Reading Those Classics #21

English Mystery Classic with a Series Character. This 1927 tale of espionage and international intrigue is a far cry from the rest of her work, which is often set in quaint villages and features the shocking motives and dark doings of seemingly normal people. I don’t get readers who say Christie is a cozy writer. In the last one I read of hers, Hallowe’en Party, she caused two children to be knocked off, both pretty gruesomely.

The Big Four – Agatha Christie

In the fifth outing of series hero Hercule Poirot, the Belgian detective takes on an international quartet of super-crooks who are bent on ruling the world. The mastermind is sinister Li Chang Yen, doing the yellow peril schtick that pulp writers were so fond of in the 1920s. Perhaps driven off the rails by loneliness at losing her scientist husband, Madame Olivier is building on his work in advanced physics and chemistry in order to build a death ray in aid of Li’s fiendish plans for world take-over. Bankrolling their awful projects is American millionaire, Mr. Ryland, a Soap King whose first name is Abe, in the manner of the anti-Semitism that we also expect in the golden age of the pulps. The fourth member of the gang, an Englishman, is The Destroyer, a hitman who is – you guessed it in one, pulp fans –  a master of disguise.

And from what fortress will the gang rule the world? From a stronghold, dug in the side of a mountain in the Dolomite Alps in northeastern Italy. One marvels at Christie’s prescience, her ability to anticipate Sixties stand-bys of super-genius villains, wielding ultra-weapons, bent on world domination, from remote mountain fastnesses. It is inconceivable, mon ami, that Ian Fleming never read Agatha Christie. At least, Li Chang Yen does not wear an eyepatch like Emilio Largo in Thunderball. Pal Abe doesn’t plague a cat like Blofeld in You Only Live Twice. The Destroyer doesn’t destroy people with his bowler like Oddjob in Goldfinger. Nor does Madame Olivier squeeze dudes to death between her thighs like Xenia Onatopp in Golden Eye.

So, thank your lucky stars.

I can understand why reader-reviewers all over the interwebs regard this one with surprise and disappointment. The narrative seems cobbled together, with short stories stitched together less than seamlessly. And in the last quarter or so, it seems as if Poirot is lying doggo, while in his staunch loyalty Hastings is killing time in London, confident that it’ll be fine leaving his wife Dulcie Duveen, the self-styled ‘Cinderella,’ all alone for a year to run the ranch back in the Argentine.

I thought Christie connects set pieces well enough to make them fit into the story, even if the basting threads are showing rather. Dapper Poirot is still maddeningly conceited and Hastings brave and endearingly clueless. When Hastings observes that some frozen lamb (an important clue) comes from Kiwiland, Poirot says, “He knows everything – but everything. How do they say – Enquire Within Upon Everything. That is my friend Hastings.” “Enquire Within Upon Everything” was one-volume encyclopedia for domestic life, first published in 1856, and annually updated and reissued up to 1990s.

    ‘I suppose the Big Four couldn’t have had some diabolical contrivance concealed in the ceiling – something which descended automatically and cut the old man’s throat and was afterwards drawn up again?’

    ‘Like Jacob’s ladder? I know, Hastings, that you have an imagination of the most fertile – but I implore of you to keep it within bounds.’

Unlike Christie’s incomprehensible Postern of Fate, I didn’t just bail out. I actually finished this, enjoying the goofy incidents and enjoying the vein of humor in Poirot and Hastings’ conversations. Pulpy spy thriller was not really the artist’s forte but with her plain style, copious dialogue, steady action, and surprising twists, Christie was talented enough to entertain even when not putting her strengths to the test.