Written by Agatha Christie
SUMMARY:
First published in 1946, this 299-page Harper Books paperback edition was released in 2011. Its alternate title is Murder After Hours.
At an English countryside home dubbed ‘The Hollow,’ retired hosts Sir Henry & Lucy Angkatell welcome six adult guests for a weekend house party. Their guests are: introverted in their own ways, cousins Edward and David Angkatell; another Angkatell cousin: sculptor Henrietta Savernake; Lucy’s young relative: delightfully down-to-earth Midge Hardcastle; and a married London couple: Dr. John and Gerda Christow.
Self-absorbed John is torn between an overly subservient wife and artist Henrietta – his compassionate mistress. Yet, the philandering doctor isn’t not the only one stunned that his old flame, narcissistic actress Veronica Cray, has now moved in next door. Experiencing an epiphany of sorts, John makes a fateful decision.
With tensions already slow-brewing, homicide shatters The Hollow’s calm. Sir Henry’s acquaintance (and his other new neighbor), Hercule Poirot, may be the only one who can set things right. It’s conveyed that Sir Henry had first met Poirot in Baghdad, presumably during 1936’s Murder in Mesopotamia.
Advisory Note: The ‘n’-word appears on page 34. Why the publisher didn’t/couldn’t edit this word out is anybody’s guess.
REVIEW:
Of Christie’s Poirot masterpieces, the moody Hollow surely isn’t among them. Make no mistake: this soap opera-ish whodunnit is a tough slog – spending the first eight or nine chapters alone with this cast is plenty. Though Christie works hard imbuing The Hollow’s characters with realistic depth, making this blasé group actually readable, however, is another matter. Among them, only the vibrant Midge comes off as someone actually worth rooting for.
For instance, there’s the implausibility exactly why three women: Gerta, Henrietta, and an over-the-top Veronica all orbit one domineering physician like he’s the almighty sun. Plagued by bouts of self-pity, 40-year old ‘golden boy’ John is a domineering egotist; yet, his selfish persona becomes surprisingly multi-layered. One might conclude the doctor is somewhat humble, as compared to his long-lost ex-girlfriend, Veronica – a ridiculous cliché of spoiled starlets.
Beyond the plot’s lethargic tempo, the insurmountable obstacle Christie pitches to readers is this: why should anyone even care about this group of players (short of the victim’s young children), once the homicide occurs? Deserving some pity is the shrewd Inspector Grange as the local cop officially probing this muddle of motives. It’s like Grange grasps the plot’s blah circumstances from the get-go, which mostly renders The Hollow’s crime a non-mystery.
Considering that Poirot’s entrance is delayed until a full third into the novel is indicative of how dreary The Hollow really is. Even the dapper Belgian sleuth’s literary magic (and a savvy display of compassion come the ever-bleak end) isn’t nearly enough this time. The book’s mid-section improves in spots, but a consistently low-energy vibe doesn’t muster much hope for a satisfying finish.
Beyond the ever-insightful Henrietta’s presence, only a decent romance is left to help Poirot distract readers from a below-average storyline. Inexplicably, Christie even sabotages this middling sub-plot — with a melodramatic scene where the heroine must thwart her beloved’s attempted suicide by gassing himself in an oven. By that point, it’s tempting to consider chucking The Hollow across the room. In hindsight, this disappointing Poirot’s sole benefit is offering a potential cure for insomnia.
ADDITIONAL FEATURES:
The first page is a Christie mini-biography. There’s a full listing of Christie’s published novels (plus two memoirs).
BRIAN’S ODD MOON RATING: 3 Stars
