by Agatha Christie
Agatha Christie, queen of mystery, on race relations circa 1935:
“It was one of those enchanted evenings when every word and confidence exchanged seemed to reveal a bond of sympathy and shared tastes. … They disliked loud voices, noisy restaurants and negroes.”
Sigh. My other complaint with Death in the Clouds is that, once again, Christie’s plot hinges on the failure of people to recognize, at close quarters, someone they really ought to recognize. Otherwise, Clouds is solid Agatha: intricately plotted, clever red herrings and, of course, the peerless Hercule Poirot.
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