Kenneth McMahon

Being originally from working class, northside Dublin, I already know that Roddy Doyle writes about places I know, people I know and language I know, but I was stunned by how much this book resonated with me. Parts of it could have been ripped from my childhood. Long forgotten memories suddenly reappeared - wrapping copies in wallpaper, hiding in the hot press, words I hadn't heard in years (“eccer”, “milling” “sap”), trying to say something funny so the other lads would like you better, and unfortunately, listening to the fights.

It brought back to me just how terrible it was lying in bed and hearing shouting and doors slamming. Of course, I hadn't forgotten that my parents had fought, but I had forgotten that feeling of listening to it. Memories came flooding back of trying to cover it with my ears, or saying over and over again to myself “Stop. Please stop. Just stop” as the lump in my throat got harder. My dad didn't do the things mentioned in the book, it was just shouting, but it was awful. Grown up problems suddenly invaded a child's innocence. Patrick trying to make sense of it was just heartbreaking - “I loved him. He was my da. It didn't make sense. She was my ma.” I can't imagine subjecting my son to that. My wife and I tend to give each other the silent treatment. I've never raised my voice to her. I wonder if that's something I subconsciously learned from childhood.

Near the very end of the novel, Rendell mentions schadenfreude and I wondered if she wasn't having a playful dig at the reader. I for one was taking pleasure in Gray's slow realisation of what was happening to him. Taking pleasure only because it was obvious that he was being played and his cringeworthy lovesick thoughts had become insufferable. Many times I wanted to reach into the book and shout “Wake up, you idiot!” Still, the punishment did seem spectacularly harsh.

The quite dull first two thirds had me wondering when the mystery might begin, but the final third did win me over in the end. It was well done, however I felt there were a number of plot holes which dragged it down.

- I've read enough detective stories to know that the copper should be asking himself one question after a murder – “Who stands to benefit the most from this?” and so I found it pretty unbelievable that the blame would fall on Gray and the cop wasn't willing to entertain any notions of the wife being involved.
- Wouldn't a perennially broke Gray just phone the vet to give him permission to operate on the dog rather than travelling over from France just to say “go ahead”?
- Potentially not a plot hole, but it wasn't really explained... the letter Gray wrote to Tiny was from June 6th in the previous year. Did Drusilla plan this that far in advance and hope that Gray would contact her a year later, or did she just see her opportunity when he happened to call her again after so many months?

I can never figure out with detective novels whether I should be disappointed that the reveal matched my guess or whether I should be pleased with myself for getting it right. I think I prefer being tricked so to speak so I can have that “Aha, that's a clever twist!” moment.

In truth, I think some of it easily telegraphed here. The sudden jump from Simon and Jacqueline being a couple to Simon and Linnet being married was an immediate eyebrow raiser to me. Then Poirot overhears a conversation “We have to go through with this...” and finally Christie shows her hand a bit too much when neither of the two are present on Race's list of possible suspects. I also did clue in that the shooting managed to give both of them an alibi, though I didn't quite figure out how Simon could then go commit murder with a wounded leg, so the reveal of the second bullet was clever.

Of course, the thought pops up in my head afterwards... why didn't he just “accidentally” push her overboard rather than hatching an overly elaborate plan to generate a murder mystery on a boat with a world famous detective onboard? But obviously that's all part of the fun with these books ;)

One side note: Christie's conservatism comes out here with her ridiculously silly portrayal of the leftist Ferguson as an Angry Young Man railing against the entire world and who is excessively rude and boorish to every single person he meets apparently.

Incredibly contrived opening chapter. A doctor suspected a man of murder, and just happened to accidentally take a snapshot of him. Then just happened to carry that snapshot around with him. Then just happened to pass that snapshot and the story on to the major, who then just happens to carry it around with him so that he can tell the story to Miss Marple.

Once you get past that, it's decent enough entertainment, and to be fair even though it was spelled out early on, I still didn't have a clue who the murderer was right up to the moment of reveal.