(I feel sorry for Hastings, because Christie clearly understands dramatic irony and is determined to wring as much from this man as she possibly can.) It’s Hastings who essentially gets Poirot involved in this case, singing his praises both to the reader and to John Cavendish. In addition to offering such a stark contrast in wits and temperament, Hastings is full of admiration for Poirot, even if he occasionally declares that Poirot is obviously getting old and past his prime as a detective. Still, as way of introduction to Hercule Poirot, Hastings is effective. Poirot repeatedly insults Hastings using backhanded compliments, and this flies right over Hastings’ head. His attitude towards women prevents him from reliably evaluating whether they could be the murderer. Christie showcases this perfectly in this, their debut: Hastings, fancying himself every bit the detective, jumps to conclusions and allows Poirot to lead him down blind alleys of thought. He’s probably iconic because he is the Dr Watson to Poirot’s Sherlock Holmes Hastings is a bit of dolt, and when present, he serves as a perfect foil to Poirot’s methodical, analytical nature. Captain Hastings is the most famous narrator of Poirot’s cases, even though (much to my surprise) he actually narrates few of the novels.
Much of one’s opinion of the book rests upon one’s opinion of the narrator.
Nevertheless, it is also much rougher and undeniably an early work, with much looser plotting and characterization than some of the books that come afterwards. It is at once classic Christie with so many of the nascent attributes that would become hallmarks of Poirot’s career.
So I thought I should start again from the beginning, with his debut in The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Poirot is my favourite fictional detective. It has been ages since I read a Poirot novel.
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