The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie

How do I write about a great mystery story? How do I tell you my favorite parts and what I figured out and what I didn’t figure out and what completely surprised me without spoiling the whole story? Because, trust me, I don’t want to spoil the story if you happen not to have read this one.

 

I will say that the setting and characters of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd are interesting and well-devised. Christie’s writing makes for fun reading even before she sucks you into a seemingly impossible mystery. Hercule Poirot is his usual pompously genius self and, despite the efforts of the intelligent and observant narrator, it is only Poirot’s little gray cells that can solve this complicated affair.

 

Of course, if you’ve ever read an Agatha Christie mystery before, none of that is the least bit new. Such is pretty much the formula for most of her stories. There are plenty of surprises in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, however, with each character having something to hide (as Poirot knew they would). Nearly everyone is a suspect with the motive and means of doing away with the recently departed Ackroyd. Everyone has a secret. Everyone lives a lie.

This is a delightful mystery, which is strange to say, since it is loaded with so much of the worst of humanity: blackmail, poison, narcotic addiction, theft, prejudice, lies, lies and more lies…not to mention the murder itself. While I love the puzzles mystery stories present, I can overdose on all the death and evil and filthiness of humanity if I read too many of them one after the other. I was glad I took the time with this one, however, because it not only keep my heart pounding and my fingers turning the pages, but also satisfied my search for quality and uniqueness. I haven’t read a mystery quite like this one, even a copycat, and I enjoyed the word choice, phrasing, character development (concise as it must be) and dialogue as much as the puzzle.

I’d love to discuss further how this story is unique and interesting, but I’d be giving too much away! Much as it pains me to keep the secret, you’ll get no spoilers here!

 

 

 

A Year (Plus) of Books I Should Have Read by Now

Thursday Thoughts

A Year (Plus)

 

Yes. My Year of Books I Should Have Read by Now ended with the month of October. It seems kind of silly to end now, though. The end of the year would be a much better time to end a project. The beginning of a new year would be a much better time to begin a new one.

Besides, I’ve barely put a dent in my shelves and boxes and stacks of books I’d like to get through. I might as well give myself a few more months….

 

 

Coming soon: The Murder of Roger Akroyd by Agatha Christie and  Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman

A Year (Plus) of Books I Should Have Read by Now

Favorite Lines Friday

Here is a fabulous excerpt from the essay “On Some Functions of Literature” from On Literature by Umberto Eco"
  

As far as the world is concerned, we find that the laws of universal gravitation are those established by Newton, or that it is true that Napoleon died on Saint Helena on 5 May 1821. And yet, if we keep an open mind, we will always be prepared to revise our convictions the day science formulates the great laws of the cosmos differently, or a historian discovers unpublished documents proving that Napoleon died on a Bonapartist ship as he attempted to escape. On the other hand, as far as the world of books is concerned, propositions like “Sherlock Holmes was a bachelor,” “Little Red Riding-Hood is eaten by the wolf and then freed by the woodcutter,” or “Anna Karenina commits suicide” will remain true for eternity, and no one will ever be able to refute them. There are people who deny that Jesus was the son of God, others who doubt his historical existence, others who claim he is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and still others who believe that the Messiah is yet to come, and however we might think about such questions, we treat these opinions with respect. But there is little respect for those who claim that Hamlet married Ophelia, or that Superman is not Clark Kent.

 

 

On Literature by Umberto Eco

I love books about books. This collection of essays about literature is no exception. The fact that it comes from Umberto Eco, someone I practically worship when it comes to words on paper, doesn’t hurt either, of course.

This collection includes commentaries on specific works, such as the Paradiso, The Communist Manifesto and Aristotle’s Poetics. Well, um, I haven’t actually read any of these works, but I still feel like I learned a great deal from reading Eco’s essays. That’s part of the beauty of reading Eco for me. I can start out not knowing what the heck he’s talking about, but still feel invited to join in because he’s pretty friendly to the ignorant masses to which I belong.

There are also enjoyable and thought-provoking essays on concepts like the function of literature, style, symbolism, and, my personal favorite of this collection, intertextual irony. These ideas from Eco fascinate me and have opened more doors in my personal armchair exploration of literature. I need stuff like this: engaging to read, and packed with the kind of ideas that were previously foreign to me since, let’s face it, I’ve made no real formal study of literature.

I always feel both a little smarter and a little dumber each time I read Eco. I feel smarter because I learn so much and have so many new and interesting thoughts provoked. I feel dumber because I also learn how much I don’t know, how much more there is to learn. I suppose I’m becoming a more positive person, however, since, upon reading On Literature I feel more inspiration than exasperation. I am even more fascinated by the cultural functions of story-telling and fiction. I am curious about particular works of literature I used to fear. I am willing to give the idea of deep analysis of literature for connections and symbols a chance (although, I don’t think I’ll ever let go of the idea of just reading a good, entertaining story.)

There are also essays about Eco's own background, influences and writing process that are inspriational. I, however, have come to the conclusion that I cannot be much like Umberto Eco. He is a genius, an expert on literature and symbolism and culture and philosophy, and I’m just a Distractible Reader. My view of intellectual reality always gets a bit of a positive shift after I read his work, though, and my active interest in literature, culture and history accelerates. In fact, I’m already seeing cases of intertextual irony just about everywhere.

You might also like The Prague Cemetery by Umberto Eco


A Year of Books I Should Have Read by Now