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There is our narrator, James Sheppard, standing in for Hastings
I saw yesterday someone refer to this book as having an unlikable narrator, especially if you’re familiar with the other works with Hastings, and I was so upset that Hastings would be made bad. But that’s not it!
She did it by understanding the contract between reader and writer. By relying on it. And then betraying it.
Hey so maybe in a book where everyone is like “Omg just WAIT for the twist !!!!” We could put all our little musings about the twist after we know what it is??????
No rules. No formulae. If anyone tells you there are, don’t listen.
So not a Benjamin Stevenson fan, then, are you?
I disagree. The mystery genre is all about rules. Some authors simply know the best times to break them. It's when people blatantly ignore the rules that it becomes a badly written mystery.
Her angst as she went over and over it, trying to work out how to tell the story without outright lying to the reader. To misdirect, yes. To be coy, absolutely. At worst, to omit certain details. But to never actually lie.
It is odd, when you have a secret belief of your own which you do not wish to acknowledge, the voicing of it by someone else will rouse you to a fury of denial.
Now that she has gone where (presumably) Paris frocks can no longer be worn, Caroline is prepared to indulge in the softer emotions of pity and comprehension.
From a mild discussion of probable wedding presents, we had been jerked into the midst of tragedy.
“The essence of a detective story,” I said, “is to have a rare poison—if possible something from South America, that nobody has ever heard of—something that one obscure tribe of savages use to poison their arrows with. Death is instantaneous, and Western science is powerless to detect it. Is that the kind of thing you mean?”
Ralph, I should say, is out with a girl most nights of his life. But I did rather wonder that he chose to indulge in the pastime in King’s Abbot instead of in the gay Metropolis.
I understand what gay means in this context but in MY context this sentence is quite funny
His name, apparently, is Mr. Porrott—a
Is it?
Look at that moustache of his.”
Oh yeah that’s my man
“Also, I had a friend—a friend who for many years never left my side. Occasionally of an imbecility to make one afraid, nevertheless he was very dear to me. Figure to yourself that I miss even his stupidity. His naïveté, his honest outlook, the pleasure of delighting and surprising him by my superior gifts—all these I miss more than I can tell you.”
Awwww we miss you Hastings
“People ought to know things. I consider it my duty to tell them.
The things young women read nowadays and profess to enjoy positively frighten me.
Okay sheppard
and we’re going to pretend to farm.
I have heard Hector Blunt described as a woman hater, but I noticed that he joined Flora at the silver table with what might be described as alacrity.
“She wouldn’t tell me his name,” said Ackroyd slowly. “As a matter of fact, she didn’t actually say that it was a man. But of course—” “Of course,” I agreed. “It must have been a man. And you’ve no suspicion at all?”
Right okay
If there had been toe marks on the dagger handle, now, that would have been quite a different thing. I would then have registered any amount of surprise and awe.
“Everything is simple, if you arrange the facts methodically.
The man reminded me in some ways of a cat. His green eyes and his finicking habits.
“My good friend,” he said gently and reproachfully, “Hercule Poirot does not run the risk of disarranging his costume without being sure of attaining his object. To do so would be ridiculous and absurd. I am never ridiculous.”
Poirot is just so fun man I love this guy
He paid particular attention to his moustaches, and none at all to me.
“Money went through his hands like water.
All the troubles in the world can be put down to money—or the lack of it.”
“Dr. Sheppard, I dare to think anything.
But we took it for granted,
A lot of taking for granted in this book
The truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to the seeker after it.
He himself was engaged in brewing hot chocolate. It was a favourite beverage of his, I discovered later.
King
“To begin with, one must look at the thing logically—” “Just what my poor Hastings used to say,” interrupted Poirot, “but alas! he never did so.”
let's not be too mean to hastings now
I thought Caroline would be pleased with me, but it is hard to satisfy one’s womenfolk.
Yawn
One can press a man as far as one likes—but with a woman one must not press too far.
“Nothing whatever,” said Poirot mildly. “A little idea of mine, that was all. Me, I am famous for my little ideas.”
I suppose now that to you it would not make sense if I said that he went to Fernly that night because he was born in Kent?”
Is he a secret child or something
“You have the medical degree, I dare say, James—at least, I mean I know you have. But you’ve no imagination whatever.”
“Never worry about what you say to a man. They’re so conceited that they never believe you mean it if it’s unflattering.”
“You call it guessing. I call it knowing, my friend.”
“Dr. Sheppard has been a model of discretion,” said Poirot drily. “But me, I discover all the little secrets. It is my business.”
I miss Hastings
But I wish Hercule Poirot had never retired from work and come here to grow vegetable marrows.
I bet you do LIAR
