The Mystery of the Blue Train by Agatha Christie – Book Review

A lesser-known train murder mystery from the Queen of Crime, The Mystery of the Blue Train may not occupy the same rarefied class as Murder on the Orient Express, and Christie herself apparently hated writing it. I thought it was hardly her best, but still a decent enough read.

In her autobiography (which is still on my reading list), Christie described this novel as driven by the necessity to write another book and make some money, and singled it out as the moment when her writing switched from an amateur pastime to a profession you do even when you don’t particularly want to. In addition, Christie’s personal life was in a pretty dark place at the time of writing, so her animosity is not surprising.

The story revolves around the murder of Ruth Kettering, the daughter of American millionaire Rufus Van Aldin. Before she departs for Riviera on the Blue Train, Ruth’s father finally convinces her to divorce her no-good cheating husband Derek, whose latest mistress is an opportunistic French dancer known as Mirelle. In an attempt to raise Ruth’s spirits, Van Aldin also gives his daughter a fabulous gift of the Heart of Fire, a precious ruby that once adorned the crown of the Tsars.

When Ruth is found dead in her train compartment upon arrival in Nice, the Heart of Fire is nowhere to be found. The two main suspects are Ruth’s estranged husband Derek, who stands to inherit a fortune he’d otherwise lose in divorce, and Ruth’s old flame Comte de la Roche, a shady individual suspected of stealing the ruby. A particularly gruesome feature of the murder is Ruth’s face, which was disfigured beyond recognition by the culprit – why the unnecessary violence when the identity of the victim is beyond any doubt? Fortunately, Hercule Poirot happens to be a passenger on the Blue Train, and is persuaded by Van Aldin to take on the case.

Also travelling on the Blue Train is a woman named Katherine Grey, who comes into an inheritance in her thirties after spending her entire life in the small English village of St Mary Mead (the name made me jump with excitement at the thought of a possible Miss Marple crossover, which sadly didn’t come to pass). Now free to spend money on fashionable clothes and travel, Katherine finally tastes some excitement. She gets drawn into the mystery of Ruth’s murder, and arouses romantic interest from both Derek Kettering and Van Aldin’s secretary Major Knighton.

Forced by life circumstances into a role of an observer and listener, and noticed for her striking grey eyes, Katherine is the most charming of the novel’s overcrowded supporting cast. Derek is easily recognisable as one of Christie’s many dashing rogues, but he’s a fun character as you never know where exactly he’ll land: saved by love for a good woman, or breaking Katherine’s heart. It’s just a shame that both characters and their relationship get severely shortchanged, simply because there are too many other characters to juggle. Some of them are entertaining; I especially liked Lenox, the brutally forthright daughter of Lady Tamplin, a cousin of Katherine’s who jumps to renew their acquaintance after Katherine inherits a juicy sum. Other characters, like Mirelle the French femme fatale, really don’t rise above stereotypes.

Speaking of stereotypes, Hercule Poirot himself comes off as rather more cartoonish than usual here. Granted, the little Belgian always had an exaggerated side to him, with his well-groomed moustache, raging ego and preening and all, but his portrayal usually has a fine balance that’s somehow missing in this novel. Even the great Poirot is not all that memorable here.

The plot takes a while to get going, but the mystery is fairly solid, with twists and turns I did not anticipate. I did manage to guess the murderer early on, however that wasn’t due to any real detective ingenuity on my part. It’s just that, as a long-time Christie reader, you can sometimes zero in on a seemingly innocuous remark that’s not all it seems to be on the surface, and go ah-ha.

I’d certainly rank The Mystery of the Blue Train as a lesser Christie, but compared to a true stinker like The Big Four it certainly doesn’t deserve to be disowned by its author.