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There's something to be said for a short, cracking page-turner of a mystery of a mystery that kept at least this reader guessing until the very end. Of course, the characters are one-dimensional, and while I was going to criticize this, to some extent the fact that everyone acts so improbably (surely there was a less complicated way to commit the crime) requires stereotypical characters whose motives are relatively opaque. Similarly, Poirot's manipulation of his audience feels a bit theatrical and over-the-top, but unlike Sherlock Holmes, Poirot is a delightful caricature on the page, not a flesh-and-blood human being. Kudos to David Suchet, still in my mind the definitive Poirot, of adding depth and complexity to the character on screen.

Trigger warning: There is some brief, casual antisemitism regarding one of the the characters. While it is true that the narrative is in the first person, it's asserted in an unchallenged way as a statement of fact. Again, a sobering reminder of how common this was in genre fiction in the 20th century (I also encountered it in a Georgette Heyer, but Christie's work, unlike Heyer's was published before the Second World War, but is still inexcusable).

Regardless, if I hadn't been given this in a blind book exchange, I probably wouldn't have read it and I'm very glad I did.