I think one of the things that makes Agatha Christie such a good author is the way she plays on the sympathies we may have with each character.
They're also some really interesting personalities. It's a little confusing to get to grips with all of the different characters at first, but they all have very defined and distinct personalities, so it gets a lot easier as the story progresses. It's a recipe for success, and it's carried off beautifully. Could it be the son, desperate for money? Or the widow, fifty years younger than her husband? Or maybe it's the sister of the man's first wife, who has always resented him? Or perhaps, it could be somebody else. Old Aristide Leonides is poisoned, and criminologist Charles Hayward is approached by the deceased's granddaughter to figure out who did it. The plot of Crooked House is that of a classic murder mystery. However, what I love most about Christie's novels, and that was present here, was all the little intricacies of the plot that led to a dramatic reveal. The feel of the novel was light but mysterious, the characters were intriguing, and the plot twists were thick and fast. Reading the novel again reminded me just how much I'd loved the story. I've had the book on my kindle for a while, but by the time I came round to read it I'd actually forgotten all the details of the story, including the culprit. There was an adaptation of this novel televised a few years ago, which I watched and absolutely loved. I've read so many of her novels, but my reading just keeps expanding. I've said it a million times and I'll say it again here: I'm an enormous fan of Agatha Christie. And he's certain that in a crooked house such as Three Gables, no one's on the level. But criminologist Charles Hayward is casting his own doubts on the innocence of the entire Leonides brood. In fact, suspicion has already fallen on his luscious widow, a cunning beauty fifty years his junior, set to inherit a sizeable fortune, and rumored to be carrying on with a strapping young tutor comfortably ensconced in the family estate. In the sprawling, half-timbered mansion in the affluent suburb of Swinly Dean, Aristide Leonides lies dead from barbiturate poisoning.
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