„You mean talking about her – and me? With that face? And at her age?”
“She´s probably under fifty.”
“I suppose she is,” Sir Charles considered the matter. “But seriously, Tollie, have you noticed her face? It´s got two eyes, a nose and a mouth, but it´s not what you would call a face – not a female face. The most scandal-loving old cat in the neighbourhood couldn´t seriously connect sexual passion with a face like that.”
What a charming guy :-/
Meh. But probably 'meh' because I listened to the BBC Audio full cast dramatisation and it wasn't as well scripted, or whatever it is they do, than the last one, Crooked House. It was shorter, but somehow much more scattered, less cohesive.
What I can say that applies to any edition of this book is that:
1. Dumb title; there's nothing here to do with golf, except the location of the body.
2. I really can't stand Poirot. Sorry, but I just wanted to reach through the speakers and yank on his silly moustaches. Hastings doesn't come through so well here either, although that might have been how he was played in the audio; hopeless romantic falling instantly in love? Ugh.
I'm going to have to read the print book to have anything more to say, i.e. plot and characterisation. The murderer in this one totally blindsided me, but how much of that is to Christie's credit and how much because I never knew quite what was going on, I can't say.
This is narrated by Joan Hickson, who previously starred in the older Marple adaptations. Her voice is almost masculine, in the way that the voices of strong-willed elderly ladies can become masculine in later life.
Miss Marple is deceiving - she is most emphatically not a fluttering, twittering old lady, no matter how much she pretends to be one in order to Find Out Things. I like her better when I remember that her fragility is all an act, and that underneath that fluffy hand-knitted sweater lurks a spirit of razor wire and ground glass. She will cut you.
I actually found this one to be quite an enjoyable mystery. The solution is startling and Christie does her best with redirection, sending me one way and then another. I had read it before, but it was years ago, so I couldn't remember the murderer. I was surprised, although not shocked, and she had me haring off in an entirely different direction right before the reveal.
I also loved Lucy Islesbarrow (or however her name is spelled). As I'm rereading, I'm taking note of Christie's young women, and finding them to be great fun. Lucy is a terrifyingly capable young woman who makes quite an admirable living doing the tasks that are apparently quite beyond the average British gentlewoman, like scrubbing sculleries and whatnot. They couldn't get good help in those annoying post-war years when the domestic staff got jobs making real money in the factories and the government imposed income taxes over the objection of the hereditary aristocracy. We all need a Lucy Islesbarrow in our lives. Sadly, most of us must be the Lucy Islesbarrow you'd like to see in the world.