Wednesday, January 23, 2008

And Then There Were None (Ten Little Indians) by Agatha Christie

Someone has said that we read mystery stories because for a brief time we can lose ourselves in a world where every question has an answer and where all the wrongdoers are brought to their just deserts. None of that solace is found in this book. Justice is not served—it is usurped.

It is a closed-room mystery. Ten people are invited to a private island by a mysterious host. They arrive expecting to enjoy a brief holiday from day to day life, only to find that someone has a much more sinister plan: a permanent holiday for each from life itself.

There may be some literary merit to the book. I didn’t take the time to find out. The whole situation was too horrible to dwell on. Instead, I read as fast as I could to find out “what happened”. I found no satisfaction in the ending, and I can’t think of a thing to recommend the creepy volume. Unless you need nightmare fodder.

3 comments:

Framed said...

Well, darn it. I moooched this book recently. Wish I had read your review first.

Charles said...

Hmm... I wrote a varsity paper on mystery novels last year and someone in my research figures that people enjoy mystery because it's like a quiz show where you try to guess 'whodunit' based on the given clues. Mystery is interactive they say.

Shannon said...

Interestingly, the play is actually better! It's still one of the bleakest things I've ever read, but the last two characters survive and make a match of it. I read the play first, and was shocked when I found the book to end differently!

I'm enjoying your blog! :-)

Yours in Christ,
Shannon