I have been an Agatha Christie fan ever since I was a teenager, and her Hercule Poirot stories have always been some of my favorites. I have to admit that I was hesitant to try the new books featuring Poirot written by Sophie Hannah, but I am glad I finally gave in and tried them because they are a lot of fun and wonderfully done.
The most pleasing element in reading Agatha Christie is spending time in her world. It’s an orderly place full of rather complacent, pleasant people suddenly faced with the inexplicable: murders are discovered, friends go missing, or incongruities mushroom in either their village or whatever closed community her detectives happen to be in or called to at the time. Her best loved characters, Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, are essentially likable, despite one’s occasional flightiness and a touch of narcissism in the other.
For many years Belgium remained a mystery to me, merely a place I went through. I knew it to be the home of chocolate and lace, of that most famous detective, Poirot, and Herge, the artist who wrote and drew boy detective/journalist, Tin Tin.
I’m a little envious of a couple of my friends who will be in London this Christmas season. I have been there during early spring and again in summer, but have always dreamed of having a British Christmas on the Isle itself. I consider making a plum pudding every year in December, but just don’t want to face boiling anything in cheesecloth. I’d love to have roast Christmas goose, Christmas punch, and play the Minister’s Cat with a witty group of Brits, but my dream has not materialized thus far.
