If you’re not already aware, this purports to be an Hercule Poirot novel written by someone other than Agatha Christie, and ehhhhhhh I don’t know. It always strikes me as a weird choice to make. I mean, sure, you’ll sell books to idiots like me who can’t help themselves, but you know you’re going to be compared to someone much more famous and probably more beloved, and unless you really nail it, it’s always going to be judged a failure. Just come up with your own campy foreign eccentric and have your work assessed on its own merits.
As these things go, this book is somewhere in the middle. If you had a taste for 1930s middle-class murder mysteries but had somehow never read Agatha Christie, then who knows, this could well be your cup of tea (though I can’t imagine you actually exist). However, in my view, the plot sadly lacks that Christie Je ne sais quoi, the ineffable balance of simplicity and deviousness that makes the solution obvious but unreachable. The solution here is tortuously complex and I still don’t really get it exactly (disclaimer: didn’t really try). Hannah also tries for the Christie voice, and overall I have to say she does a pretty good job. As someone who has literally been reading Agatha Christie since primary school, I could feel that the tone was off, but I’m pretty picky about that stuff. Who knows: a less demanding audience could well enjoy it and want for nothing more.