At a Halloween party, when 13-year-old Joyce admits to having witnessed a murder, no one believes her. But shortly after, the party-goers find her drowned in a tub of apples.
Initially, it seems that no one has spotted anything out of the ordinary. But the more Hercule Poirot investigates the leads, the closer he gets to discovering the secrets that some of the townsfolk harbour.
For me, Agatha Christie’s books are a hit or miss. I either want to devour them whole from the first page, or I’m just barely mustering the motivation to get to the end of the book. In this case, it was the latter.
I thought that a premise involving a Halloween party would add sufficient mystery to the atmosphere. But there was no such lingering effect. The party is merely an event being planned by women for teenagers and children of their acquaintance. Moreover, it’s only covered across a few pages.
Although I’m completely at ease with the author’s writing, it is the execution of the plot that often fails to hold my attention. This book felt draggy many a times. I did not find the detective’s interviews, follow-ups, and sleuthing intriguing.
Yes, the ending was unpredictable. But I’d partly equate that to my inability to remain invested in the story for long.
I’d any day recommend And Then There Were None over this book.
The Life Stories 