August 14, 2022
There is scarcely any comfort to be found in this book; only an indelible, arcane horror. And Then There Were None was uncomfortable as it lodged itself in the darkest corner of my mind. The questions it asks, the implications it conceals, are soul-curdling and unforgettable. In short, I liked this book, but it's not exactly an experience I’m keen on revisiting.
**
In Agatha Christie’s nightmarish tableau of a novel, ten people are summoned as house guests to a remote island by a Mr and Mrs U.N. Owen. The guests assembled trade stiff dialogue over dinner and cocktails while musing about the celebrity of the island and puzzling about their hosts’ tardiness. The whimsy of the moment, however, abruptly disappears when a disembodied message blaring from a gramophone tallies, in vivid and mordant detail, the guests' unpunished crimes. What begins as astonishment quickly turns into horror when, shortly after, the house's occupants embark on the ghastly business of being murdered, one by one, per the instructions of a horrid nursery rhyme. Death runs rampant with its bloody scythe on Soldier Island: this is their sentence coming to retrieve them at last.
Agatha Christie, an extraordinarily good writer, digs with bright horrible relish into this exhilarating, unsettling, and brilliantly constructed story. She plays the reader with the delicacy of an expert angler, scarcely allowing us a moment to dig in our heels and stop where we are, just for a while, just long enough to get a better idea of what’s ahead. The experience of reading this novel is, as a result, sometimes akin to walking through a nightmare, unable to orient one's self, understanding very little beyond the deep-seated sense of being utterly afraid. This is intensified by the hermetic and creepy atmosphere of Soldier Island, and the slow unraveling of each of the characters' haunting pasts.
What appears at first, however, to be a thriller is something far more dangerous in Christie's hands. The surface is arresting, but the harder you think the further you go, and the story keeps on getting more productive. And Then There Were None is infused with psychological depth that holds its own fascination. What are we capable of doing, asks the novel, when fear, fractured and wild, takes hold of us and scours out all else? What lengths are we willing to go to escape accountability, and purge memories of our most torturous evils? Each of the character becomes a mirror from which there’s no escape, reflecting their monstrosity back at each other on and on and on. In that sense, this novel is an invitation to take a long, hard look at one’s own self in the mirror that dares us not to flinch.
And Then There Were None is, furthermore, a compelling portrait of a psychopath who suffers an unconquerable confederation of self-righteousness and depravity. But what is most frightening is not the depth of their evil, but how cold it runs. Are humans really capable of being this infatuated with the theatrics of murder? None of these characters are, of course, the kind of people you would want to roll the red carpet for, but does anyone really deserve this?
If there's a flaw running through And Then There Were None, it's that Christie maintains a respectful distance from her characters, and at times, that distance runs toward dryness. I think a bit more poison in the pen would have helped in drawing out the characters, some of whom don’t entirely step into the page before... they start dropping like flies.
Overall, however, And Then There Were None is a highly engaging murder mystery and a provocative, pitch-black psychological thriller that will be hard to forget for many.
**
In Agatha Christie’s nightmarish tableau of a novel, ten people are summoned as house guests to a remote island by a Mr and Mrs U.N. Owen. The guests assembled trade stiff dialogue over dinner and cocktails while musing about the celebrity of the island and puzzling about their hosts’ tardiness. The whimsy of the moment, however, abruptly disappears when a disembodied message blaring from a gramophone tallies, in vivid and mordant detail, the guests' unpunished crimes. What begins as astonishment quickly turns into horror when, shortly after, the house's occupants embark on the ghastly business of being murdered, one by one, per the instructions of a horrid nursery rhyme. Death runs rampant with its bloody scythe on Soldier Island: this is their sentence coming to retrieve them at last.
“Be sure thy sin will find thee out.”
Agatha Christie, an extraordinarily good writer, digs with bright horrible relish into this exhilarating, unsettling, and brilliantly constructed story. She plays the reader with the delicacy of an expert angler, scarcely allowing us a moment to dig in our heels and stop where we are, just for a while, just long enough to get a better idea of what’s ahead. The experience of reading this novel is, as a result, sometimes akin to walking through a nightmare, unable to orient one's self, understanding very little beyond the deep-seated sense of being utterly afraid. This is intensified by the hermetic and creepy atmosphere of Soldier Island, and the slow unraveling of each of the characters' haunting pasts.
What appears at first, however, to be a thriller is something far more dangerous in Christie's hands. The surface is arresting, but the harder you think the further you go, and the story keeps on getting more productive. And Then There Were None is infused with psychological depth that holds its own fascination. What are we capable of doing, asks the novel, when fear, fractured and wild, takes hold of us and scours out all else? What lengths are we willing to go to escape accountability, and purge memories of our most torturous evils? Each of the character becomes a mirror from which there’s no escape, reflecting their monstrosity back at each other on and on and on. In that sense, this novel is an invitation to take a long, hard look at one’s own self in the mirror that dares us not to flinch.
And Then There Were None is, furthermore, a compelling portrait of a psychopath who suffers an unconquerable confederation of self-righteousness and depravity. But what is most frightening is not the depth of their evil, but how cold it runs. Are humans really capable of being this infatuated with the theatrics of murder? None of these characters are, of course, the kind of people you would want to roll the red carpet for, but does anyone really deserve this?
“Crime is terribly revealing. Try and vary your methods as you will, your tastes, your habits, your attitude of mind, and your soul is revealed by your actions.”
If there's a flaw running through And Then There Were None, it's that Christie maintains a respectful distance from her characters, and at times, that distance runs toward dryness. I think a bit more poison in the pen would have helped in drawing out the characters, some of whom don’t entirely step into the page before... they start dropping like flies.
Overall, however, And Then There Were None is a highly engaging murder mystery and a provocative, pitch-black psychological thriller that will be hard to forget for many.