The Murder at the Vicarage

The Murder at the Vicarage (1930) Agatha Christie (Miss Marple)

I was listening to Read or Dead and they were talking about Agatha Christie’s first book, which had been published in 1920–100 years earlier, and one of them mentioned her being a comfort read, and I was immediately, “YES. I need to re-read Miss Marple. THAT is what my brain needs right now.”

This story is told from the POV of the vicar, and older man, with a younger wife, who does his best for his village.

I felt rather remorseful when he had gone for not liking him better. These irrational likes and dislikes that one takes to people are, I am sure, very unChristian.

‘I was thinking,’ I said, ‘that when my time comes, I should be sorry if the only plea I had to offer was that of justice. Because it might mean that only justice would be meted out to me…’

We are introduced to Miss Marple here:

Miss Marple is a white-haired old lady with a gentle, appealing manner – Miss Wetherby is a mixture of vinegar and gush. Of the two Miss Marple is much the more dangerous.

I wonder if Agatha Christie had any idea when she was writing this book, that she would be creating such an iconic character.

Miss Marple always sees everything. Gardening is as good as a smoke screen, and the habit of observing birds through powerful glasses can always be turned to account.

‘My dear young man, you underestimate the detective instinct of village life. In St Mary Mead everyone knows your most intimate affairs. There is no detective in England equal to a spinster lady of uncertain age with plenty of time on her hands.’

I was correct, in that although we don’t spent much of the story with Miss Marple, this is still precisely the antidote to the world my brain was needing.

Publisher: William Morrow Paperbacks
Rating: 7.5/10

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