This Miss Marple novel has many Christie tropes that I usually find very entertaining, among them a bickering family where everyone has a motive to bump off the detestable patriarch in charge, and murders that follow a nursery rhyme. On the whole though, the book just wasn’t as satisfying as some of its parts.
This solid Poirot mystery has the prettiest title of all Christie novels, which I didn’t realise was borrowed from an equally beautiful passage from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.
This novel from the Australian best-selling author is by no means a disaster, but it’s fair to say that it truly madly tested my patience. There’s an excellent 300-page book in there somewhere, it’s just a shame about the other 200 pages.