MY THOUGHTS:
The action happens at Gossington Hall (same scene where The Body in the Library took place). It's been recently purchased by film star, Marina Gregg and her director husband, Jason Rudd. Marina is a multiple divorcee with a history of nervous break-downs and bi-polar tendencies. She's high maintenance to say the least, but hopes to relax at last in this country mansion. Tragically, murder strikes during a reception they're holding in aid of St. John's Ambulance.
Heather Badcock, the chatty and gregarious secretary of St. John's, falls ill and dies suddenly. Her drink turns out to be laced with a massive overdose of 'Calmo' a mood-altering, rudimentary depression medication. The freakiest thing for these show-biz celebs is that there's no doubt the glass in question had been meant for Marina, who'd graciously offered hers to Heather to replace a spilt glass.
To thicken the plot, Marina seems to be holding back something too horrific for words. While greeting guests, she'd gazed toward several new arrivals with a shocked expression that reminded bystanders of Tennyson's Lady of Shalott. 'The mirror cracked from side to side, the doom has come upon me.' Whatever she saw, she's evidently terrified to tell. It's a tricky challenge for the shrewdness of Miss Marple, who's trying to piece together all the reports she's heard.
It begs to be said that even though her method works well for her, Miss Marple's exceptional skill may now be considered politically incorrect. She sorts people in her head according to mental associations. 'When you recognize certain types, then when anything occurs, one understands quite why.' I think if it had been our current political climate, Miss Marple might hesitate to use those very words.
Ironically, she herself suffers from someone else's generalizations. Poor Miss Marple has to put up with the overbearing and condescending ministrations of a hired helper named Miss Knight, by doctor's orders. Miss Knight seems to assume that anybody elderly must be treated like a fragile baby. This rampant ageism is painful to read, but our senior sleuth finds a happy way out of this smothering treatment.
The relentless progress of modernization is another interesting theme. A new housing development has mushroomed up near St Mary Mead. It sounds very much like suburbia as we know it, but is entirely new for these characters. It includes, of all new-fangled ideas, a supermarket. ('You're expected to take a basket yourself and go around looking for things,' complains Mrs Hartnell.) Even younger residents, like Miss Marple's friend Cherry, soon discover the drawbacks of neighborhoods such as we know them. 'You can't express your personality without someone being down on you like a ton of bricks.'
I found it irritating that so many people called Heather Badcock stupid, especially those celebs and their staff. It seems in very poor taste to invite her to their hyped-up shindig, then look down their noses at her because she's not glamorous, but merely an ordinary person performing a humble role in a vital charity. Still it's worth pushing through for the wow factor of the ending. My cover tagline says, 'Has there ever been a murder with a more intriguing motive.'
To me, it's one of Agatha Christie's most devastating motives. My gosh, totally understandable too. If the murderer hadn't started overthinking, things might have developed a bit differently. But on that note, I'd better stop and say just read it.
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