The Moving Finger
A review of The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie – 230611
Getting trolled on social media is the 21st century equivalent of receiving a poison pen letter, although the keyboard warrior is usually not savvy or bothered enough to conceal their identity. In the days when there was a regular postal service and several deliveries a day, an anonymous letter making wild allegations about the recipient could provoke fear, paranoia, and suspicion. When the inhabitants of a whole village start receiving anonymous letter, some openly acknowledging the fact, others more reluctantly, then the community becomes a tinder box where anything can happen.
The theme of The Moving Finger, taxonomically the third in Christie’s Miss Marple series although the amateur sleuth only appears towards the end and originally published in 1942, is a plague of poison letters that has hit the village of Lymstock, where brother and sister, Jerry and Joanna Burton, have decided to settle to aid Jerry’s convalescence from injuries sustained in a plane crash. Soon they too receive a poison pen letter alleging that they are lovers rather than brother and sister.
The anxiety caused by the fear of exposure and social ruin seemingly is too much for Mrs Symmington, the solicitor’s wife, whose body is found adjacent to a glass containing potassium cyanide, a letter alleging that her husband is not the father of her second son, and a note saying “I can’t go on”. The circumstances around her death are convincing enough for the coroner to pass a verdict of suicide. The poison letter writer, having drawn blood, is hunted by the Yard, assuming them to be a middle-aged woman. As a form of mental exercise and therapy, Jerry decides to carry out his own investigations.
There is a very different feel about this Christie novel not least because the story is narrated by Jerry and Miss Marple is rather ancillary to the whole proceedings. Narrators are not always reliable in the hands of dear Agatha, but Jerry does not have an axe to bear and as a relative newcomer to the village does not have many of the vestigial prejudices that others might have brought to the plot. His sleuthing is rather relaxed, relying upon and interpreting local gossip and as a result the plot rather meanders to its conclusion which, on the one hand, is surprising but on the other completely logical when all the clues and hints sprinkled in the text are considered as a whole.
Jerry is by no means a perfect character and to modern eyes his treatment of Megan Symmington, portrayed as a rather simple and trusting girl trapped in difficult domestic circumstances, is a little disconcerting to modern eyes. It is Megan, however, who plays a major part in unmasking the culprit, playing to perfection a risky part devised for her by Miss Marple.
In the end it is a plain story of someone trapped in a marriage who is desperate to find an escape route. The poison letters, as Miss Marple suspects, were a device to divert attention from the culprit rather than a clue that would lead the police to them. Once the culprit is unmasked and is led away to face the music, the village returns to its former idyllic state with many of the principal characters finding their own forms of happiness as a result of relationships and discoveries forged by murder most foul.
This is very much a character-driven novel rather than one that is reliant upon the intricacies of its plot. It makes for a refreshing change and an undemanding and enjoyable read.
