I really enjoy reading Agatha Christie novels. Whenever I start an Agatha Christie, there’s usually a part of me that struggles because there are so many characters and half of them are French so you can’t pronounce their names, so each time you read their name you kind of skim over it in your mind.
But by the fourth chapter, there’s no turning back. You can’t suddenly stop reading it, you have to keep going because they’re so well written and the characters are so diverse and interesting and bizarre and the mystery is always brilliant.
The characters have this intrigue about them, all of them. They’re not necessarily described as good people, which is refreshing, and half the time there’s an obvious ‘flaw’ in their appearance. Everyone has secrets, even if you don’t fully understand what that secret is, and everything is linked. Everything. You think it’s not, but by the end it is and sometimes you’re left baffled but it’s always the good kind of baffled.
The stories don’t always catch my immediate interest, but once I’m in, I’m in.
I like that Agatha Christie novels have been around for years and I like that they’ve been turned into movies turned into remakes. (I’m particularly looking forward to the newest Poirot movie that’s coming out.)
A part of me feels strange admitting to enjoying a well-written murder mystery novel, but I enjoy them too much to deny it.