And Then There Were None!

Once in a while, one comes across a book, that raises the hair on one's back. Sometimes it does so even without claiming to be a horror novella, or even a thriller. And in that lies its genius, for to claim to be something means one must conform to the basic expectations thought of that genre. But when it doesn't claim to be anything but itself, when it simply is itself, and yet it creates an atmosphere of being something else, of being one thing at one moment, and another at the other, that is the mark of a superb effort, of a magnificent art.
I have always had the highest regard for Agatha Christie's writings, be it her Poirot series, or her Miss Marple books, or her Tommy & Tuppence books. But it is in her unrelated books, books that could not be classified into any specific series that she shows her mastery. Be in 'Death Comes As The End' or 'Endless Night' or 'The Mysterious Mr. Quin', Christie does best when not required to be constrained by a singular character. With all due regard to her heroes and heroines, but I have loved her 'unclassifiables' more than her 'classifiables'.

But her crowning glory is without doubt 'And Then There Were None'. Those of you who have seen the television series 'Lost' will identify the similar underlying story of a group of people stranded on a deserted island and dropping dead one by one. The murderer is unknown, there is no way anyone other than the members of the group could be on the island, and so the blame is pinned on the group itself. One member is killing them all, and then there were none.
I had the ill sense to read this book in the night, in a nearly deserted house, with only one light room, the wind blowing ominously outside, and nothing but the sound of the owls hooting to keep me company. You can imagine how I must have felt as each character starts falling dead. Let me tell you: I WAS SCARED SHIT! Just one suggestion: Never, ever, read this book when alone at night!
The lucid narration and the beautiful descriptions that Christie provides are examples of a finesse most modern authors lack. Her built-up of atmosphere is retained right till the last page, even when the identity of the murderer is revealed. And that is Christie at her best, at her finest. Salutations to the Queen of Crime!