First published in 1923, The Murder on the Links is Agatha Christie’s third novel and the second to feature her famous Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot. I remember it mostly as “the one where Hastings meets his future wife”.
I initially read this engaging and erudite book about the world’s predominant faiths many years ago, but I felt like a refresher, and, just like the first time around, I found myself humbled by the realisation of how much I didn’t know. In truth, it would probably take me a few more readings to fully absorb the dense layers of information presented here, but you’re still left with a decent understanding of the world’s main religions even if you can’t hold on to all the points.
There are worse ways to spend an evening in lockdown than watching Julia Roberts search for enlightenment in Italy, India and Bali.
It’s the month of the Kingdom of Denmark! Featuring my new discovery from the Faroe Islands, and an old Danish favourite.
This Will Ferrell comedy has no business running for over two hours, but it’s the kind of super-silly light fun that’s most welcome in these tense times. It also does a lot to fill the Eurovision-shaped hole for this Eurovision fan.
A handsome if somewhat slight period drama based on the life of Georgiana Cavendish, the Duchess of Devonshire and the great-great-great-great aunt of Diana, Princess of Wales.
Palme d’Or-winning Japanese drama about a surrogate family living on the margins of modern Tokyo, Shoplifters lulls you in with its gentle intimate rhythm, before dropping big heart-wrenching twists.
A crushingly sad documentary about the short and volatile life of Amy Winehouse, who burned bright before a downward spiral of bulimia, drugs and alcohol that led to her death at the age of 27.
Some books seem to possess a long-lasting hold over your imagination, and I just keep coming back to this deeply strange, macabre and lyrical novel. This must be the fourth or fifth time I re-visited it over the years, and somehow it managed to leave me with a different impression every time.
I made a mistake in my review of The Murder at the Vicarage: while it was Miss Marple’s full-length novel debut, it wasn’t her first appearance, rather it was in a 1927 short story called The Tuesday Night Club. Later, it became the first chapter in this entertaining collection of thirteen short stories, which together form a sort of episodic novel. Midway through the book, I realised that I have actually read it before, but the details of each story completely evaporated from my memory so it was like reading them anew.