Even if I am forever destined to be less clever than Poirot and always one step behind, at least I get a sensation of fairness. Which, in all fairness, doesn’t exactly mean it becomes more probable for us to figure out the mystery: very often I am as lost in Poirot’s stories as I am in Miss Marple’s, but it’s the being included and knowing I am seeing pretty much the exact same things Poirot is seeing that really makes a difference. We see what he sees and, in some way, his stories always trick us into believing that we possess all the tools he does for solving the crime. Poirot, on the other hand, usually takes readers along for the ride. Miss Marple always seems to show off her skills and her relevance as a mystery solver at the end of the story, presenting clues and scenes she has witnessed to explain how she has come to her conclusions. As I devoured her brilliantly crafted mysteries, I started to realise that, personally, there was something missing in Miss Marple’s stories that I could always find in Poirot’s, making me prefer the latter. The local library had a large Christie collection, and she quickly became one of my favourite writers. I first read Agatha Christie when I was in high school.

A lot of the components of mysteries depend much more on the reader than on the book. Otherwise, books like The Secret History and TV shows like Colombo would have their days counted from conception, since they pretty much start off by presenting the murderer to us. In order to be good, a mystery depends on several things, and being able to conceal whodunit isn’t always a sign that a mystery is, in fact, good. Back in July, Tirzah Price wrote an article for Book Riot that asks an important question: does solving the mystery make a difference? Ever since, I’ve been thinking about my relationship with mysteries, especially murder mysteries, and what the answer is for me.

Agatha christie's the crooked house