Review by New York Times Review
NOBODY WOULD DISPUTE the fact that Hercule Poirot, the elegant Belgian detective, he of the patent-leather shoes and the waxed mustache, is dead. Agatha Christie brought him to an end in her appropriately named novel, "Curtain: Poirot's Last Case," and The New York Times itself marked his death with a fictional obituary. But the demise of the hero, and of the author, no longer needs to be the end of the story. The literary executors of James Bond's creator, Ian Fleming, have held this view for some years, and there seems to be no end to the public's enthusiasm for rewritten versions of a whole host of literary favorites. The purists, of course, shake their heads in disapproval, arguing that fictional characters are the product of a particular imagination and should not be endlessly reimagined by later generations of authors. Others, while not objecting in principle, believe writers should concoct something new rather than reheat old dishes. That might seem a bit stuffy. If we like fictional characters, why should we not have more of them? Those of us who are fans of E.F. Benson's Mapp and Lucia novels are nothing but grateful that Tom Holt and Guy Fraser-Sampson have given us a stream of new reports from the world of those formidable ladies. More power to them. Fans of Babar will also surely applaud Laurent de Brunhoff for continuing where his father left off. Without the son's sequels, there is so much we would never have known about Celesteville. The Agatha Christie estate has been cautious about joining in this sort of literary resurrection. And with good reason. It has been estimated that some two billion of her books have already been sold throughout the world, and their continued popularity is astounding. Film and television adaptations abound, and her (non-Poirot) play "The Mousetrap" is now in its 62 nd year on the West End stage. And yet a writer's popularity may not last forever. Even those who have enjoyed massive fame - W. Somerset Maugham, for example - can eventually become something of a minority taste. Even if Christie appears immune to this literary mortality, it might have been with one eye to encouraging a new readership that her estate agreed to allow a new Hercule Poirot novel. And now we have it, from the pen of Sophie Hannah, a British writer of psychological crime novels and an avowed admirer of the Queen of Crime. Poirot first appeared in "The Mysterious Affair at Styles," published in 1920, and was then featured in a series of novels and short stories. It is difficult to attribute his popularity to a single characteristic, but we need to remind ourselves that when Poirot first appeared, the crime novel did not have the psychological and social depth it was to acquire in the second half of the 20th century. To English-speaking readers of the 1920s and '30s, he must have seemed something of an exotic. A Belgian, he had Continental ways, habits that would have seemed striking to the average British or American reader of the time. All that has changed, of course, and an exotic location or an unusual occupation or set of interests is more or less de rigueur for the protagonist of a modern mystery. Being Belgian would certainly not be enough to attract the attention of contemporary fans of the genre - even being Scandinavian, although admittedly helpful, is not quite enough. Nowadays, a detective has, in addition, to be an acupuncturist, a Buddhist or something similarly distinctive before any notice is taken. But Poirot was implanted early in the popular imagination, and he has been firmly fixed there ever since. A perfect hero for the classic detective story, he is well-mannered and punctilious, with a marvelous ability to see through people. Aided by the actor David Suchet's portrayal of Poirot, we can easily picture him, with his tidy mustache and his neat, rather elegant attire. If we had a murder in our own house, he is exactly the sort of detective we would wish to see in attendance. So at last we come to the crucial question: Does Sophie Hannah's Poirot live up to our expectations? Yes, he does, and markedly so. Set in London in the winter of 1929, "The Monogram Murders" is both faithful to the character and an entirely worthy addition to the canon. It follows something of the formula of a country house murder, complete with bodies in locked rooms, although the scene of the crime is actually an elegant hotel near Piccadilly Circus where three people (two women and a man) have been poisoned. Each corpse has been carefully positioned, "as a doctor might fay out his deceased patient," and left with a monogrammed cuff link in its mouth. The case is presented to us by a young Scotland Yard detective, Edward Catchpool, who lives at the boarding-house where Poirot has taken temporary lodging, intent on enjoying "one month at least of restful inactivity" to conserve the energy of his brain's "little gray cells." But, of course, the investigation proves irresistible. Especially, as Poirot notes, because "cuff links come in pairs," suggesting that a fourth murder may yet occur. The plot is as tricky as anything written by Agatha Christie. Nothing is obvious or predictable in this very difficult Sudoku of a novel. "The Monogram Murders" has a life and freshness of its own. Poirot is still Poirot. Poirot is back. ALEXANDER MCCALL SMITH is the author of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency novels and three other series.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [September 14, 2014]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* The return of Hercule Poirot after a 40-year absence is certain to please the legions of Agatha Christie fans, young and old, forced to content themselves with rereading the master. Working with the authorization of the Christie estate, Hannah, known for her psychological thrillers, proves more than capable at re-creating the legendary Belgian detective, who once again puts his little grey cells to good use, this time in unraveling an exquisitely tangled triple murder. Attempting to take some time away from his regular detective work, Poirot is staying in a London residential hotel. One night, dining solo at a nearby café, he encounters a distraught woman who claims to be beyond help. The woman quickly disappears, but Poirot becomes convinced, for reasons we only learn much later, that she is somehow connected to three murders in an upscale hotel, crimes that have the Belgian's hotel mate, Scotland Yard Inspector Catchpool, completely baffled. Poirot elbows himself into the action, mercilessly ordering Catchpool about while he interviews hotel staff and gets his deductive juices flowing. Hannah sticks to the Christie formula, embellishing now and again, and making the most of the hapless but quite sympathetic Catchpool as the largely clueless narrator. Not that there aren't a plethora of clues on offer. Hannah lards this retro dish with a surfeit of red herrings and, of course, plenty of suspects, all of which will satisfy fans of Golden Age whodunits. Poirot is at his lordly, flamboyant best during the Great Reveal, staged at the hotel, which is likely to leave even the most determined clue-sniffers reeling. Christie devotees will be devoutly hoping that Hannah plans on a few more twirls of Poirot's mustache. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: Morrow is pulling out all the stops to ensure that Poirot's return is trumpeted wherever cozy fans take their tea.--Ott, Bill Copyright 2014 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Hannah (The Orphan Choir) does a superb job of channeling Agatha Christie in this wholly successful pastiche authorized by the Christie estate. One evening in February 1929, Hercule Poirot is dining alone at a London coffee shop when a woman arrives who looks as if she had "come face to face with the devil." Poirot joins the distraught woman, known at first as Jennie, who tells the sleuth that no one can help her because she's "already dead," and that no one should search for her killer. "The crime must never be solved," she proclaims. Another cryptic remark Jennie makes before fleeing into the night-"please let no one open their mouths"-resonates with Poirot and Insp. Edward Catchpool, the Scotland Yard detective with whom he rooms, after two women and a man are found poisoned in a hotel near Piccadilly Circus, each with a monogrammed gold cuff link inserted in his or her mouth. The rest of the novel lives up to the promise of the opening, complete with dazzling deductions, subtle cluing, false endings, and superb prose. After the first chapter, Catchpool, who brings his own psychological baggage to the case, serves splendidly as the book's narrator. Lovers of classic whodunits can only hope Hannah continues to offer her take on the great Belgian detective. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
Starred Review. Hercule Poirot requires a rest for his "little grey cells" and anonymously rents a comfortable room not too far from his well-known address. The Belgian detective settles into his vacance with a new Thursday night routine-a light meal and two cups of Pleasant's Coffee House superb namesake. On one such evening, Poirot's rituals are disturbed by a terrified young woman entering the cafe as if all of hell is behind her. Thus begins a search for a macabre triple murderer who lines up the dead and places monogrammed cuff links between their lips. Edward Catchpool, Poirot's fellow boarder as well as a Scotland Yard policeman, begrudgingly allows the detective to lead the case. VERDICT Almost 40 years after Agatha Christie's final Hercule Poirot mystery, Hannah (The Orphan Choir), with the authorization of the Christie estate, has re-created the sleuth's voice and character as true to the original as anyone could. The egotistical little Belgian, interested in his "order and methods" and employing the "little grey cells" is back. Edward Catchpool is no replacement for the well-intended and captivating Capt. Arthur Hastings, yet fans of all formats of Agatha Christie and Poirot (the BBC TV series as well as original books, plays, etc) will delight in this new foray into the Christie canon. [See Prepub Alert, 3/3/14; see also Hannah's essay on p. 78.]-Jennifer Funk, McKendree Univ. Lib., Lebanon, IL (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
Hercule Poirot, last spotted in Charles Osborne's novelization Black Coffee (1998), returns from retirement to investigate a triple poisoning in 1929 London. It doesn't take long for Poirot to realize why the woman he encounters in Pleasant's Coffee House is all in a dither. She's afraid that she's about to be killed, and she can't bring herself to run from her killer, since death is no more than she deserves. She flees before he can pin her down to specifics, but he soon links her to three deaths at the nearby Bloxham Hotel. Each of the guestsretired lawyer Richard Negus, his former fiancee, Ida Gransbury, and their old friend Harriet Sippelarrived separately the day before; each was poisoned with cyanide, then neatly laid out on the floor; and each is found with a monogrammed cufflink in his or her mouth shortly after someone turns in a note to the Bloxham's front desk with their three room numbers and the epitaph, "MAY THEY NEVER REST IN PEACE." Clearly this triple homicide has roots too deep for Poirot's temporary housemate, Detective Edward Catchpool of Scotland Yard, to fathom. So Poirot attaches himself to the case, uncovering evidence about the victims' shared past in a village scandal 16 years ago, alternately lecturing and hectoring Catchpool, and sounding very little like Agatha Christie's legendary sleuth except for the obligatory French tags. Hannah, a specialist in psychological suspense (The Orphan Choir, 2014, etc.), would seem an odd choice for the job of resurrecting Poirot. The main strengths she brings to her task are a formidable ingenuity and a boundless appetite for reviewing the same evidence over and over again. The herrings-within-herrings denouement, which goes on for 100 pages, hovers between tour de force and unintentional farce. Despite the names and dates, this authorized sequel will remind you less of Christie, whose strengths are very different from Hannah's, than of the dozens of other pastiches of golden age detective fiction among which it takes its place. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
