Ah, beginnings. This first Agatha Christie novel feels more like a sketch than a painting—it’s an Agatha Christie novel but not everything is there yet. Some of the writing is a little forced, the characters are thin or extreme, and there is a lot of magical hand waving to try and distract from an overly complicated plot. Then there’s Hastings—the outsider, reader stand-in and human misdirection machine—who becomes quite tiresome. How can Hastings hold Poirot in the highest esteem when the novel begins but immediately doubt everything he says—almost before he says it. However, meeting Hercule Poirot is worth the bother of the rest of the novel. Indefatigable and charming, Poirot is a delight and gives this novel the breath it needs—opening the windows on this stuffy house of a mystery.