Sophie Hannah gets Dame Agatha’s style and ambience right
You wish to know the killer’s name? Bien sûr. It is someone who is sitting here with us in this room.’ Gasps and whispers filled the air, as Poirot must have known they would.”
For fans of Agatha Christie’s most splendid creation, it is always a joy to read a new adventure of Hercule Poirot, the prissy and immodest Belgian detective, whose little grey cells have solved dozens of complicated but always brilliantly plotted murders.
And in this new novel we once again purr with pleasure as he reveals the identity of yet another murderer, as we see him addressing a roomful of suspects, confidently exposing the culprit. The theatrical staging of the announcement is a formula to delight any crime fiction fan, and Agatha Christie has been shamelessly copied in this by so many others — for instance in the upbeat TV drama Death in Paradise, whose title itself is eerily similar to that of a collection of short stories titled Murder in Paradise, written by Poirot’s creator.
Dame Agatha, of course, is no longer with us, but it is comforting that Poirot lives on in a series of new adventures penned by Sophie Hannah.
The latest is Silent Night,
which, as its title suggests, is set in the run-up to Christmas —
with Poirot and (Hannah’s own creation) Inspector Edward Catchpool reluctantly being summoned to Norfolk to investigate a murder.
Their destination is Frellingsloe House in Munbyon-Sea, a large, stark and poorly heated house, which is condemned to tumble into the sea within a few years due to the steady erosion of cliffs on which it perches precariously. Former postmaster Stanley
Niven’s murder happened in a nearby hospital, and Poirot has the task of solving the crime before the terminally ill owner of Frellingsloe House, Arnold Laurier, can be admitted to his death bed in the same hospital.
The dying man is determined to solve the crime before he draws his last breath, and his wife fears this will put him in mortal danger of being (slightly) prematurely bumped off himself.
It would be wrong to divulge much more or to reveal the name of the murderer because the reader can delight in a skilful plot, a range of dodgy characters and an ending that has Poirot and Catchpool in disagreement on the true motive for the murder.
Or might there have been more than one murder? You can never have too many deaths in a crime novel. Family tension in the house provide a smokescreen for the murderer, whom Poirot and Catchpool need to unmask before Christmas so they can escape the vile food and the prospect of equally unsavoury Christmas parlour games.
Needless to say, there is a local plod who is certain he knows whodunnit, even though he is miles from the truth.
Unlike Poirot, he has very little to be arrogant about, not that this curbs his arrogance. The test for me of how well this book has embraced the style and ambience of an Agatha Christie original was how I pictured Poirot as I turned the pages.
It is a picture that had been formed by a very skilful and talented actor.
So, did this version of the mildly annoying Belgian detective conjure up for me the definitive Poirot — created by Christie and faithfully and masterfully portrayed on TV by Sir David Suchet?
Fortunately, the dialogue, descriptions and narrative all seemed authentic.
In this book, we have Poirot’s sentences punctuated with petit French phrases, while the unselfconscious pomposity and infuriating self-confidence of Hanna’s Poirot all rang true. Just one paragraph illustrates this admirably when Poirot explains that while he does the thinking, he prefers not to exert himself too much with the sleuthing, which he is happy to outsource to trusted sidekicks.
“If dashing from place to place is required, I am happy to rely on those who are kind enough to help me. I prefer not to travel back and forth like the ping-pong ball. Once everything I have requested has been told or brought to me, that is when I rely entirely upon my little grey cells. They have not yet let me down.”
While there will always be an eager audience for a new Poirot whodunnit, one has to admire the chutzpah of Hannah in stepping into the shoes of an author who was rightly dubbed the Queen of Crime. The sheer genius of plotting in, for
ONCE EVERYTHING I HAVE REQUESTED HAS BEEN TOLD OR BROUGHT TO ME, THAT IS WHEN I RELY ENTIRELY UPON MY LITTLE GREY CELLS
example, Murder on the Orient Express or Death on the Nile has left us with a legacy that will endure.
While modern crime fans may read less, there will always be an appetite for new adaptations of Agatha Christie novels, and even for new wellwritten and plotted printed adventures of Hercule Poirot, her most splendid creation.
It would be so easy to get it wrong, to parody instead of bringing back a character like the little Belgian detective, who was so lifelike even though he was a figment of the imagination.
Fortunately, the spirit and legacy of Christie remain intact in Silent Night.