I was in the proper mood for an Agatha Christie mystery when I sat down to read "Dead Man's Folly." I was thrilled to note how skillfully she used dialog to rapidly sketch out characters. During the opening pages she clearly invents the concept of the murder-mystery party, which has been a popular entertainment for some decades since. All good.

Poirot is swept aside as the police investigate the murder of a young girl. As this investigation continues to plot and feel to the story flattens. Pages turn and that sense of why I read Agatha Christie melts away. Yet I am patient as I read.

At last Poirot re-enters the story. He is puzzled too, which is good because I wouldnt want to it be too easy. At last the solution dawns on Poirot. In the final scene Poirot confronts not the culprits, but oddly enough one of the peripheral characters and lays out the truth. But the truth as he reveals the details could not possibly have been the result of the workings of the little grey cells. The resolution as it stands must have come from routine investigation and not of inspiration. When Poirot would have had time to do this investigation is the greater mystery. Somehow he just knows these things. As I read I turn the page and Voila! I am faced with a blank page and must conclude that the last words written were the last words of the story. Most unsatisfactory.

Clearly this solution is not the result of Occam's Razor. The simplest explanation would not have been the most entertaining, but the solution provided strains believability. Not her best work.
I was in the proper mood for an Agatha Christie mystery when I sat down to read "Dead Man's Folly. " I was thrilled to note how skillfully she used dialog to rapidly sketch out characters. During the opening pages she clearly invents the concept of the murder-mystery party, which has been a popular entertainment for some decades since. All good. Poirot is swept aside as the police investigate the murder of a young girl. As this investigation continues to plot and feel to the story flattens. Pages turn and that sense of why I read Agatha Christie melts away. Yet I am patient as I read. At last Poirot re-enters the story. He is puzzled too, which is good because I wouldnt want to it be too easy. At last the solution dawns on Poirot. In the final scene Poirot confronts not the culprits, but oddly enough one of the peripheral characters and lays out the truth. But the truth as he reveals the details could not possibly have been the result of the workings of the little grey cells. The resolution as it stands must have come from routine investigation and not of inspiration. When Poirot would have had time to do this investigation is the greater mystery. Somehow he just knows these things. As I read I turn the page and Voila! I am faced with a blank page and must conclude that the last words written were the last words of the story. Most unsatisfactory. Clearly this solution is not the result of Occam's Razor. The simplest explanation would not have been the most entertaining, but the solution provided strains believability. Not her best work.