Rated 5.0 / 5 from 1 log on Katalog
Finally had the time to swing to the first installment, having read the sixth first like an animal. It’s even better. Less of a whodunnit, less about who killed whom—there are mysteries, interwoven stories that are woven through more or less plausibly, by geography more than anything. Thats not the point. Bless her, Atkinson somehow manages to make it unimportant who killed whom, you care about all of them, deranged maniacs all, somehow unbearably wretched and loveable. Not a single protagonist has been untarnished, not a single villain not given at least one solitary bit of light. And, damn, Atkinson doesnt pull any punches in this one. There are no sacred cows here, and if you’re looking for a light Poirot read, you won’t find it here. No, it’s all human weakness about sex and life and—Yeah. No spoilers. But it’s not chill, especially when written by such a remarkably clear language. Atkinsons prose is light and elegant, flows into you and through you like a clear spring, and makes you feel what her cast of maniacs feel, every drop of humanity. It’s not exaggerated either, not player up for effect. I would be reading a nice enough passage and she’d get me with one, two deranged sentences and Id just stop, like I was slapped. Then again, maybe it hit me hard because it mostly has to do with parents and children, and im at a stage of life where that’s sort of the theme of the day. Have children or not, you think about it. And reading this book has left me both emboldened to have them—Christ, im alright compared to some—and never ever bring a child into this horror.
