And so it was that, on one auspicious day in the autumn of 1928, Christie stepped on board the fabled Orient Express…
All of these essays (my wife called them “interstitials”) reflect back on the story in some way, helping to elucidate plot or character. This particular essay, as its placement suggests, echoes Claudia Mayer’s predicament, just as the Dashiell Hammett essay hints at McAnnis, or maybe even — if I’m being honest — at myself. Agatha Christie’s disappearance is the great mystery of what was an otherwise precise and orderly life. She was quite clearly embarrassed by it, or perhaps mystified by it. This secret deep well of passion makes her, I think, a more interesting and sympathetic figure. I’m also moved by the fact that the book that became Christie’s greatest success was born in the wake of such personal misery.
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