Agatha Christie and Jealousy: "The Edge"

Despite my appreciation of Agatha Christie's Harley Quin, I can't say I enjoy all his stories--though Christie consider Harley Quin and Mr. Satterthwaite her favorite characters. Not all the stories are mysteries and many of them don't end with a HEA (Happily Ever After). Generally, I find a satisfactory HEA far more pleasurable than a sad ending--not only for the obvious reason but because I consider a satisfactory HEA difficult to write and therefore impressive to read. But I appreciate that Christie wanted to give all sides of the romance equation. 

Like Sayers, one part of love that Christie delineates quite well is jealousy. At least the first two stories in the Harley Quin collection revolve around jealousy--jealousy that could potentially ruin a new marriage and jealousy that does in fact destroy a relationship.

However, I consider the darkest Christie story that tackles jealousy to be "The Edge," a non-Harley Quin story in The Harlequin Tea Set. 

What is remarkable about the story is that Christie gives a fairly nuanced view of a character who is not evil and even, arguably, justified in her behaviors. But her knowledge of her rival's love affair morphs into self-righteousness. Her self-belief in her restraint gets threaded through by a nasty undercurrent of self-satisfaction. In the end, she drives her rival to kill herself and in the process, her own self-identity. She can no longer see herself as a long-suffering saint who is doing the best for everyone when she became the cruel harasser of a victim. 

Christie has not always been credited for the strength and depth of her characters. She should be. She uses a light touch to deliver small excellent portraits. And her understanding of human nature is clear and honest.

Will They Last? Couples in Hercule Poirot's Christmas

Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot's Christmas has several distinct and surprisingly functional couples:

Alfred & Lydia: Alfred is the somewhat high-strung "good" son married to Lydia, the cool and aloof wife. She creates miniature gardens, a revealing characterization (not simply a convenient one to the mystery). Although Lydia is tired of living in her father-in-law's home, she is intensely loyal to Alfred--without coming across as even slightly pressured or out of control (Christie created a similar wife, Nadine, in Appointment with Death). Alfred is torn by his commitments to his unkind father and his love for his wife. He hopes his wife will understand his decisions since he relies on her good sense and advice. 

David & Hilda: David, another son, is the musician/dreamer, who idealizes his dead mother. He perceives his mother almost entirely as the victim of his father, a characterization that others refute. Hilda, his wife, is a kind of mother-earth figure: stolid, preternaturally calm, and honest. She worries for David and takes steps to help him make peace with the past--though she is too wise to nag or bully him towards that end. She balances his nervy, somewhat high-minded personality with a highly moral and firm personality of her own. 

George & Magdalene: George, another son, is an MP and quite hilariously acts that way. Magdalene is his not entirely reliable and shallow wife who has got into trouble through overspending herself into debt. They "pompous" their way through the book as they fib and prevaricate with others and lie to each other. They are pitch-perfect in their reactions. (The television versions are also very funny.)

*Spoilers*

All of the couples are left standing at the end. Even better, Christie leaves the marriages intact. That is, she doesn't determine that one marriage deserves more consideration than another as being the "right" type of marriage. Even George and Magdalene, despite their problems, get along okay. 

And I entirely agree with her! "Good" marriages are not determined by "proper" behaviors but by whether the people within the marriage can manage that particular marriage's idiosyncratic nature. 

Martin and Osa Johnson

A new couple emerges at the end of the book: Stephen, an illegitimate son, and Pilar, a woman pretending to be the granddaughter of the murdered man. They are quite similar in interests--though not in personality--to Despard and Rhoda from The Pale Horse. That is, although Stephen is more affable than Despard and Pilar is more confrontational than Rhoda, both prefer to leave England and go somewhere warm. They are explorers and travelers, not homebodies. 

The power of Christie is that she creates Alfred & Lydia, thorough homebodies, without apology, and Stephen and Pilar, adventurers, without apology. 

Stephen and Pilar will work out too.

Great Agatha Christie Couple: We Could Elope Anyway

I remark in an earlier post:

Christie was willing to allow (in a very English "people are people" way) that every relationship has its own vibe, which vibe isn't always fully anticipated. Sometimes the good guy gets the good gal (4:50 to Paddington). Sometimes the adventurous guy gets the adventurous gal (Cards on the Table). Sometimes a tough strident woman gets a dreamer (Hercule Poirot's Christmas). Sometimes a passionate couple realize that they are actually also friends (Moving Finger). Sometimes the bad husband gets his wife back (Mysterious Affair at Styles). Sometimes the fiery exuberant gal really does want the limp, waffling idiot (Sittaford Mystery). Sometimes the girl-in-love-with-the-aloof-man learns to love someone more compassionate and real (Sad Cypress). Sometimes the taciturn brute gets the matter-of-fact Wren (Taken at the Flood). And sometimes the rogue gets the princess.

When readers feel it necessary to rank authors--Heyer against Sayers, Christie against Marsh, etc.--Christie often comes in for "oh, sure, she was great at mysteries but as for character development..."

The criticism is unfair. Like great singers, great ice skaters, and great dancers, Christie doesn't call attention to her skill. Her character development isn't belabored--the ease with which she creates character is not always appreciated. 

Christie was quite adept at the strong-willed straightforward gal who gets the Everyman guy. 

An early Poirot episode is a great example of the possibilities that lie within Christie texts. The episode is also an echo of Christie's approach to character development: lightly done without drawing too much attention to its purpose. 

The episode is "The Dream" in which the victim's daughter wants to elope with a man in the office. Then, her father dies. But the man shows up anyway, ready to go! He is rather like Brian from 9:50 from Paddington: a decent, action-oriented guy who is a little at a loss in peacetime, without clear direction. But when he needs to act, he acts! He tackles the villain! And he and his fiancee agree to elope anyway. 

In the episode, the couple are played by Joely Richardson and Martin Wenner.
 

Golden Girls' Couples: Rose & Miles

In real life, Rose would have remarried within a few years of her husband's death. 

She loved Charlie. She loved being married. She's a comfortable woman who attracts with little effort the kind of men who also want to get married again (the anti-Monks). She corresponds quite well to Christie's description in The Body in the Library of Addie Jefferson:

"She's the kind of woman," said Miss Marple, "that everyone likes. The kind of woman that could go on getting married again and again. I don't mean a man's woman--that's quite different." 

Consequently, unlike with Blanche and Dorothy, Rose's continual singlehood is not entirely realistic. Sitcoms falter on this edge: the same people in the same location go through stuff and joke about it. Nobody moves on or marries. Nobody gets their own place. Permanent lock-down. And it's not entirely believable.

Intelligently, the writers eventually give Rose an ongoing, steady boyfriend, Miles, played by the excellent Harold Gould. 

Harold Gould shows up early in Season 1 as a different character, Arnie, with a similar personality and back-story to the later Miles (aside from the surreal witness protection plot). It's a great example of the needs of chemistry--the actors work well together--outweighing the issue of continuity. He was the right guy to bring back as the "steady."  

Work Wives in Criminal Games

French, Labarthe, Bellavoir

The most fantastically cool and lovely aspect of Criminal Games--other than the honest appreciation of Agatha Christie's work--is how Alice Avril and Marlène Leroy circle Swan Lawrence as his work wives. 

In the initial episodes, which appear in the Little Murders of Agatha Christie, Avril is presented as the possible love interest, or at least the crazy investigator who creates chaos in the tidy life the main investigator believes he prefers. Marlene is his secretary with the unrequited crush. 

However, as the seasons unwind, Avril and Marlene form a coterie with Swan that he relies on even as he complains. 

He is rather like Ben Miller's character on Death in Paradise, who complains about everything while being intensely invested in his compatriots, who provide him with a support he's never had before (Miller's character was the "weird" guy back in Britain--on Saint-Marie, everybody is weird). 

In Death in Paradise, despite the flirtation between Poole and Camille, the relationships are fundamentally friendships. Likewise, the remarkable connection between Watson and Sherlock on Elementary is a deep and abiding friendship. 

What makes Avril and Marlene "work wives" is that the sexual fizzle is always there. Swan is deeply appreciative of Marlene's lovely appearance even as he is equally concerned with her safety and emotional ballast. He is enchanted and frustrated by Avril. In response, they look after him, consult him, rebuke him, back him, flirt with him, and help him solve cases!

Their mutual attraction in no way undermines Swan's actual intimate relationships or his plan to propose to a woman (who dies). 

It's very French. I'm not sure the Brits or Americans can pull it off. 

As a viewing option, it is touching and hilarious and loads of fun! It is always pleasing to watch a show where the leads seem to get a huge kick out of their roles.

 

Lovable Fools: Arthur Hastings

"Fool" does, to an extent, depend on the definition. As defined on Votaries, the fool can sometimes be very wise. Overall, the fool seems to have a deep capacity for trust, which makes the fool unfortunately vulnerable to hucksters and manipulators.

Agatha Christie's Poirot is paired to the clueless Arthur Hastings in the early short stories and novels. Although the clueless sidekick is a trope of mysteries, Hastings--even by mystery standards--has always been considered remarkably dumb. (Archie Goodwin is considered by many to be the best of the sidekicks, being a detective in his own right; both Archie and Nero hold detective licenses through the State of New York.) Christie eventually dropped Hastings though he shows up in Poirot's final novel (written years earlier).

In the BBC series, Hugh Fraser as Hastings not only has hobbies (cars, photography) and the quiet habit of correcting Poirot's English (exchanges decided on by Suchet and Fraser) and fantastic clothes but the same gentle nature that graces the character in the book.

Hastings, for instance, doesn't suspect his wife-to-be, Bella, of being a possible murderer. In the book, she is a twin and not involved. But she is a legitimate suspect. The movie combines the sisters--and Hastings still has no idea. But the movie brings home the "fool" aspect of Hastings as refined above. Bella chooses Hastings at the end since she would rather be with a good man who doesn't suspect deceit than a man (her prior lover) who is constantly waffling and suffering because he is forever plunging himself into ethical quagmires and pulling other people in as well. 

The same quality that makes the fool vulnerable makes him lovable.   

Romance Writing Problem: Dreadful Rhetoric and Lazy Writing

Sometimes the taciturn brute gets the matter-of-fact Wren. This is the ending of Taken At the Flood (Agatha Christie novel) in which the Wren turns out to be a kind of Watson figure from BBC Sherlock. She likes danger.

The taciturn brute who gets the matter-of-fact Wren is one reason "toxic masculinity" is such a vile phrase. Imagine if "toxic" was attached to any other generalized noun, such as "femininity" or "animal lovers" or "ballet dancers" or "crossing guards" or "classical music listeners."

The phrase usually refers to men of a certain type: big, gruff, supposedly non-emotional, supposedly overbearing and aggressive, supposedly trained to only like certain occupations and sports, supposedly adverse to "correct-thinking" politics. 

Brennan challenges Sweets' assumptions about

Booth's emotions.

It isn't that one can never object to any of those traits/behaviors. One can also object to "flighty" and "frivolous" and "tearful" (characteristics sometimes applied to women). The problem is (1) people are more complicated than any of these adjectives/traits (I know many "manly men" who enjoy discussing their feelings--and many "flighty women" who have trenchant insights about people) and (2) there is nothing inherently evil/negative about any of the traits I have listed. 

American culture is rapidly heading into "thought police" territory--but we haven't quite reached it yet. (Though we do seem to have descended into high school, name-calling territory.) What people do with their personality traits still matters. 

Billy Melrose always treats Amanda with

complete courtesy even when she is off-topic.

From the perspective of the romance, sometimes people fall in love with the taciturn brute. And sometimes they fall in love with the flighty chick.

The true lesson of romance is not "only acceptable people get to fall in love." The true lesson of romance is "there's somebody out there for everyone."

So--SHAME ON YOU, ROMANCE WRITERS, WHO USE SUCH RHETORIC WITHOUT IRONY IN YOUR NOVELS! You aren't writing romances; you are writing dreadful political polemics. And you are falling back on labels to avoid the harder task of characterization. Lazy writing.

Remember the lessons of the "divine Miss M."