Before I say anything about this particular Christie novel, let me say this: Hercule Poirot is one of the best and the greatest fictional detectives to have ever been created, right there beside Sherlock Holmes. While Holmes sometimes seems inhuman, Poirot has enough bouts of humanity for the reader to identify with. The little Belgian detective with an egg-shaped head has quite a soft spot in my heart. And I couldn’t bear to see him dissed. Ever.
I am a HUGE Agatha Christie fan. I don’t have to say it but her style of writing is unparalleled. There has been no one in history so far who has been able to build mysteries and solve them as well as she has been able to. And to think that she did this with an array of eccentric detectives? It’s something that places her out of reach of any limit. Indeed, she is as limitless as limitless can get.
Agatha Christie, the Queen of crime thrillers, was an enigma unto herself, one that the world has been enamored with long after she passed from it. In every book she wrote, every story she built, she made sure she put her everything in those words. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is one such story, the end of which leaves the reader reeling with shock.