My third foray, Agatha's third novel read in order, is immediately engaging. A part of me hesitates with English oldies, worried they'll be boring form flowery Shakespeare-esque dialogue. When I roll up sleeves and simply read, the suspicion is for not. I am impressed by the talent for captivation, that rises above the antiquity of years.
My second visit with John Hastings & Hercule Poirot is a pleasure in France, an outlet for Hercule to elaborate in French, which I speak. A family man and stranger are dead at the man's villa, bordering a golf course (called `links'). Everyone from his wife, son, son's girlfriend, a starlet, and neighbouring villa owner are suspect. The history of two people goes far into the past and readers aren't privy to solving these layers. Rather than play along, it is for us to be entertained by stories being told to us. The more recent occurrences are at our disposal and it really is educational when Hercule prods John to walk through on his own and truly learn deduction from the master.
I believe Agatha poked fun at Arthur Conan Doyle's character. I'm glad I'm conscious of the digs because they're the funniest parts of the novel. Sherlock Holmes famously used a magnifying glass, measured footprints, laid on carpet gathering all manner of clues. I could think of nothing else when Hercule laughed at this technique, declaring that people who do this are abasing to a dog's level and doing the grunt work of a fox! I love that truly-skilled plotters concoct conundrums with enough moving parts to piece together, trace, and endeavour to figure out. Even among the last ten pages of "Murder On The Links", there are so many twists and turns, it might as well be a country road! Fait accomplit.