given up hope when a letter arrived from John Lane, the editor, and co-founder of Bodley head — a reputed publishing house in England. Lane spotted the underlying talent in Christie’s attempt and the easy and economic prose of her narrative that unraveled the plot in a methodical manner with enough clues and diversions to keep the reader guessing. However, he wanted the ending to change. Originally Christie had set the climax in a courtroom, but Lane - the perceptive editor he was — considering the character and attitude of Hercule Poirot, suggested that the effect of the story would be enhanced if the mystery is dramatically unveiled in the drawing-room of Styles, with Poirot holding the stage and all the suspects seated around him. Christie liked the idea and rewrote the ending. Hercule Poirot’s theatrical dissection of a mystery would become a trademark in all her Poirot novels. John Lane also locked Christie into a stringent contract to write five novels for Bodley, with a royalty clause that would hardly bring her any money. Christie, however, wasn’t bothered too much; she didn’t expect to write any more than five books. The Styles was serialized in eighteen parts in London Times weekly edition before it was published in hardcover in 1921. In the USA, the book came out in October of 1920.

I now have in my library a vintage copy of an annotated 1955 American edition that I bought in an auction last year. Considering that it is the centennial of Styles novel, and the debut of Hercule Poirot in the annals of detective fiction, I decided to read the book once again yesterday night. What a pleasure? The ease of language, the impeccable description of the countryside, the flair for dialogue, and above all, the fragrance of English life - their lifestyles, idiosyncrasies, and social conventions — is wonderfully evoked on every page. It doesn’t read like a first novel at all. Christie’s command over the structure, plot, and resolution shows an experienced mind at work. In terms of intricacy and ingenuity of plot, the affair at Styles is perhaps not the best Poirot novel, but the book is full of indications of Christie’s talent for the crime genre.

I have often wondered why Christie chose the archetype of a Belgian for a detective. There is no indication in the book about Poirot’s past, except that he is a refugee from Belgium, and that, before the war, he was one of the acclaimed police detectives in his native country. Apart from these stray details from Captain Hastings - who acts as the narrator and friend of Poirot - nothing more is known. To understand Christie’s choice of a Belgian, one must know a little about the first World war, and how Belgium - a neutral power — put on a strong, resilient and courageous defense of its sovereignty, when the neutrality of Belgium was deliberately violated by Germany. In the direst hour of the war, when Belgium repeatedly requested for Allied intervention, the British were squabbling with the French about the extent of their assistance to Belgium - which they were treaty-bound to honor. When the Belgians realized that support wasn’t coming anytime soon, They valiantly fought ( ably led from the front by their king) the germans and stalled them from breaching their territorial lines, and nearly pulled off a miraculous victory. However, the Germans had larger and more sophisticated war machinery, and the firepower of the Belgians did not last long against such might. The British realized they had betrayed the trust of Belgium and secretly suffered pangs of guilt on not coming to the aid to preserve the neutrality of an ally. As a recompense for their moral and political lapse, Belgians were generously welcomed to England as refugees of war. Many of the top officers and soldiers of war-torn Belgium, were given a home on English soil and treated with utmost dignity and respect for their courage and talent. It is possible that Christie could have nursed many such Belgians in the army hospital, and during her interactions with them, formed a character sketch of a detective who values his mental sharpness, pride, dignity, and a sense of propriety more than anything else.

On the thirtieth page of the edition I have, Agatha Christie describes Hercule Poirot for the first time, giving physical form to a character that would dominate the detective genre for a long time. She writes: “ Poirot was an extraordinary-looking little man. He was hardly more than five feet, four inches, but carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound…” This image of Poirot would be so wonderfully captured by the English actor David Suchet in the BBC television productions of Poirot mysteries. For many, Christie’s description of Poirot would instantly evoke the form of David Suchet. This year, very fittingly, this great stage and television actor was knighted for his services to art.

Unlike the creators of other classic detectives, Christie wasn’t stuck with one principal protagonist. By the time she wrote her sixth book, she felt the need to invent one more sleuth, and this time, her imagination wrapped around an elderly spinster in village Mead, whose innocent deep blue eyes and timeless wrinkles belied the fiercely observant and perceptive brain that worked behind the face. Miss Marple was the most unworldly of all detective sleuths, yet, her very ignorance of the outside world gave her a keen sense of human nature and the fragility of it. Unlike Poirot, who believed in method and logic, Miss Marple was all about intuition. She could recall a stray remark or conversation from the past and bringing it to bear light on the present. Her very simplicity and adorable demeanor allowed criminals to drop their psychological veil and inadvertently say things they would not normally talk about. Once again, the BBC found their best representation of Miss Marple in a lesser-known actor - Joan Hickson. Like David Suchet, Joan personified Christie’s description of Miss Marple. The queen of England personally wrote Joan that she embodied Marple for her, more than anybody else. Of the two detectives, Hercule Poirot is perhaps more widely known and enjoyed. It could be so because Christie wrote more Poirot mysteries than Miss Marple's. In 1975, when Christie realized she was reaching the end of her writing career, she decided to put Poirot to rest in her last novel "The curtain". It will be Poirot's last case, set in the same atmosphere where it all began - the bungalow at Styles. There was international mourning for Hercule Poirot. It was the only time in the long history of the New York Times magazine when they decided to publish an official obituary for a fictional character. It appeared on 6th August 1975; Agatha Christie would live a few months more. She died in January 1976.

I can go on writing about Agatha Christie. My love affair with her work spans more than thirty-five years with countless readings of her books, and innumerable repeat viewings of the adaptations. I cannot, however, conclude this essay without a few sentences about her writing style, and language. One of the striking things about Christie’s works is its accessibility without diluting the beauty of the language. The narrative flow is crystal clear, and the dialogues sparkle with clarity and purpose. Even the most ingenious plots, with lots of twists and diversions, would be laid out so well — structurally, that when we close the book, in our mind’s eye, we see the entire plot perfectly clear in all respects. A sense of overwhelming satisfaction washes the reader, and in a strange way, we also sense a feeling of personal triumph in deciphering some of the clues that Christie sprinkles throughout her novel. Like a good book should, Christie intellectually engages the reader without tiring them. And none of her novels are more than two hundred pages long, which makes it an ideal read over a weekend, or on a rainy day with a suitable beverage on the side. Equally important to acknowledge is that Christie was equally prolific and proficient in writing both full-length novels and short stories. Both forms of writing are so different from each other in style and execution. Even the best struggle switching between the two, but Christie straddled both the worlds with effortless ease. A Poirot short story can yield as much aesthetic pleasure as a novel could — that is pure genius.

I am yet to come across a book store that doesn’t sell Christie’s books. Hundred years after the first novel, and nearly fifty years after her death, her readership only continues to increase. Modern cinema has begun reprising her works again with a modern twist. Her famous “Death on the Nile” is due for release soon with a stellar star cast and a Poirot with a new look — a vibrant variation on his classic personality. On a final note, it is fair to say that Christie is a literary addiction, hard to shirk off. Like PG Wodehouse’s novels, we can return to her books over and over again without a hint of boredom or repetition. Each time, something beautiful stands out. And if not anything else, they afford immeasurable pleasure, gentle education, and supreme satisfaction. What else can we expect of art?