Revisiting Agatha Christie's "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd'

Some time ago, after consulting various reviews and analyses, I read Agatha Christie's renowned novel 'The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd', and was left feeling slightly underwhelmed. It had been described as one of the greatest novels ever published in the crime-fiction genre, but it did not leave any great impression with me. At the same time I sensed that my understanding and appreciation of the book might be altered if I read it again when I was subject to a different mood or changed personal circumstances.

My literary inclinations, in fiction, tend towards philosophical novels and realism, with richness of characterisations, and plentiful socio-economic context embroidered around them. As alluded to in the previous paragraph, my attitude towards more 'far-fetched' stories, and those which appear less 'literary' than my usual choices, even those with some psychological complexity, seems to vary according to my state of mind and environment at the time of reading. 

As I rather suspected, when I recently revisited this novel, my antennae and my senses were more receptive than when I first journeyed through its pages. A stark picture of the human condition emerged on this occasion, the unpalatable spectre of those travails, traumas and temptations which few, if any, of us are spared. The 'sparsity' of the writing only accentuates this feeling, and imbues the story with a modern, 'out-of-time' immediacy. 

In 2020, the book has had a pointed and vivid effect on me, the realisation of the foibles of human behaviour being more oppressive and acute when one's own personal situation and horizons are undergoing a period of uncertainty. The world can seem an unfriendly and daunting place when the harsh realities of life jump from the page and find their mark. The format of a novel can sometimes bring home disagreeable truths more cogently and trenchantly than any amount of unfocused ruminating.

As has been observed my some people, 'The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd' makes its impact on more than one level. The 'resolution', and the unmasking of the culprit, startle us on the first reading, but its other dimensions emerge on subsequent visits, when the reader indulges in a touch of 'reverse engineering', and is animated by realisation of the truth about the narrator. Being in possession of additional understanding and perspective strengthens our grasp of, and curiosity about, the motivations and outlook of the participants in the story.

The relative lack of historical and contextual 'padding' helps to strip away some preconceptions, and brings into enhanced focus the central human tragedies of the case. The tautness and 'minimalism' of the text, with its dearth of detailed characterisations and settings, leaves the reader to draw his or her own conclusions concerning the social factors which informed events in a broader sense, if indeed such factors can be said to have weighed onerously here, and how far we can empathise with the people involved. It is perhaps the case that the absence of context, and the 'universality' of the forces apparently at work, lead us to feel that we could ourselves be afflicted by similar weaknesses and insecurities to the character who perpetrates terrible deeds.

One thing which is difficult to overlook is my ambivalence about the Hercule Poirot character. On the one hand, certain of his traits I find irritating, such as his occasionally mildly condescending attitude towards others. Equally, his observational skills and powers of logic and analysis are things which we should admire and aspire to. The make-up of his personality certainly gives this novel some additional bite, and Poirot is impossible to ignore.

So this novel's 'glories' loomed larger on this second occasion, and the legacy, the 'after-taste', so to speak, will I suspect linger longer. That said, I now have a yearning to once more immerse myself in realism and practicality!  I might equally reflect on the possibility that imagination and psychology are important after all.

The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd - Agatha Christie

I must confess that detective fiction, or crime novels, have not featured that highly on my list of literary priorities over the years. However, the lure of Agatha Christie's work proved too strong, and I therefore recently sought out The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd, first published in 1926, and often cited as one of the most important detective novels of all time.

Almost as soon as I commenced reading the book, the thought struck me that its impact had been dulled by the fact that I had seen the British television adaption, starring David Suchet as Hercule Poirot, even if that adaptation differed from the novel in several respects. On the other hand, the small-screen version did assist me in my "visualizations".

The employment of a central character as "narrator" helps to give this story its distinctive feel. Again, the effect might be different, more pronounced, to those who are unfamiliar with the story in any format.

For me, the character of Hercule Poirot both irritates less and charms less when his idiosyncrasies emanate from the printed page. Even so, one can readily appreciate how Agatha Christie supposedly came to dislike the character, her own creation. I guess that modest, anodyne characters do not inspire strong emotions, or persuade people to read books. Perhaps the reader should develop a method of "tuning out" Poirot's less agreeable traits?

I should stress that my evaluation of The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd may have been coloured by the slant of my fiction-reading in recent times, which has tended to focus on meatier, "philosophical" fare, such as Hermann Hesse and Thomas Mann. So, when a sense of time and place, and historical perspective, seems largely absent, as with this novel, the natural reaction may be "what is all the fuss about?".  An adjustment has to be made, to accept things on their own terms, and to concentrate on the detective elements and the "human nature" angles.

The plot has some compelling elements. Suicide, blackmail, jealousy, resentment, avarice, deceit and of course murder.  The characters themselves are projected quite strongly in the novel, so that one acquires a reasonable understanding of their attributes and vices. The ending can be seen to fulfill more than one function. It surprises, especially to newcomers, but it is also left sufficiently enigmatic to leave some people wondering, and even proffering alternative, if sometimes fanciful, interpretations...

I did enjoy this book, but I wish earnestly that I had experienced it before I saw the television version. Its novelty and "shock" value was much diminished, I think. Repeated readings may alter my attitude, but it does surprise me a little that The Murder Of  Roger Ackroyd is revered to the extent that it is. I guess that opinions depend largely on the personal tastes and literary palate of the reader.

Despite the cleverness of the plot, and its gripping nature, I was not heavily engaged emotionally or spiritually. I was not left feeling inspired or emboldened, or moved by any sense of being uplifted or animated. I had finished the book, and that was pretty much that. It was an interesting and well-constructed novel, but its alleged status as a masterpiece was, I admit, lost on me, during this first encounter.

To my mind, there was little genuine examination of the motives behind the culprit's deeds, or of his underlying grievances, if he had any.  Also, the story is not really placed in any contemporaneous social context, in a way that could penetrate this reader's conscience and imagination. I would have recoiled at the callousness of the murderer, whilst simultaneously pondering any injustices or iniquities which might have been perceived to have fuelled the tragedy.

I think the message to me is either that I prefer pure crime stories to be audio-visual, or that glossy and atmospheric TV shows with lavish production values have tarnished or distorted my approach towards the crime novel genre....