Murder on the Orient Express (Hercule Poirot, #10)

It is three days before Chanukah break and my house will be full. Thankfully, even if it’s for four and a half days, all my kids are off at the same time. That 875 page Pulitzer winner, as much as I’d love to read it, admittedly is not going to happen. Between cleaning and guests and the football team that graces my avatar here, I do not have much “brain power” left for anything that requires higher level thinking. A favorite author Anna Quindlen notes that reading leads to rereading leads to writing, and the librarian at check out told me that there is nothing wrong with rereading a book if it’s a choice between that or not reading at all. Mysteries have long been my preferred palette cleanser of choice in between denser reads. A quick whodunit allows me to think without thinking too much, especially if the author follows a formula. In this hectic time I decided to turn my ultimate comfort reading author, the Queen of Crime, Dame Agatha Christie.

According to my edition of Murder on the Orient Express, Agatha Christie has been published more than all but two books in history, Shakespeare and the Bible. She first introduced her famous Belgian sleuth Hercule Poirot in the 1920s in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and added Miss Jane Marple to the world in the 1930s. I have been reading Poirot cases or watching the David Suchet television shows for years. Christie’s books are from nearly one hundred years ago and are harmless enough to allow middle school children to read. I first exposed my oldest daughter to Poirot two years ago and she admits that Christie is the easiest classic to follow. My first taste of Poirot was in seventh grade language arts class when I read Murder on the Orient Express for the first time. Written in 1934, it is the standard barer for all of Poirot’s cases and has been adapted to the big screen twice. Knowing the outcome reading for a third time allowed me to look at the intricacies of the case rather than focusing on whodunit, making this reading all the more enjoyable.

Hercule Poirot is traveling through the Bosporus when a telegram from London recalls him. The Belgian detective encounters an acquaintance Monsieur Bouc in an Istanbul hotel lobby who assists him in securing passage on the fabled Orient Express. Although it is the winter, all sixteen compartments on the train are booked, yet Bouc insures Poirot a spot on the trip. As with other cases, detecting seems to find Poirot wherever he is, whether it is vacationing on a beach or visiting a friend in a rural village. Somehow a murder just has to happen when Poirot is present, as though the murderer is trying to outsmart the Belgian sleuth, stating “come find me, tell me how you know what just occurred.” Of course, within the first twenty four hours of the full Orient Express trip through Europe, a man is murdered. Even more conveniently, the train runs into a snow drift and is stalled so the murderer has no way of escaping. Monsieur Bouc enlists Poirot’s help in solving the case, and he uses his little gray cells to outsmart both his assistants and the perpetrators of this crime.

Because I know who murdered Mr Ratchett, I focused instead on the little details from Poirot’s body language to how he detected of each of passengers was telling the truth or not. At the scene of the crime, a note stated “remember Daisy Armstrong.” Poirot fills us in that this had been a horrendous case of kidnapping and murdering a baby, starting a ripple effect in which the rest of the family died. Anyone associated with the family was heartbroken, and the victim on the train is none other than the Armstrong murderer under an assumed name. Poirot figured this out immediately and began to piece together who could be associated with the crime based on the characters of all stripes who happened to be on the train with him. I have always been most intrigued with the actress Linda Arden and the H on a handkerchief that Poirot figures out the identity of the owner steps before anyone else. Even those who work with him are amazed at how he determines who did what, often stopping him during explanations to say, “this cannot be true.” Alas, as Poirot would say, it is true mon cher, and that is why he has been the world’s most famous detective for decades.

Dame Agatha Christie paved the way for generations of crime writers, who admit to admiring her work. In many cases Christie purposely leaves out a clue until the end so that her readers would have to read the entire case guessing whodunit. This usually takes place more with Miss Marple, but Poirot has had his experience withholding evidence as well. Usually the cases leave me baffled and when I read for the first time years ago, the ending here left me scratching my head. Now, I can envision the end to the 1970s version of the movie and say aha, Poirot is absolutely correct. Even when the Queen of Crime deliberately leaves out a clue, her mysteries rank among my all time favorites. Both Poirot and Miss Marple allow me to use my little gray cells without overthinking in between denser reads. Murder on the Orient Express ranks as one of my all time favorites and is always a pleasure to revisit, especially during the more hectic times in my life.

5 stars