Showing posts with label Agatha Christie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Agatha Christie. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Dear Agatha Christie,
Yours were the first mystery books I was to learn to love. After, I was to discover the appeal of Father Brown, of Sherlock Holmes and Watson, but you were the first. I say learned to love, for, if I remember correctly, my opinion of my first (Elephants Can Remember) was less than favorable. I had enjoyed it, even liked it, but I didn't regard it with any particular degree of fondness. Perhaps this was merely because it was my first; I had never liked books where people died, let alone were murdered, so for me to take a great liking of your books was a bit of a change in tastes.
After I finished Elephants Can Remember I returned it to the library and forgot all about it. That is- until I started hearing your name mentioned again. So I asked around, looked into a few titles that were mentioned to me as favorites, and read The Man in the Brown Suit and The Secret Adversary (I really don't remember which came first) and suddenly I had a list four pages long and was crossing off titles at a mad pace. Needless to say, those two titles remain high among my favorites to this day. Especially The Secret Adversary, which I would really consider my favorite among them all.
Now, some fifty plus books later, I would mention you among my favorite authors. It is still my goal to read all of your books and I have a consistent stack of three hanging about in my bedroom and various canvas bags. I suddenly discovered how much I liked reading mysteries, contemplating the characters, motives and opportunities. I'm still not overly fond of the type of book that focuses on the death, but the thing that I have noticed about your books is that you do not focus on the death, but more on the lives surrounding that death. I think I remember a few scenes in various Poirot books where he says something to that affect, about how his aim is not to condemn the guilty but to save the innocent.
Of course, the problem with mysteries is I find myself getting very cautious about giving my affection to any one of your characters. Or if I do, I end up feeling torn the entire book, thinking oh please don't let my darling be killed, oh please don't let my darling be killed. Or worse, OH PLEASE DON'T LET MY DARLING BE A MURDERER. OH PLEASE. THEY'RE GOOD. GOOD. PLEASE. Which really isn't the most relaxing way to read a book, but oh the relief if your character comes out safe and happy and proven the good person you always knew they were!
Aside from all my love for you as a reader, as a writer (or as someone who hopes to be a writer) I am constantly in awe of you. My question is, how, how, did you ever manage to write so many? To come up with that many different plots, all of which succeed in fooling me. (Or if they don't fool me, I'm always exceedingly proud of myself for having figured them out.)
I know that I shall continue to love your books for years to come. Someday I shall have read them all, and then, I suppose start back at the beginning again, because by that time I'd have sure to have forgotten parts of the ones that I had read first.
With love, Emily
Monday, October 1, 2012
October: A Month for Sweaters and Not for Bare Feet
I’m
thinking…
If
you were to ask me why my brothers and I are more often to be found without
shoes than with, I would, no doubt, attempt to convince you that we are part
hobbit. Sadly (or not, depending on your perspective of the matter) in other
respects our feet would be described as quite ordinary as feet go. They are not
of disproportionate size in relation to the rest of us (though, some might
consider that debatable when taking into consideration the long history of
outgrown shoes through the years. However, you might say that point is irrelevant
as the history is not restricted to mere footwear, but also pants and shirts as
well. Apparently it is quite a common affliction, but of it’s being
unremarkable you shall never convince me. What a strange thing is the human child
that one moment it is but a foot or two in length and all of a sudden it is
doubling and tripling in size, with more arms and legs then it knows what to do
with.) That our feet are also free of hair may also be considered a curse or a
blessing. Yet, for all that, a case may be made that our feet were created with
an inordinate preference to remain unburdened by those objects of oppression and
repression: shoes. Through the summer months this preference is indulged
(though frowned upon) by those in higher rank, but come fall and winter, such a
preference becomes highly unacceptable. For while hobbit feet (calling them by
their rightful name) are resistant to such things as cold, sharp objects and
uneven surfaces, adult forces consider the cold winds of fall to be a thing
that feet should not meet unarmed and bare of defenses. Hobbit feet like
nothing better than to wiggle their toes in icy damp grass and skip over mud
puddles, yet those in possession of Hobbit feet must be made to realize that
October is a month for sweaters and not (more is the pity) for bare feet. So,
oh Hobbit feet of mine, resign yourself to imprisonment in the months to come.
However,
I assure you, you will find this imprisonment made much the better upon discovering
the new pair of beautiful vintage heels (that I have yet to find, but I will. I
will) unreservedly yours.
I’m
reading…
Due
to the arrival of books ordered some while ago through interlibrary-loan all
other reading goals have been put on hold until such a time that I finish the
said Agatha Christie’s. For, as I have learned through hard experience,
interlibrary-loans must be returned in state at the end of their designated
time- they wait for no one, not even a very eager reader with several other
books she “must finish first.” When interlibrary-loans make their appearance
they are moved to position one on any reading list.
Rather
obnoxiously large fleece socks, (created, I believe, to be worn in rubber
boots, but as they happen to be the warmest pair in my drawer, they are the
favored ones) which clash, might I add, rather horrendously with my peasant
style blue dress. Thrown over my lap, a pink fuzzy blanket (as with the socks, of
disorientate, rather obnoxious size.) and my hair is pulled together by a (no,
not a silk ribbon, sadly.) but a rubber band.
A
few plans for the rest of the week…
My
plans for this week mostly involve being the most devoted and studious of
students, going to bed and getting up at the approved times and studying very
hard on such subjects as Math and my SAT textbook. I am also considering taking
up this challenge for October that my Mom just told me about, where you write a
post in letter form for every day of the month. Also, Wednesday is Mom’s
birthday, a tremendous occasion for joyous celebration and felicitations. I’m
hoping that my new dress arrives sooner than it’s predicted date (October 8th)
but even if it doesn’t, I’m quite excited for it to come, and as I mentioned
somewhere above, I should rather like to find some lovely vintage heels to go
with.
One
of my favorite things…
Okay,
so I kind of just want to ramble about Doctor Who a little and this seems as
good a place as any? So…yes, I really like Doctor Who now. I was first
attracted to it (as might have been predicted) by yes, the characters. My
favorites are Rory and Amy from season five through their last episode that
aired last week (insert dramatic sobbing). I’ve always loved Rory; he’s the Sam
of Doctor Who. All that is loyal and honest and good, never wavering in his
love of Amy and his resolve to keep her safe forever and always (and sometimes
in the beginning you wonder why) but now that Amy’s full story arch has
finished I’ve come to appreciate her more. Rory has always been and will always
be himself, Rory, dear, lovable, bumbling, adorable Rory, but Amy grew and
matured over her episodes. She went from a still childish girl who was willing
to runaway on her wedding night with the Doctor and travel through time and
space without a thought, to someone who had built a life for herself and Rory
and knew that was the most important thing in the world to her, more important
than adventuring and living out a fairytale. She went from little Amelia Pond,
to Amy Williams, Rory’s wife, who had a life of her own apart from the Doctor,
a life filled like any other with its hardships and troubles but all that was
worth it to her because she had Rory. (I just have a lot of attachment and
ramblings about the Ponds after Saturday’s episode. I…sobbed…) The thing I love
about Doctor Who is that there is so much variation to it. It’s the story of a
madman and a box, that takes him anywhere through time and space and so it’s a
little bit of everything. It has it’s goofy moments (Bowties. Bowties are
cool.), sweet, funny, scary (did I mention the weeping angels. I mean. Scary.)
and just all round fun. Anyways, I’ve probably rambled enough about Doctor Who.
On to the next.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
She is the Queen of Crime
(and by that you know, of course, I speak of Agatha Christie)
When the time comes that you walk into your local bookstore and find yourself giving an enthused lecture about a particular author to the lady at the cash register- you may be just a little bit obsessed. Now I'm not saying this is a bad thing, especially considering that my example happens to be (as you may have guessed) a true story. However, you might come away feeling just a little bit embarrassed and scolding yourself about keeping your mouth shut as you creep towards the nearest exit with a reddened face. One does not just give lectures to perfect strangers about your author of choice. You were of course just trying to be helpful and set her straight as she remarked "Why, I didn't know that Agatha Christie wrote under a pen name."
"Oh yes," you say as you scribble your name down on the recite. "Mary Westmacott. You see, she made such a big name for herself as a mystery writer that when it came to her novels that weren't mysteries her publishers..." Here you break off your sentence as you realize that the lady is regarding you with a bored expression and nodding as if she understands entirely and you needn't continue. You complete your sentence with a hurried nodding of your own head and take up your purchases in their brown bag and scuttle towards the door.
Outside the door you scold yourself severely and decide to keep all information gained from a certain autobiography to yourself in the future. Oh the troubles of an overly enthused reader! You think to yourself, but then a little voice in the back of your head prompts you to add, ...but she does work at a bookshop. Honestly. People these days. You would think someone working at a bookstore would be interested about these things. I know I would! and you walk away unrepentant.
Of course, other signs that you might be a wee bit obsessed are that you have written up great long list of all of Agatha Christie's ninety plus books and are slowly but surely crossing your way through them all. (As soon as I heard that she wrote that many books I instantly felt it was a challenge calling my name to read them all. A goal I mean to accomplish, you know.)
This goal is getting to be rather a challenge these days, just in finding books of hers I haven't read. She's written plenty of them of course- the thing is just finding them. I've exhausted our library's stock, and our local bookstore (of course, I can't really afford to buy as many as I should like anyways. More's the pity.) so I suppose I shall have to be patient and wait for three of them to come through inter-library-loan, but it takes ever such a long time!
As you can tell, I'm just rather in love with Agatha Christie's books. It's not so much the fact that they're mystery books, as I never really liked mystery books before I found hers, but I love her way of writing. They're clever and well written, and what I like most about them is the characters. (Yes, that could have been a statement to be predicted from me. More than anything I have a love of well written characters.) And her characters are well written. Her books give you glimpses of all sorts of different characters- what makes them human; their good qualities and their weaknesses. She allows you to step into another's shoes and see the world through their eyes- which can be a bit of an unnerving experience considering some of the people she writes.
To finish this off I believe I shall make up a list of my top ten favorite Agatha Christie's so far (of course this is keeping in mind I might not remember them all at the moment and may come up with one two days later and say "Oh no no, I like this best out of any of them!")
Emily's Top Ten Agatha Christie's (in no specific order)
1. The Secret Adversary.
2. Murder on the Orient Express.
3. The Man in the Brown Suit.
4. And Then There Were None.
5. N or M?
6. Why Didn't They Ask Evans?
7.The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.
8. The Secret of the Chimneys.
9. Cat Among the Pigeons.
10. The Mysterious Mr. Quin.
*pictures from google images
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