There's something rather comforting about an English country house murder. A wealthy family, a cast of suspicious relatives, a generously stocked medicine cabinet, and, inevitably, someone who ends up in a rather sticky situation.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles was Agatha Christie's first published novel, introducing the world to Hercule Poirot, the frankly annoying and hysterical Belgian detective with an extraordinary talent for noticing what everyone else has overlooked. And, for a debut, it's an impressively inventive piece of detective fiction. Apparently, Christie’s sister Madge challenged her to write a detective novel, where the reader has access to the same clues as the detective but would still struggle to identify the murderer.

Christie constructs an intricate puzzle, scattering clues, red herrings and suspicious behaviour with considerable skill. When you think you've worked out what's going on, another revelation casts doubt on your carefully assembled theory. It's entertaining stuff, and you can certainly see why Christie went on to become such a formidable name in crime fiction.

The cast is entertaining too, at least individually. There's plenty of jealousy, resentment, romantic entanglement and barely concealed hostility lurking beneath the veneer of polite Edwardian society. Poirot himself is a delight to many, and his exchanges with the well-meaning but frequently bewildered Hastings provide a little humour.

However, I did occasionally struggle to distinguish one suspicious gentleman, or woman, from another. With so many characters, relationships, peculiar mannerisms and shifting loyalties, there were moments when the inhabitants of Styles seemed to merge into a single collection of moustaches, raised eyebrows and questionable motives. I found myself having to stop and remember who was who, and why I should be suspicious of them.

Factoid #1: During a draft, Christie realised she’d overloaded her manuscript with red herrings, clues, plot twists and diversions. She started drastically cutting these back; who knows what the original story would have looked like, a cast of thousands!

And then there's the age of the thing. This is very much a period piece, and not always in an entirely charming way. The rigid assumptions about class, the casual deference to wealth and social standing, and the attitudes towards servants can be rather grating to modern sensibilities. Of course, these are reflections of the society Christie was writing about, but that doesn't necessarily make them any less frustrating to read.

There's also something slightly theatrical about the whole affair; I kept mouthing “exit stage left/enter stage right” whenever a character appeared or disappeared. The characters behave in ways that seem designed primarily to preserve the mystery, rather than because they're particularly convincing human beings. It's all rather contrived, although I suspect that's part of the appeal of a classic whodunnit.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed my visit to Styles. The plotting is clever, the resolution satisfying; Poirot does not, unfortunately, get dumped in a large vat of sewage - I am sure that will occur in later novels. I can admire the ingenuity of Christie's construction while acknowledging that I found the journey occasionally a little more tiring than the destination deserved.

An entertaining, ingenious and occasionally exasperating murder mystery. I'm glad to have read it, although I'm not entirely convinced I'd want to spend a weekend with any of the residents of Styles. Christie though? Why not!

I gave the book 6.5 out of 10

Factoid #2: Christie worked in a hospital dispensary in Torquay during the First World War, acquiring considerable knowledge of pharmaceuticals and poisons: “Since I was surrounded by poisons, perhaps it was natural that death by poisoning should be the method I selected.”

This also marks the halfway house of my Reading Challenge and probably a sign that I won’t finish reading thirteen more books in the eleven weeks left. The aim was to read a book every two weeks. FAIL!

TTRPG Thoughts

Reading Christie inevitably got me thinking about investigative roleplaying games. There's something rather familiar about Poirot patiently assembling clues while Hastings leaps to entirely the wrong conclusions - a constant raised eyebrow, tut-tut or impenetrable glance put Hastings in his place. I've certainly encountered more than a few investigators who would give Hastings a run for his money.

The novel is also a useful reminder that a complicated mystery isn't necessarily a better mystery. When every character is harbouring a secret, every conversation contains a veiled accusation, and everyone has a plausible motive, it's surprisingly easy to lose track of the people behind the puzzle.

For a game such as Trail of Cthulhu, I'd probably steal Christie's clever misdirection, but trim the cast and give each suspect a little more room to breathe. After all, a revelation is only satisfying if the players can remember who the hell everyone is. “Old Tompkins, did it?! I don’t even remember him.”