Reviewing "Absent in the Spring" by Agatha Christie

Absent in the Spring is one of the six novels Agatha Christie wrote under the nom de plume of “Mary Westmacott.” While it’s arguable that some of the books Christie wrote under her own name aren’t mysteries, all of the ones I’ve read (and I’ve read quite a few) have been either mysteries, thrillers, or had some sort of puzzle to solve.

This novel shares many characteristics of a usual Christie mystery: an exotic location, some rather stereotypical foreign characters contrasted with equally stereotypical, O-So-Very-British ones, and prose that follows the inner monologue of the focus character.

Yet this novel is very different. What’s fun about reading Christie is that her style is very unique—always engaging, with vivid characters and dramatic plots—but she also experiments with things: writing in first and third person, having the narrator be omniscient in one book, and unreliable in the next, allowing the protagonist to be the villain, and manipulating well-known tropes to misdirect the reader and lead up to a surprising conclusion. In Absent in the Spring, she departs from juggling various motives and storylines and focuses on a small, quiet piece. I'm not sure I would have enjoyed it as much if I hadn't known Mary Westmacott's true identity, but the fact that Christie used a false name for this novel (which focuses on identity) added another facet to my enjoyment of it.

K.K. Beck’s Iris Cooper Mysteries

Iris Cooper is the unflappable flapper, pretty coed sleuth, and protagonist narrator of three novels by K.K. Beck: Death in a Deck Chair, Murder in a Mummy Case, and Peril Under the Palms. When we first meet Iris, she’s just finished traveling around the world with her Aunt Hermione.

Whatever exotic experiences she had on her trip, however, is nothing compared to the adventure that awaits on the trip home. Cruising back to America, Iris encounters a bevy of characters of all ages, nationalities, and personalities. And, as the title Death in a Deck Chair suggests, not all of these characters survive. What unfolds is a sort of frothy whodunnit reminiscent of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express.

Thoughts on Longinus' "On the Sublime"

It is natural to us to feel our souls lifted up by the true Sublime, and conceiving a sort of generous exultation to be filled with joy and pride, as though we had ourselves originated the ideas which we read.

Though I’ve read quite a bit of ancient Greek/Roman literature, I don’t think I’d read anything by Longinus until this year. His On Good Writing was a suggestion on my Goodreads account, and when I couldn’t find that particular book in either a free e-book or at my local library (I don’t usually purchase books by authors I’ve never read before), I settled for one I did find: a free Kindle book called On the Sublime.

As it turns out, “Longinus” is sort of a placeholder in the author’s byline, as scholars aren’t really sure who wrote this book. Whoever the author was, the book was written in Greek during the first century A.D. (the date is more certain as the work was a reaction against another book of that time), and references other famous works and writers of Classical thought, including Plato, Homer, and Sappho.

Read This, Not That: “With the Night Mail” vs. “The Clipper of the Clouds”

Although Rudyard Kipling’s With the Night Mail: A Story of 3000 A.D. would be a great resource for anyone researching the Steampunk genre, I wouldn’t recommend reading it for any other purpose.

Why?

Because there isn’t really much of a story. There are a few vague characters, the narrator is nameless and devoid of personality, the plot is nearly nonexistent, and the point is completely lost.

This book is entirely forgettable. I should know: I actually read this twice because I’d forgotten I’d read it the first time, and the only reason I realized I’d read it before was because I had highlighted a Oh So Very Steampunk Passage of the text in my e-reader copy.

The bare bones of the story is that the Nameless Narrator is a news correspondent who is shadowing the daily (that is, nightly) workings of an airship. Yes, according to Kipling, dirigible-type aircraft are the mode of transportation of the future. Global travel is so easy that the intertwining of nations has necessitated a universal language so the airships can communicate with one another. The airships run on electricity and some sort of semiprecious gem power. Airplanes, called “’planes” exist as well, but are considered outmoded and unfashionable.