I’m currently reading one of the shortest books that I’ve read in a while and, considering how short my usual books tend to be, that’s saying something. Can You Ever Forgive Me? runs at under 200 pages yet I still couldn’t finish reading in time to review it. I’ll be honest, it’s been an odd week and I’ve been pretty up and down. Which has all meant that I haven’t made as much time for reading. It also didn’t help that my book club has been postponed until later this month. Now that I have no deadline I’ve lost all energy to finish it. All of which means I needed something else to write about. Thankfully, I’ve been thinking of this for a while.
I don’t necessarily have the best track record with Lucy Foley but that didn’t stop me from requesting her upcoming novel on NetGalley. What can I say, I keep getting sucked in by her novels. So, despite having a pretty full December TBR, I started reading this the other week. As it was Christmas, it took me longer than usual to read it but, after a big reading session on Boxing Day, I finally finished it. I was excited about the Paris location because it made a change from the isolated locations of her previous thrillers. I was hoping for a bit more of a mystery than I’d previously been offered because I’ve previously been underwhelmed by Lucy Foley’s twists. Would The Paris Apartment be able to surprise me?
Oh, what a difference the right book makes. I’ve been struggling to find the energy to read lately, so things have been taking way longer than they should. Considering I have a lot of books to read to complete my Spell the Month Challenge, it’s a little worrying. When I picked this book up, I was expecting it to take a really long time as it comes in at 400+ pages. It’s been a while since I last read over 300 pages, so I really didn’t think I’d be up for the task. Suprisingly, I managed to finish this in a couple of nights. I just got so into it. I spent all day imagining getting back home to carry on reading it. I was obsessed in a way that I haven’t been in a really long time. It was a good feeling.
You may have noticed that I’ve not really been around lately. I had every intention to post on Monday and Wednesday last week but, when it came to it, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’ve been falling behind with my reading of late and was nowhere near finishing a book in time. So, instead of a review, I was planning on writing something about recommendations for Mental Health Awareness Week. I sat down to write and I just crumpled. All my energy was gone and I had no suggestions for the post. For my own mental health, I decided to take a bit of a break. When it came to my Sunday Rundown, I decided to not post either because I’d posted so little and barely having read anything. It wasn’t exactly going to be a very good rundown. I’m starting this week in more of a positive mindset. I’ve finished not one but 2 books over the weekend and have high hopes for my next one. It should be a quickish read all going well. So, I should be back in the swing of things in no time.
It’s becoming something of a tradition that I read at least one Agatha Christie book each month. Not only are they super easy to get through but they just make me feel happy. Considering what the past 12 months have been like, we all need to dedicate more time to the things that make us happy. Christie is not only a fantastic writer but she has an incredibly wicked streak. As I say every time I review one of her books, she understands people and what might compel them to commit murder. In my recent rereadings of her novels, I haven’t actually read any Miss Marple stories yet. I think in terms of the books, I prefer a lot of the Poirot novels but who can’t love Miss Marple. I also think the ITV adaptations of these novels were fabulous. They made a few changes and modernisations but they capture the spirit perfectly. The adaptation of this novel is definitely one of the better ones.
After the travesty that was my previous read, there was a lot of pressure for the next one to be worthwhile. I’ve had Nothing Can Hurt You for a while now and I was really looking forward to reading it. I almost started reading it last December but decided to stick with more seasonal books. I’m glad I waited because I’m not sure that I was in the right mindset last month. After a couple of false starts where I only got through one chapter a night, I raced to the end of this book. It’s the first time in ages when I’ve just stayed up reading. I got to the final chapter at the time I’d normally call lights out but I knew that I had to keep going. Any regret caused by my fatigue the next day was worth it.
Like most book people, Autumn is my favourite time of year. Knitwear weather is starting but we’re still not in the potentially icy period. The leaves are starting to change, the nights are getting darker and socially acceptable to stay inside all the time. It is also the perfect time to read a whole bunch of Agatha Christie. I know people like to use the term “cosy crime” as a pejorative but it’s nothing of the sort. It is, however, cosy. There’s nothing I love more than settling down with a cup of tea and a murder mystery. I have several books that I want to get through this year but I decided to start with this one. Some may think it’s the wrong time of year for a crime thriller set in a Summer holiday resort but why not?
It’s no secret that I’m a lover of Agatha Christie and that I won’t accept people underestimating her. You may remember that I got angry when The Truants got compared to the Queen of Crime when it wasn’t even a pale imitation. I got even more annoyed when the characters were talking about the books as some twee and childish examples of literature. Christie is a fantastic writer. She understands people and their motives better than most writers. She knows what she’s talking about and she has written some of the best twists of all time. She has ruined me for contemporary crime writers because I know what to look for. I always see it coming because Agatha taught me well. Yesterday was the 130th anniversary of her birth. 2020 also marks the 100th anniversary of her first book being published. It’s a big year for Christie fans. So, as I’m still nowhere near finishing my current read, I decided to dedicate my second bookish post this week to her.
It was genuinely shocking to wake up on Saturday morning to the news that Chadwick Boseman had died after battling cancer since 2016. The actor had kept his medical struggles a secret even as he carried on working. Think about it, he’s given us 3 turns as T’Challa, a biopic about Thurgood Marshall, and Spike Lee’s Da 5 Bloods. All while battling cancer. And not just that. Boseman had already become something of an acting legend and his role as the Black Panther only cemented his importance to Black people all over the world. He will be remembered for all of the work he did to bring Black stories to the big screen and for sticking to his beliefs. You can see how much he meant to people all over the world by the outpouring of grief on social media this weekend. 43 is far too young for anyone to leave us and Boseman’s passing will be felt for a long time to come.
I know we have the same conversation every time some new contemporary author is compared to Agatha Christie but it’s the kind of thing that bears repeating. Modern readers really underestimate her skills. It seems as though all you need to do these days to be compared to her is either mention her/her books or write a small scale crime thriller. By small scale, I mean not one of these overly dark, psychological thrillers but more of a slow burner that revolves around a domestic or small setting. Here’s the thing: Agatha Christie knew what she was doing. She understood people, she understood motivation, and she understood murder. She had the ability to shock and she knew exactly what her readers wanted. Her books are light on detail and character study because they don’t need it. They do what they set out to do. She wasn’t an indulgent writer because she understood how to craft the perfect whodunnit. She didn’t need gimmicks or excess plot to distract her readers. She hid everything in plain sight. Something writers these days tend to struggle with.