Book #63 of 2024:
Elephants Can Remember by Agatha Christie (Hercule Poirot #42)
This is the last Hercule Poirot novel that Agatha Christie wrote, although it would be followed in publication by Curtain, which she’d completed decades earlier and kept locked away in a vault. It’s an odd story, with a rather obvious twist and a convoluted initial premise: the detective’s friend and author stand-in Ariadne Oliver is reminded by a stranger at a party that her goddaughter’s parents were killed years ago in an apparent murder-suicide that was never officially resolved. (They were found shot dead with the gun nearby, but the police couldn’t determine who died first or whether either was the shooter at all.) That setup adds some slight personal stakes to the ensuing investigation… but at the cost of making the woman the type of person who doesn’t seem to care when her friends die! She apparently didn’t even bother checking in on the girl after reading about the event in the newspaper.
Still, she promises to finally look into the matter now, and swiftly recruits Poirot to join her. It’s a cold case by this point, and the protagonists proceed by tracking down and questioning witnesses, whose memories prove not as reliable as the titular pachyderms. There are a lot of references to previous mysteries that the two have solved together, which is a little fun for loyal readers, but isn’t particularly well-integrated into the plot. Emphasizing the minimal continuity of the series also feels like a misstep, given how many such details wind up contradicting one another, of course. Even from what’s established in this book alone, good luck to anyone trying to sort out the timeline of how long the various characters have known each other! And as usual for this writer, there are plenty of regrettable social attitudes on display throughout, from misconceptions about mental health to disdains of youth and liberal values to the suggestion that adopted relations are somehow inauthentic.
Against that backdrop, the letdown of a conclusion registers as even weaker. I do overall enjoy the old Belgian and Mrs. Oliver (who’s less insightful but somewhat like Miss Marple in her general approach), but this is far from Christie’s best showcase for either of them.
★★☆☆☆
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