Over the Thanksgiving holiday, my partner and I traveled from our home in western North Carolina to central and northeast Ohio. We drove, so we naturally listened to audiobooks along the way. The first one we listened to was a repeat for me. I had read it many years ago in my teens–The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie.
This was a book that was on the bookshelf in my home when I was in high school. My dad’s books were mostly history, cars, and airplanes, so I was a little unsure what this book was doing on his shelf. I asked him about it. He proceeded to comment on the nature of how the murderer was revealed in the book. From the shocked look on my face, he quickly realized I had yet to read it. He apologized profusely. But a funny thing happened as I started to read the book. I didn’t believe him. Or rather, I thought he must have misremembered. But as I finished the book, I learned that he hadn’t.
So on this recent trip, I decided to reread it, or rather re-listen to it. My partner had never read it before. I wanted to read it again knowing who did it for a different experience, to enjoy the magnificent writer that Christie was. I was not disappointed. I have read many of her other books, but this one may be my favorite. I really enjoy Hercule Poirot as a character and how he uses his “little gray cells”. The setting in the English countryside lends an air of isolation and mystery that deepens even that of the plot. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Again.
