Vera took the words out of his mouth.
‘And yet it seems so incredible!’
Philip Lombard made a grimace.
‘The whole thing’s incredible!’
(Chapter 4)
‘It’s like some awful dream. I keep feeling that things like this can’t happen!’
(The common reaction of characters caught up in any Christie murder mystery)
Rogers wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He said hoarsely:
‘It’s like a bad dream, that’s what it is.’
(Chapter 10, section 2)
It’s mad – but so’s everything else.
(Blore, Chapter 11, section 5)
‘There are five of us here in this room. One of us is a murderer. The position is fraught with grave danger. Everything must be done in order to safeguard the four of us who are innocent.’
(Judge Wargrave, Chapter 12, section 4)
Christie’s experimentation
You’ve got to admire Christie for continually stretching and experimenting with the format of the detective story: the unreliable narrator, the serial killer who manages to pin the blame on someone else, a murder on a train marooned in a snowdrift, at a remote archaeological dig, on a steamship down the Nile, murders committed some time ago which nobody even realised were murders, and so on… she was continually experimenting with the basic formula and inventing new variations.
‘And Then There Were None’ is another of these experiments, one of her most radical, and so successful that it went on to become the world’s best-selling mystery novel. In fact, with over 100 million copies sold, it is one of the best-selling books of all time (Wikipedia).
Setup
All over England eight apparently unrelated people receive invitations to come and stay the weekend at a new house built on Soldier Island off the coast of Devon. The invitations are a bit obscure and there are rumours in the media about who actually owns the island and therefore has invited them. Some people believe the story that it’s been bought by Miss Gabrielle Turl, the Hollywood film star. Others think it’s been bought by a society Lord. Still others claim it had been purchased by the Admiralty with a view to carrying out some hush-hush experiments.
And each invitation is signed by a different person – Mr Justice Walgrave’s invitation is signed by Lady Constance Culmington, Vera’s came from a Una Nancy Owen, Blore’s from U.N.O., others from other signatories…
In other words, precisely who invited these disparate strangers to take trains or cars and arrive at the fishing port of Sticklehaven – and why, and what, if anything, they have in common – all this is made deliberately obscure and unsettling right from the start.
Also new and experimental is the way Christie lets us into the thoughts of each of these guests as they pack for the trip, sit on their trains or drive their cars, meet up at Oakbridge station, identify themselves and are driven in pre-booked taxis to the fishing village of Sticklehaven, are ferried across to the island, are met by the husband and wife team of servants (Mr and Mrs Rogers), and unpack their bags in their rooms.
Some of them seem to know more than others. Several of them seem to have been assigned jobs or tasks to perform while on the island (for example, Philip Lombard). One or two seem to be adopting fake identities (William Blore). But all the little sections in which we share the guests’ thoughts are deliberately brief and allusive, creating a sense of mystery and expectation which, of course, the new 300 or so pages of the book are going to deepen and intensify before we get to the Final Explanation.
(Incidentally, these short snippets at the start of the book are all numbered to separate them, thus establishing the convention, for this novel, that each chapter is divided into a handful of shorter, numbered sections.)
Cast
- Dr Armstrong – successful physician uneasily hiding something bad in his past
- Mr Blore – who adopts the fake identity of a William Davis from South Africa – in reality an ex-police inspector who now runs a detective agency in Plymouth – ‘Blore spoke in his hearty bullying official manner’
- Miss Emily Brent – ‘sat very upright as was her custom. She was sixty-five’
- Vera Claythorne – games mistress in a third-class private school, haunted by the memory of a boy who drowned while in her care, a ‘good healthy sensible girl’
- Philip Lombard – paid £100 to come to the island by an Isaac Morris – ‘There was something of the panther about him altogether. A beast of prey – pleasant to the eye’
- General Macarthur –
- Anthony ‘Tony’ Marston – Norse god of a man, ‘his six feet of well-proportioned body, his crisp hair, tanned face, and intensely blue eyes’ – put up to visiting by a friend named ‘Badger’: ‘What could old Badger have been thinking about to let him in for this?’
- Mr Justice Wargrave – lately retired from the bench, ‘that frog-like face, that tortoise-like neck, that hunched up attitude – yes and those pale shrewd little eyes’
- Mr Rogers – husband and wife servants hired specially for the weekend – ‘a tall lank man, grey-haired and very respectable’
- Mrs Rogers – ‘had a flat monotonous voice. Vera looked at her curiously. What a white bloodless ghost of a woman! Very respectable-looking, with her hair dragged back from her face and her black dress. Queer light eyes that shifted the whole time from place to place’
- Mr Isaac Morris – Lombard was commissioned to attend the weekend by this Morris, who is described in repellently antisemitic tropes
- Fred Narracott – the ferryman, paid to meet and greet and then ferry the guests across to the island – he only knows that the people paying for everything are a Mr and Mrs Owen, though he’s never seen them
The poem
When the guests get to their bedrooms they discover that every one of them features a poster bearing the text of a poem, the same poem. I’ll quote the entire thing, as it’s the key to the story:
Ten little soldier boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were Nine.
Nine little soldier boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were Eight.
Eight little soldier boys travelling in Devon;
One said he’d stay there and then there were Seven.
Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were Six.
Six little soldier boys playing with a hive;
A bumble bee stung one and then there were Five.
Five little soldier boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery and then there were Four.
Four little soldier boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three.
Three little soldier boys walking in the Zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were Two.
Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was One.
One little soldier boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were None.
The voice
The host and hostess still haven’t arrived, but Mrs Rogers has prepared an excellent dinner and Rogers is an excellent waiter. One of the guests points out the set of ten little china figurines at the centre of the table… The guests are all fed and watered and enjoying coffee when suddenly a loud booming voice is heard, like something from a nightmare. The guests all freeze in astonishment and hear the voice say:
Ladies and gentlemen! Silence please!
Everyone was startled. They looked round – at each other, at the walls. Who was speaking? The Voice went on – a high clear voice:
‘You are charged with the following indictments:
‘Edward George Armstrong, that you did upon the 14th day of March, 1925, cause the death of Louisa Mary Clees.
‘Emily Caroline Brent, that upon the 5th of November 1931, you were responsible for the death of Beatrice Taylor.
‘William Henry Blore, that you brought about the death of James Stephen Landor on October 10th, 1928.
‘Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that on the 11th day of August, 1935, you killed Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton.
‘Philip Lombard, that upon a date in February, 1932, you were guilty of the death of twenty-one men, members of an East African tribe.
‘John Gordon Macarthur, that on the 4th of January, 1917, you deliberately sent your wife’s lover, Arthur Richmond, to his death.
‘Anthony James Marston, that upon the 14th day of November last, you were guilty of the murder of John and Lucy Combes.
‘Thomas Rogers and Ethel Rogers, that on the 6th of May, 1929, you brought about the death of Jennifer Brady.
‘Lawrence John Wargrave, that upon the 10th day of June, 1930, you were guilty of the murder of Edward Seton.
‘Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defence?’
Well, that clears up what they’re all doing there. ‘The Voice’ reckons each of them are responsible for deaths or are outright murderers. Some of them go into the adjoining room where they find a table pressed up against the partition door, the speaker facing the door – the voice came from a record playing on it and it doesn’t take much questioning for Rogers to admit that he was instructed to do this in a letter from ‘Mr Owen’, although he swears he had no idea what was on the record till he heard it like everyone else.
Obviously the guests immediate fall to talking at once. It’s wizened old Judge Wargrave who takes charge and first of all gets everyone to explain who invited them; and then gets each to speak to the charge laid against them by The Voice.
Having done all that, they’re in the middle of discussing what to do next when young, virile, fit and handsome Anthony Marston takes a swig of his drink, chokes and falls down dead. The others rush to his assistance but too late. None of them have yet put 2 and 2 together (as the reader surely has done by now) and realised that they are going to be picked off one by one, which is what indeed happens…
Another death occurs later the same day and the survivors agree they’ll pack their bags and leave immediately… Until Rogers informs them that there’s no boat on the tiny island. So they will wait for the daily boat to come from the mainland bringing supplies, as it does every morning at 8am. Only the next morning the boat doesn’t come, although they keep an anxious lookout all day… nor the next day…
U.N Owen
When they compare the signatories of the invitations they receive, several use the surname Owen with variations in the first names, sometimes just U.N.O. but in one letter Ulick Norman Owen, in another Una Nancy Owen. It takes Judge Wargrave to realise the initials are a (sick) joke, and can be read as UN Owen or, simply, Unknown. They have been invited to meet their fates by person or persons Unknown.
The house on the island
If this had been an old house, with creaking wood, and dark shadows, and heavily panelled walls, there might have been an eerie feeling. But this house was the essence of modernity. There were no dark corners – no possible sliding panels – it was flooded with electric light – everything was new and bright and shining. There was nothing hidden in this house, nothing concealed. It had no atmosphere about it. Somehow, that was the most frightening thing of all…
(Chapter 5, section 2)
The maniac trope
The notion that the murderer or protagonist is a lunatic, maniac and fiend, is axiomatic in all Christie’s crime books. Here the setup is so peculiar, so bizarre and unreal feeling, that the accusations of madness fly thick and fast.
Vera cried: ‘But this is fantastic – mad!’
The judge nodded gently. He said:
‘Oh, yes. I’ve no doubt in my own mind that we have been invited here by a madman – probably a dangerous homicidal lunatic.’
(Chapter 3, section 3)
General Macarthur patted her shoulder. He said: ‘Fellow’s a madman. A madman! Got a bee in his bonnet! Got hold of the wrong end of the stick all round.’
(Chapter 4, section 2)
Armstrong had gone pale. He said: ‘You realize – the man must be a raving maniac!’
(Chapter 7, section 3)
‘No doubt you also reached a certain conclusion as to the purpose of Mr Owen in enticing us to this island?’
Blore said hoarsely:
‘He’s a madman! A loony.’
(Chapter 8, section 5)
‘I reiterate my positive belief that of the seven persons assembled in this room one is a dangerous and probably insane criminal.’
(Chapter 9, section 7)
‘One of us, ’is lordship said. Which one? That’s what I want to know. Who’s the fiend in ’uman form?’
(Rogers, Chapter 10, section 2)
‘You must remember that anyone who’s mentally unhinged has a good deal of unsuspected strength.’
(Armstrong, Chapter 11, section 3)
‘If you ask me that woman’s as mad as a hatter! Lots of elderly spinsters go that way – I don’t mean go in for homicide on the grand scale, but go queer in their heads.’
He said violently:
‘It’s mad! – absolutely mad – we’re all mad!’
Vera cried:
‘But don’t you see, he’s mad ? It’s all mad! The whole thing of going by the rhyme is mad!
(Chapter 15, section 1)
Just to raise the temperature even more, rigid old Miss Brent, sternly and unforgivingly religious, insists it is not just a question of mania, but possession by a devil.
Emily Brent, still knitting, said:
‘Your argument seems logical. I agree that one of us is possessed by a devil.’
(Chapter 9, section 6)
In her diary she writes that the judge:
is convinced that the murderer is one of us. That means that one of us is possessed by a devil. I had already suspected that…
As the killings proceed, the story gains more and more the air of a psychological horror story, with something uncanny and spooky mixed in.
He was not afraid of danger in the open, only of danger undefined and tinged with the supernatural.
There’s a psychological intensity and a sense of horror to these last few novels that feels new: mad Mother Boynton in ‘Murder in Mesopotamia’, mad old Miss Waynflete in ‘Murder is Easy’.
Accompanying the mania trope is its equal and opposite cliché, the notion that the killer may be a maniac deep down but meanwhile be very unassuming in appearance and manner. (This was certainly the case of the person who was revealed to be the murderer in ‘Murder is Easy’, the mildest and most harmless of people, until they suddenly transformed into a homicidal killer.)
‘Nobody’s got a revolver, by any chance? I suppose that’s too much to hope for.’
Lombard said: ‘I’ve got one.’ He patted his pocket.
Blore’s eyes opened very wide. He said in an overcasual tone:
‘Always carry that about with you, sir?’
Lombard said: ‘Usually. I’ve been in some tight places, you know.’
‘Oh,’ said Blore and added: ‘Well, you’ve probably never been in a tighter place than you are today! If there’s a lunatic hiding on this island, he’s probably got a young arsenal on him – to say nothing of a knife or dagger or two.’
Armstrong coughed.
‘You may be wrong there, Blore. Many homicidal lunatics are very quiet unassuming people. Delightful fellows.’
(Chapter 8, section 1)
The thing is to realise that none of this reflects ‘the real world’. These are conventions of the genre which help the narrative, which help to justify the complete secrecy of the killer until the last moment and thus allow the narrative to function.
Christie’s prose
Something has happened to Christie’s prose. Maybe it was happening in the last few books but it’s only in this one that I first noticed it. Her prose has become much more stripped back. Sentences are much shorter. Paragraphs much shorter. The whole effect is much more succinct, pared back and minimalist than before. Here are the opening paragraphs of Chapter 10, section 5:
The storm increased. The wind howled against the side of the house.
Everyone was in the living-room. They sat listlessly huddled together. And, surreptitiously, they watched each other.
Pretty pithy, eh? Another thing she’s started doing is writing ‘he said’ or ‘she said’ on a separate line from what they say.
Armstrong said:
‘We’ve no idea, even, who it can be –’
Armstrong stared at him.
He said:
‘I don’t understand.’
It’s an odd effect. In a way, visually speaking, it’s almost like the layout of poetry.
Vera thought:
‘Funny how elderly people always get names wrong.’
She said:
‘Yes, I think Mrs Owen has been very lucky indeed.’
Christie does occasionally vary the operative verb, but predominantly uses the verb ‘said’ for every act of speech, and the repetition of this simple monosyllable, and the insistence on this 2-line layout, start to give the text a kind of formulaic, almost hieratic appearance, sometimes between a playscript and almost a liturgy, a chant, a religious ceremony.
Lombard said:
‘I agree.’
Tony said:
‘I’ll go and forage.’
Lombard said:
‘Well, we’ve got one piece of evidence. Only three little soldier boys left on the dinner-table. It looks as though Armstrong had got his quietus.’
Vera said:
‘Then why haven’t you found his dead body?’
Blore said:
‘Exactly.’
Antisemitism
I’ve pointed out the casual antisemitic slurs which occur quite often in some of the earlier novels. They’d disappeared from the last few and so I thought maybe Christie had grown out of them or that the Nazi pogroms of the 1930s had made antisemitism unacceptable in English polite society and/or publishing. Apparently not.
There had been a very faint smile on the thick Semitic lips of Mr Morris as he answered…
What exactly was up, he wondered? That little Jew had been damned mysterious.
He [Captain Lombard] had fancied, though, that the little Jew had not been deceived – that was the damnable part about Jews, you couldn’t deceive them about money – they knew!
Lombard said slowly: ‘I allowed you all to think that I was asked here in the same way as most of the others. That’s not quite true. As a matter of fact I was approached by a little Jew-boy – Morris his name was…’
I suppose you could argue that every one of these references comes from the mind of Lombard, and therefore the antisemitism is restricted to him and is part of his character alone.. But still… Why have an antisemitic character at all…?
Bookishness
‘A bit unsporting, what?’ he [Marston] said. ‘Ought to ferret out the mystery before we go. Whole thing’s like a detective story. Positively thrilling.’
(Chapter 4, section 4)
Out there in France, in the middle of all the hell of it [the Great War], he’d sat thinking of her, taken her picture out of the breast pocket of his tunic. And then – he’d found out! It had come about exactly in the way things happened in books. The letter in the wrong envelope…
(Chapter 5, section 5)
‘It’s only in books people carry revolvers around as a matter of course.’
(Chapter 8, section 5)
Credit
‘And Then There Were None’ by Agatha Christie was published by the Collins Crime Club in November 1939.
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