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pavs1d's review
adventurous
challenging
lighthearted
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.75
Lovely story and very interesting too
aoife_liofa's review against another edition
dark
mysterious
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.75
mschandrika's review against another edition
adventurous
lighthearted
mysterious
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.75
rebeccasreadingrambles's review against another edition
4.0
That Poirot can really make something out of nothing. I love Ariadne Oliver and her role in this story, both in presenting it to Poirot and going around talking to all the "elephants". It was one where the ending was shocking, but also not as surprising as you would think if you can remember all the many many accounts and ideas throw our way during the book. I really enjoyed it!
leticiasother's review against another edition
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.0
kloughlin's review
mysterious
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.5
Content Warnings
Graphic: Suicide and Murder
Moderate: Child death and Mental illness
Minor: Infidelity, Abandonment, and Cancer
market_not_pennymarket's review against another edition
dark
mysterious
reflective
relaxing
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.75
congressbaby143's review against another edition
3.0
3.5/5 Here for Ariadne and Poirot’s friendship.
thenovelbook's review against another edition
2.0
It makes me a little sad to read all the reviews on this book — people saying, for instance, that it reads like someone else trying to write an Agatha Christie. Because that's very true, but I think it's important to be aware of some context that might explain why. It doesn't change the fact that it's not a good book, but at least one can read it with compassion instead of expectation. So here goes.
A study done by the University of Toronto in 2009 analyzed the text of Christie's books, and concluded that her final works show evidence that she may have been suffering from dementia. There's a huge decrease in vocabulary, and at the same time a huge increase in repetitive phrases and indefinite words.
I was aware of this theory, but I didn't expect to notice the problems so intensely once I was "boots on the ground" reading the book. It's true, though. Gone are the crisp narration and sharp sentences we love. They're replaced by rambling, repetitive passages — which seem especially incongruous coming from the mouth of Poirot. But he's not alone, as virtually every character suffers from The Ramble. The story itself feels like it's blindly groping along, and there is no twist. Or, at least, not one that will surprise.
Interestingly, the story is ABSOLUTELY obsessed with memory, and what everyone remembers, or forgets, or thinks they remember, or struggles to remember.
Snippets from childhood — the sort of thing that does make it safely into the long-term memory — are dwelt on insistently, regardless of whether they serve the plot or not.
The word "remember" is used a staggering number of times. Here is a small sampling:
No, she couldn’t really remember anything about her. But she seemed to have heard the name.
There were times, she had to admit as the years were growing upon her, when she couldn’t remember them all.
I’m sure you’ll remember, you must remember.
Extraordinary, one couldn’t remember these things. She couldn’t even remember whether she herself had been Molly’s bridesmaid. She thought she had. Rather a smart wedding at the Guards Chapel or something like that. But one did forget so.
But they’d been like one of those photographs that one takes and looks at. One knows the people vaguely who are in it but it’s so faded that you really can’t recognize them or remember who they were.
“I’m really afraid,” said Mrs. Oliver, speaking firmly, “that I must say that I don’t know anything about it. I do remember, now you mention it, that there was such a case, and I remember the names and that I knew the people, but I never knew what happened or anything at all about it. And I really don’t think I have the least idea. . .
“Yes,” said Mrs. Oliver, “but where I’ve got to go now is—I think it’s Whitefriars Mansions. I can’t quite remember the name of it, but I know where it is.”
Oh, I don’t know. I can never remember what years are, what dates are. You know, I get mixed up.
I can’t remember if it was in Cornwall or in Corsica. Something like that.
Then they bought this house somewhere—I think it was abroad but I can’t remember.
I seem to remember vaguely—oh, some case like this one, or it might not have been the same one.
He added, “Would anybody remember?”
“Well, that’s where I think they might,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“You surprise me,” said Poirot, looking at her with a somewhat puzzled face. “Do people remember?”
There are some people who do remember. In fact, one does remember queer things, I mean there are a lot of things that I remember very well. They happened—I remember a birthday party I had when I was five, and a pink cake—a lovely pink cake. It had a sugar bird on it. And I remember the day my canary flew away and I cried. And I remember another day when I went into a field and there was a bull there and somebody said it would gore me, and I was terrified and wanted to run out of the field. Well, I remember that quite well.
No. I wasn’t there at the time. I mean, I wasn’t in the house at the time. I can’t remember now quite where I was.
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Oliver. “At least I can’t quite remember, but I think I do.”
“I don’t really remember now,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“I know. One forgets things."
But of course the others didn’t believe in it and then this came about and I gather they think it must have been whatever her name was—I can’t remember it now.
I couldn’t quite remember when and how.
The trouble is, when you remember things you don’t always remember them right, do you?
I’m not sure that it had anything to do with the Ravenscrofts, it might have been to do with some other people out there because she doesn’t remember surnames and things very well.
“And you say that woman—this Mrs.—”
“Yes. I’ve forgotten her name now."
"Do you think they’ll remember anything about it?”
“Elephants remember,” said Hercule Poirot.
"Perhaps now you hardly remember them.”
“Oh yes, one does not forget, you know, things that happen when you were young."
“People told me things,” said Mrs. Oliver, “people whom I thought might remember things. Some of them did remember things. Some of them remembered them right and some of them remembered them wrong. That was confusing."
You see what I mean? The problem of memory completely permeates and suffocates the story. Reading this book, I'm heavily inclined to believe the dementia theory. Although, I do marvel at the fact that the book was even written and that it... sort of... hangs together. It does go to show that Agatha's crime-solving, storytelling mind was still operating as best it could.
With all that in mind, I would say if you are a completionist and decide to read this book, just be aware of what was possibly going on with Agatha's health and age. And salute her for the novelist she once was, and for the novelist she still tried to be.
A study done by the University of Toronto in 2009 analyzed the text of Christie's books, and concluded that her final works show evidence that she may have been suffering from dementia. There's a huge decrease in vocabulary, and at the same time a huge increase in repetitive phrases and indefinite words.
I was aware of this theory, but I didn't expect to notice the problems so intensely once I was "boots on the ground" reading the book. It's true, though. Gone are the crisp narration and sharp sentences we love. They're replaced by rambling, repetitive passages — which seem especially incongruous coming from the mouth of Poirot. But he's not alone, as virtually every character suffers from The Ramble. The story itself feels like it's blindly groping along, and there is no twist. Or, at least, not one that will surprise.
Interestingly, the story is ABSOLUTELY obsessed with memory, and what everyone remembers, or forgets, or thinks they remember, or struggles to remember.
Snippets from childhood — the sort of thing that does make it safely into the long-term memory — are dwelt on insistently, regardless of whether they serve the plot or not.
The word "remember" is used a staggering number of times. Here is a small sampling:
No, she couldn’t really remember anything about her. But she seemed to have heard the name.
There were times, she had to admit as the years were growing upon her, when she couldn’t remember them all.
I’m sure you’ll remember, you must remember.
Extraordinary, one couldn’t remember these things. She couldn’t even remember whether she herself had been Molly’s bridesmaid. She thought she had. Rather a smart wedding at the Guards Chapel or something like that. But one did forget so.
But they’d been like one of those photographs that one takes and looks at. One knows the people vaguely who are in it but it’s so faded that you really can’t recognize them or remember who they were.
“I’m really afraid,” said Mrs. Oliver, speaking firmly, “that I must say that I don’t know anything about it. I do remember, now you mention it, that there was such a case, and I remember the names and that I knew the people, but I never knew what happened or anything at all about it. And I really don’t think I have the least idea. . .
“Yes,” said Mrs. Oliver, “but where I’ve got to go now is—I think it’s Whitefriars Mansions. I can’t quite remember the name of it, but I know where it is.”
Oh, I don’t know. I can never remember what years are, what dates are. You know, I get mixed up.
I can’t remember if it was in Cornwall or in Corsica. Something like that.
Then they bought this house somewhere—I think it was abroad but I can’t remember.
I seem to remember vaguely—oh, some case like this one, or it might not have been the same one.
He added, “Would anybody remember?”
“Well, that’s where I think they might,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“You surprise me,” said Poirot, looking at her with a somewhat puzzled face. “Do people remember?”
There are some people who do remember. In fact, one does remember queer things, I mean there are a lot of things that I remember very well. They happened—I remember a birthday party I had when I was five, and a pink cake—a lovely pink cake. It had a sugar bird on it. And I remember the day my canary flew away and I cried. And I remember another day when I went into a field and there was a bull there and somebody said it would gore me, and I was terrified and wanted to run out of the field. Well, I remember that quite well.
No. I wasn’t there at the time. I mean, I wasn’t in the house at the time. I can’t remember now quite where I was.
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Oliver. “At least I can’t quite remember, but I think I do.”
“I don’t really remember now,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“I know. One forgets things."
But of course the others didn’t believe in it and then this came about and I gather they think it must have been whatever her name was—I can’t remember it now.
I couldn’t quite remember when and how.
The trouble is, when you remember things you don’t always remember them right, do you?
I’m not sure that it had anything to do with the Ravenscrofts, it might have been to do with some other people out there because she doesn’t remember surnames and things very well.
“And you say that woman—this Mrs.—”
“Yes. I’ve forgotten her name now."
"Do you think they’ll remember anything about it?”
“Elephants remember,” said Hercule Poirot.
"Perhaps now you hardly remember them.”
“Oh yes, one does not forget, you know, things that happen when you were young."
“People told me things,” said Mrs. Oliver, “people whom I thought might remember things. Some of them did remember things. Some of them remembered them right and some of them remembered them wrong. That was confusing."
You see what I mean? The problem of memory completely permeates and suffocates the story. Reading this book, I'm heavily inclined to believe the dementia theory. Although, I do marvel at the fact that the book was even written and that it... sort of... hangs together. It does go to show that Agatha's crime-solving, storytelling mind was still operating as best it could.
With all that in mind, I would say if you are a completionist and decide to read this book, just be aware of what was possibly going on with Agatha's health and age. And salute her for the novelist she once was, and for the novelist she still tried to be.