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Schwanebeck, Wieland. “Deconstructing the Detective: Agatha Christie’s Poirot Novels and the Role of the Reader.” Hercule Poirot Trifft Miss Marple: Agatha Christie Intermedial, edited by Judith Kretzschmar et al., Büchner-Verlag - Wissenschaft und Kultur, 2016, pp. 47–66. Deconstructing the Detective: Agatha Christie’s Poirot Novels and the Role of the Reader Wieland Schwanebeck Introduction All classical detectives are story-tellers, even though they rarely narrate their adventures themselves, delegating the task to their assistants. Many crime writers have adapted this setup and strengthened the priv- ileged position which the detective enjoys – infinitely enlarged through the perspective of the loyal deputy whose limited intellectual and ab- ductive abilities act as the proverbial magnifying glass and allow the detective to take on larger-than-life dimensions. Before the advent of the hard-boiled school and its emphasis on self-reliant, cynical investi- gators such as Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe, the genre re- mained firmly in the grasp of the traditional set-up, a convention that Beatrix Finke summarises as the »Watson perspective«: the narrator dutifully accepts his limited knowledge and reconstructs the story from the perspective of an »experiencing I«, his erroneous assumptions about the case providing possible explanations which the reader can then safely eliminate.1 It is not before the final chapters of the narrative that the detective himself imposes his own narrative authority upon the proceedings, thus swapping the role of the critical reader for that of a homodiegetic narrator hardly restrained by limited viewpoint or focalization, in Gér- ard Genette’s terminology:2 when he gets around to reconstructing the story of the crime, the detective has the privilege of omniscience: »Me, I know everything«3, Poirot asserts confidently. —————— 1 Cf. Finke 1983, 109–139. 2 Cf. Genette 1980, 189–194. 3 Christie 1987, 213. 48 It is this very privilege that I would like to scrutinise in this chapter, first of all by characterising the narrative conventions to which it is tied. I will primarily draw upon novels from the 1930s, a decade frequently singled out as the most productive one of Christie’s career,4 and the last one to be associated with the »Golden Age« of detective fiction, when writers tended to adhere to genre guidelines playfully set down in prescriptive rule-books.5 During this period, Christie perfected her formula and settled into a narrative pattern organised around her in- vestigator, Hercule Poirot, a character whom she found insufferable in later years.6 However, he has proven to be her most enduring creation and the one most strongly linked to the narrative convention that my inquiry will focus on: the ending that is »unexpected but possible at the same time«7. Following an introduction to Christie’s narrative par- adigm and the method employed by her detective, I will outline some critical strategies which deconstruct both of them and which attempt to strengthen the position of the reader, including a number of paro- dies and Pierre Bayard’s »detective criticism«. The Detective as a Privileged Narrator Ever since Edgar Allan Poe coined the trope of the armchair detective who is never without his loyal yet highly inferior sidekick, the detective novel has been characterised by an on-going battle between narrators and readers, and it usually tells the story of an act of reading: the inves- tigator unravels the crime »written« (and then hidden) by the murderer —————— 4 Cf. Wagoner 1986, 47. 5 In these somewhat ironic rule-books, writers were »challenged to design ingenious plots, peppered with red-herrings as well as genuine clues, so that the key to the solution, while theoretically accessible to those resourceful enough, will retain at least an element of surprise and command the readers’ satisfied admiration« (Ciocia 2015, 109). The question whether Christie herself actually belongs into the canon of the »Golden Age« is a controversial one. Carl R. Lovitt, for one, points out that Christie rarely played it fair and thus frequently violated the genre rules (Cf. Lovitt 1990, 69–71). 6 Cook 2013, 118. 7 Gutkowski 2011, 51. 49 and erects his own successful narrative in its place.8 His »writing«, thus placed over the first narrative account, must be acknowledged as the definite version of the events to make for a successful reading experi- ence – »successful« in the sense that it satisfies both the reader’s desire to unravel the hermeneutic code of the narrative9 and that it acknowl- edges the powerful detective figure as an ideological agent, one who claims to bring light into darkness and who reinstalls a system that has been disrupted by a barbaric act threatening its stability. e privilege exercised by the detective – to present his version of the events as the definitive one – is clearly pronounced in Christie’s novels. Her chapter headings emphasise the schematic nature of the overall construction: throughout the investigation, they are named af- ter the respective suspect who is giving testimony,10 whereas the final few chapters (the solution is usually split over a few of them, followed by a brief epilogue) bear titles such as »e Last Link« (e Mysterious Affair at Styles, 1920), »e Truth« (Cards on the Table, 1936), »e Whole Truth« (e Murder of Roger Ackroyd, 1926), »Poirot Speaks« or »e Story« (Lord Edgware Dies, 1933). ese paratextual signals underline the credibility of what is to follow, so that nobody is likely to doubt the detective’s promise: »›Come, my friends,‹ [Poirot] said gently. ›Let me tell you the real story of what happened last night.‹«11 Christie’s readers are familiar with what happens in these chapters, as the novels tend to involve the same stereotypical setup:12 having in- terviewed all the suspects individually, Poirot gathers them all in one room to present them with the result of his enquiry. Here, Christie —————— 8 Cf. Hühn 1987, 454–457. 9 Cf. Barthes 1990, 18–20. 10 In Lord Edgware Dies (1933), the chapter headings simply announce: »The Widow«, »The Secretary«, »The Egoist«, »The Daughter«, »The Nephew«, »Sir Montagu Corner«, »The Butler«, »The Other Man«, »A Great Lady«, »The Taxi- Driver«, »Ronald’s Story«. In Murder in Mesopotamia (1936), several interviewees are grouped into individual chapters: »The Suspects«, »Miss Johnson, Mrs Mer- cado, Mr Reiter«, or »Mr Mercado, Richard Carey«. 11 Christie 1980, 184. 12 There are several deviations from the pattern, of course: in some novels, Christie hands over the privilege of the full explanation to the culprit. Lord Edgware Dies is a case in point, a novel that evokes Conan Doyle’s A Scandal in Bohemia (1891): it is the confession penned by the actress Jane Wilkinson which concludes the book, whose wish »to be remembered« (189) is thus honoured. 50 (who also authored 17 plays, some of them stage adaptations of her own novels and short stories) clearly toys with the genre of drama,13 and in effect, her novels are, to some degree, intermedial works in themselves. e notions of theatricality and acting pervade her writ- ing,14 nowhere more so than in these climactic dénouements. Here, Poirot (in recounting the minutiae of his investigation and presenting the truth to his baffled auditorium) resembles a rather melodramatic actor who clearly enjoys his role as the »explicator who solves all riddles and answers all questions«15, as the following introductory passages from some of Christie’s final chapters suggest: »e company once assembled, Poirot rose from his seat with the air of a popular lecturer, and bowed politely to his audience.«16 »Hercule Poirot sat in a big arm-chair. e wall lights had been turned out. Only a rose-shaded lamp shed its glow on the figure in the arm-chair. ere seemed something symbolic about it – he alone in the light […] [and] Poirot’s audience – sitting in the outer darkness.«17 »ere was a momentary pause. Strangely enough, all indignation and all rancour had died down. Hercule Poirot held his audience under the spell of his personality. ey watched him, fascinated, as he began slowly to speak.«18 What follows is a lengthy speech, in some cases up to twelve pages which are not interrupted by any segment of extradiegetic narration, part monologue and part soliloquy: the detective may be addressing the other characters, yet he seems quite unaware of them, »addressing himself to space rather than to his listeners.«19 is is not to say that —————— 13 This is most evident in Three Act Tragedy, where Poirot matches wits with the actor Sir Charles Cartwright, who has planned his murder according to theatrical con- ventions, with a ›dress rehearsal‹ killing before the actual deed. The first chapter is preceded by stage credits, with Sir Charles announced as the »director«, and Poirot cheekily credited as the »illuminator« (Christie 1935, 9). The novel’s last chapter is entitled »Curtain« (as is Christie’s final Poirot novel). 14 Cf. York 2007, 35–47. 15 Wagoner 1986, 34. 16 Christie 1938, 170. 17 Christie 1935, 233. 18 Christie 1977, 235. 19 Christie 1935, 233. 51 the audience is completely silent throughout: in fact, several roles are assigned to them. e person eventually revealed as the murderer will initially voice denial and indignation before breaking down, over- whelmed by the sheer force of the narrative; suspects who are cleared of major allegations will admit to other shortcomings and white lies (and thus bear further testimony to Poirot’s superiority); the sidekick, on the other hand, honours his part of the bargain and provides tags and incredulous little questions, turning the presentation into a kind of inverted Socratic dialogue (as the interrogator does not reveal the speaker’s ignorance and limitations, but allows him to shine).20 is becomes obvious when one compiles some the utterances voiced by Hastings throughout Poirot’s reconstruction of e Mysterious Affair at Styles (1920):21 »What do you mean by deceiving me as you have done?« (179) »Yes, but why?« (180) »Yes, but –« (180) »Yes, yes,« I said impatiently.

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