Secure A Copy Poirot Komt Terug (Hercule Poirot, #31) Authored By Agatha Christie Provided As Audio Book

فکر نمیکردم با توجه به اسمش که واقعا کلیشه ای و بدون خلاقیته اینقدر داستان خوبی باشه
در واقع در مقیاس داستان های آگاتا کریستی جز بهترین ها بود Fussy. Fastidious. Vain. Brilliant. Poirot's back, but is a little bored, and spends his time carefully considering his meals, And then Superintendent Spence discusses a case with Poirot of a man who was convicted for bashing his landlady on the head, Spence isn't comfortable with the verdict, and gets Poirot to revisit the case for him, Poirot goes to the town of the murder and must stay in a dreadful bed amp breakfast, while interviewing the neighbours and generally getting people agitated about the situation.
And wonderful Ariadne Oliver shows up in the same town to work with a local playwright to dramatize one of her books and totally misrepresent her story's detective Christie must have been griping through Ariadne about Poirot.
I found this story enjoyable and with Ariadne's presence funnier than some of the other Poirot stories, I should, perhaps, madame, tell you a little more about myself, I am Hercule Poirot.
The revelation left Mrs Summerhayes unmoved,
What a lovely name, she said kindly, Greek, isnt it

Now this is a Poirot novel that strays from the script a bit, It's fascinating but there seem to be three parts to this novel and the crime/mystery part is the weakest one, Yet, I really liked the book because first and foremost, Christie made me laugh out loud quite a few times,

Eh bien, let's start with the weakest part the crime/mystery:

So, Mrs, McGinty is found dead and her lodger has been arrested, is standing trial, and will probably be sentenced to hang, but, . . Superintendent Spence is having doubts and is consulting an old acquaintance to have a look at the case,

I dont know what youll go there as, continued Spence doubtfully as he eyed Poirot, You might be some kind of an opera singer, Voice broken down. Got to rest. That might do.
I shall go, said Hercule Poirot, speaking with accents of royal blood, as myself,
Spence received this pronouncement with pursed lips, Dyou think thats advisable

From there on, the typical sleuthing adventure ensues, except that there are a lot and I do mean way too many characters that are part of the investigation, a few red herrings, Ariadne Oliver whose involvement in the book has less to do with the plot I'll get to that later , and an ending that seems to have been rather farfetched.


In fact, by the time the mystery was resolved, I had kinda lost interest in the whodunit part and really enjoyed the characters interacting with each other.


This book is really not about the mystery, which, in my opinion, was rather subpar, No rather, the book seems to have been a selfreverential celebration of all things Poirot, And this may or may not be to readers tastes, I quite liked it in this case,

We have a lot of details about Poirot himself:

In his early days,

he had seen plenty of crude brutality.
It had been more the rule than the exception, He found it fatiguing, and unintelligent,

My work has enslaved me just as their work enslaves them, When the hour of leisure arrives, they have nothing with which to fill their leisure,

We have a couple of tips of the hat to The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, which was published! years before Mrs, McGintys Dead, when Poirot discussed gardening with Spence:

Me, once I decided to live in the country and grow vegetable marrows, It did not succeed. I have not the temperament,

In many of the details that describe Poirot in this book, Christie seems to take a retrospective stance, It serves as a celebration of his previous adventures, but I also could not help feeling that Christie took the opportunity to have some fun herself and poke her famous character at every opportunity.
Not only, does she send Poirot to the country and we all know how much Poirot hates the country

Its not really a Guest House, just a rather decrepit country house where the young couple who own it take in paying guests.
I dont think, said Spence dubiously, that its very comfortable,
Hercule Poirot closed his eyes in agony, If I suffer, I suffer, he said, It has to be.

And Christie makes sure of it his suffering, This was one of my favourite parts and I am sure anyone who has ever been exasperated by Poirot's eccentricities would chuckle about the following scene of Poirot taking up lodgings at a country inn:

The room was large, and had a faded Morris wallpaper.
Steel engravings of unpleasant subjects hung crookedly on the walls with one or two good oil paintings, The chaircovers were both faded and dirty, the carpet had holes in it and had never been of a pleasant design, A good deal of miscellaneous bricàbrac was scattered haphazard here and there, Tables rocked dangerously owing to absence of castors, One window was open, and no power on earth could, apparently, shut it again, The door, temporarily shut, was not likely to remain so, The latch did not hold, and with every gust of wind it burst open and whirling gusts of cold wind eddied round the room,

I suffer, said Hercule Poirot to himself in acute selfpity, Yes, I suffer.

The door burst open and the wind and Mrs Summerhayes came in together, She looked round the room, shouted What to someone in the distance and went out again,
Mrs Summerhayes had red hair and an attractively freckled face and was usually in a distracted state of putting things down, or else looking for them.

Hercule Poirot sprang to his feet and shut the door,
A moment or two later it opened again and Mrs Summerhayes reappeared, This time she was carrying a large enamel basin and a knife,

A mans voice from some way away called out: Maureen, that cats been sick again, What shall I do
Mrs Summerhayes called: Im coming, darling, Hold everything. She dropped the basin and the knife and went out again,
Poirot got up again and shut the door, He said: Decidedly, I suffer,

As I said I really enjoyed this part of the story but I did keep wondering why Christie took to treating Poirot in such a way.
Was it to celebrate him or was she falling out with him as a character that had become so famous that he had a life of his own just as Arthur Conan Doyle fell out with Holmes

Which brings me to the third part Ariadne Oliver.
Ariadne is basically Christie's way of injecting a fictionalised version of herself into the Poirot stories, and in this one Ariadne enters the scene nearly knocking Poirot over with her car and spends a lot of time agonising over how her own fictional creation Sven Hjerson is being changed inappropriately by theatre and film producers.


Robin continued blithely: What I feel is, heres that wonderful young man, parachuted down
Mrs Oliver interrupted: Hes sixty,
Oh no!
He is,
I dont see him like that, Thirtyfive not a day older,
But Ive been writing books about him for thirty years, and he was at least thirtyfive in the first one,
But, darling, if hes sixty, you cant have the tension between him and the girl whats her name Ingrid, I mean, it would make him just a nasty old man!
It certainly would,
So you see, he must be thirtyfive, said Robin triumphantly,
Then he cant be Sven Hjerson, Just make him a Norwegian young man whos in the Resistance Movement,
But darling Ariadne, the whole point of the play is Sven Hjerson, Youve got an enormous public who simply adore Sven Hjerson, and wholl flock to see Sven Hjerson, Hes box office, darling!

Yeah, I can see Christie having exactly this sort of conversation with agents and producers about Poirot and Marple, and I can see Christie using this particular book as a dig at people trying to exploit her characters.
And given the resolution of the plot, what a dig this is!!! If only it had deterred her estate to employ Charles Osborne to adapt her plays as novels!

So, while the mystery plot is rather mediocre, the context this novel provides for Poirot as a character that has developed a public persona outside of the books is just marvelous.
I read this book in my mother language Portuguese, I was loving the story but for me the ending was unconvincing and implausible, مثل بقیه آثار نویسنده جذاب و خوشخوان بود.
گره های داستانی خوبی داشت اما نه لزوما تمام آنها.
نکات روانشناسی جرم شناسی جالب و قابل تأملی داشت.
خوب بود.
Alas, Mrs. McGinty we hardly knew you,

Really. I mean that. She was a widow, a woman who cleaned houses and took in lodgers to make ends meet had a niece whom she saw at holidays, and was perhaps a bit of a nosy parker nothing extraordinary to fill the obituary.
When Inspector Spence visits the retired Poirot, he shares his troubling concern that the man he arrested for murdering Mrs, McGinty, and who is now facing the death penalty, is not truly guilty, Yes, yes the circumstantial evidence was damning, but James Bentleys milquetoast personality seems so wrong for the deed, Could dear Poirot perhaps put his little grey cells to work But the clues wont be found in McGintys past as Hercule Poirot points out “For, you see, Mon cher Spence, if Mrs.
McGinty is just an ordinary charwomanit is the murderer who must be extraordinary, ”

It is true the murderer is a bit extraordinary, The plotting has an interesting premise, albeit perhaps hard to understand in the modern age, A second murder because there always is one, isnt there was unsurprising, Overall, the book reminded me more than a bit of sitelinkA Murder Is Announced, so perhaps take a break between if you are on a Christie binge, or perhaps visit one of her more exotic locales in between.


For once, Christie leads with Hercule instead of consulting him later, providing an enjoyable stroll down nostalgia lane, Poirot laments the loss of Hastings as a sounding board and audience, but since Poirots investigative strategy is to stir up the village, he ends up confiding in a number of people.
We are treated to Christies standard cast of the postwar English village: a penniless but connected couple with a shabby family manse, a overly dramatic woman who enjoys her own tales of woe, the dutiful but repressed daughter, a bold young woman emblematic of the new age, an insecure, unsmart woman attempting to climb the social ladder, a postmistress with a penchant for gossip.
All standard in many Christies, along with the semiinvalid elderly woman and her playwright son, echoes of Marples nephew Raymond,

“Mrs. Sweetiman imparted all this information with relish, She prided herself on being well informed, Mrs. Weatherby whose desire for knitting needles had perhaps been prompted by a desire to know what was going on, paid for her purchase, “

Tone seems on the playful side, which selfreferential remarks on writing, appreciation and performance, When Mrs. Oliver and her apples make an appearance, it becomes quite clear that Christie is taking an authorial aside to muse on readers who obstinately prefer troublesome characters and playwrights who take license with an authors characters.
“How do I know said Mrs, Oliver crossly. How do I know why I ever thought of the revolting man I must have been mad! Why all the idiotic mannerisms hes got These things just happen.
You try somethingand people seem to like itand then you go onand before you know where you are, youve got someone like that maddening Sven Hjerson tied to you for life.
”

Poor Dame Christie, She seems to have had at least a gastronomic sort of revenge on Poirot at least, by boarding him at the worst guesthouse possible: "I thought I would open a bottle of those raspberries I put up last summer.
They seem to have a bit of mould on top but they say nowadays that that doesn't matter, . . practically penicillin. " If it is any posthumous consolation, in my old age, I prefer Miss Marple to the conceited Poirot, but I enjoy them both, Mrs. McGinty's Dead is one worth adding to the library,


Three and a half selfreferential, The plot isn't the greatest one, the characters the same,the attempted assassination of Poirot from the station is more than pathetic he escapes been saved by a policeman and nobody has seen the person which has pushed him.
. . but there is one thing I've liked a lot, Agatha succeeds in making everyone suspect, so you have to guess who's the criminal, Not an easy task Mrs. McGinty's dead. How did she die
Sticking her neck out, just like I, "

“Had Mrs. McGinty a drab life” Poirot

“Ghastly, I expect,” said Mrs, Summerhayes vaguely. “Always on your knees scrubbing, And then piles of other peoples washingup waiting for you on the sink when you arrive in the morning, If I had to face that every day, Id be positively relieved to be murdered, I really would. ”

Afterbooks of literary pretension Hercules Poirot as Hercules, on a quest for detective greatness!, Christie lightens up a bit and tries to get silly again about the vain Poirot, with an array of supporting comical characters, some of themand this is pretty rare, since she typically writes of the upper classworking class women! There are writers of mysteries, and playwrights, that are also targets of satire, but none greater targets than Hercules Poirot, whom Christie has a famous lovehate relationship with in full swing at this point in her career in, this book was published.
In this one, shes having fun with him, poking fun at his snobbery more than usual, but lightly, Has a P. G. Wodehouse feel to it at times,

In this one James Bentley awaits capital punishment, convicted of killing his landlord, Mrs, McGinty, but Poirot is engaged to find out who really dunnit, The solution involves photographs, a sugar cutter, genderbending names such as Evelyn and Craig, Maybe my favorite aspect of it is the character Ariadne Oliver, a mystery writer, a kind of caricature of Christie herself:

“Authors were shy, unsociable creatures, atoning for their lack of social aptitude by inventing their own companions and conversations.
”

Not my favorite Poirot, but it is still clever, .