Hercule Poirot and Mrs. Christie’s strange disappearance

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In 1920, in the aftermath of World War I, Hercule Poirot, a Belgian refugee, spent pleasant vacations in a villa next to his friend Emily Inglethorp. It was there that he became acquainted with an Emily guest, Arthur Hastings, a young man in his 30s who had been on the battlefield, from whom he left as a colonel with honor and merit, and full of that exquisite education that had been inculcated in him. demanding college of Eton during adolescence. The sudden and strange murder of Mrs. Inglethorp triggered a literary phenomenon that even today, after a century, still fascinates the followers of the work of a lady named Agatha Mary Clarissa Christie, married Lady Mallowan, born with the nickname of Miller in Torquay, in Devon, England, on September 15, 1890, that is, she, too, commemorating, in her case, 130 years of existence had not been given the absolutely natural fact of having died in the meantime, at the age of 85, in her home of Winterbrook, Wallingford, Oxfordshire, and find themselves now, in the state that can be estimated, about seven feet below the ground that surrounds the church of St. Mary in Cholsey.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles, published in the United Kingdom by The Bodley Heat, and almost simultaneously in the United States by John Lane, was an immediate success. Truth be told, and anyone who messes with Hercule risks seeing his lies exposed in a very unpleasant way in a final collective scene in which, generally, all the surviving characters of his adventures participate, is that The Mysterious Affair at Styles started by sprout in the pages of The Times through weekly episodes that were making the mouth watering readers with the accurate races of the Belgian egg-headed detective and always delicately dressed who put his mustaches rolled into the sky at the expense of melted wax. The events were being described in detail and the newspaper gave itself the luxury of also publishing maps of the interior and exterior of the house so that nothing escaped the reader’s police intuition, also quickly transformed into an investigator, determined to unravel the reasons for the crime and the identity of the murderer.

Hercule Poirot became a monster even for Agatha herself, something that had previously happened to_Arthur Conan Doyle and his Sherlock Holmes. In fact, Mrs. Christie did not hide Doyle’s influence: it was not by chance that she offered the Belgian a partner like Hastings, an almost mutatis mutandis version of Dr. Watson, even because of the way he becomes the faithful repository of his companion’s exploits, keeping himself conveniently in the shadow of his immeasurable intelligence and even willing to make a fool of himself so that that intelligence shines with greater intensity in the rotating mechanics of the famous gray cellulites. In other words, Watson and Hastings are fine with each other, although the first appeared more than thirty years before the second.

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