☆☆☆☆This review contains spoilers☆☆☆☆
Thirteen At Dinner is another name for this mystery leisurely created by Agatha Christie.
Brilliant is the word used to characterize our acclaimed Poirot and his superb detective skills. Mais Oui, he may be the best our world has to offer in this slow moving book.
As you can tell from the title, Lord Edgware does indeed die, killed by an American actress, his wife, though only in name. Eye witnesses asseverate she attended a dinner party during the time of the Lord's demise, though others vow that she's present in the Lord's home that night.
If only someone could assist Inspector Japp to solve this grievous mystery. Ahh, there's someone who hates murder and hates for the wrong person to hang ("they're hanging everybody out there" was a hit in the 1930's), and will not stop until he sees justice served.
It's unfair that Poirot couldn't have a mutant superpower, or perchance he does. Physical powers would not work--the slight chance of harming the love of his life, his mustache, could not be tolerated. His super power might be reading minds--that would explain his frequent successes.
What would his superhero name be: Captain Justice, Iron Detective, Captain Mustache, Super Knowing Guy or The Belguim Force Of One? Poirot would perceive a suitable name though once the teaming hordes of humanity acclimated his power, mere humans would never approach him and might potentially run from him, even Hastings and Miss Lemon.
Lord Edgeware, an appallingly horrid man, relished unhappiness in others-- is it a shame we should care when evil men are murdered? Should the general public revel in the ability to dance around the village singing Ding Dong the man is dead, the evil man is dead, when a horrid creature expires.
Undoubtedly, this could never happen--people would kill indiscriminately, and announce to the world that the deceased was atrocious and evil, whether they were or not. Murder rates would climb exorbitantly, and Poirot would shake his head in sadness and retire for concretely this time (unless he's also murdered).
If you want to learn how Lady Edgware kills her husband while miles away at a dinner party, please read this book. Don't initiate a reason to generate Poirot's anger, since he may be a superhero. I'm just saying.
I would still like to travel the world with Poirot in the 1920's or 30's--the fantastic lives we would live.
When we were done and over time, I would have a prolonged need to find my way back to the future to glance at pictures of cute animals, view Doctor Who or watch an insane woman, onYouTube, smashing in the McDonald's drive-thru window--they didn't have chicken nuggets available. How could I live without technology?
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