I have tried to finish this book during the day today and read any time that I was able to, but the book is not only utterly crap it also bloody endless. It drags, and drags, and drags.

The last 30% of the book just felt like the story of who did what changed on every page and I completely lost track of what happened.

You know, that fabulous spoof of the mystery genre that is Murder by Death (the film)?

Every character comes up with a different version of the solution, and they are all wrong.

In this book, the same thing happened, but the different versions were not put forward by different characters but by the book's version of Poirot (a poor shadow of Christie's original creation), which made the last 30% of the book absolutely unbearable. And unlike Murder by Death, this book was not a spoof of the genre.

No. The only word that comes to my mind to describe this book was s*** painful.

None of the plot made sense. Poirot is not Poirot. The writing lacks the complexity and charm and atmosphere that Christie's books have. 

The portrayal of women in this book didn't work for me - it was in parts downright offensive - and it certainly did not do a book justice that is supposed to be a continuation of Christie's oeuvre. 

The romance subplots were ridiculous.

And last, but definitely worst of all, was that the book was narrated from the POV of a character that has no justification of even being in the story.

Needless to say, I have no interest in reading any other books in the series.

Oh, my goodness, that vicarage is a hotbed of spouse swapping and romantic entanglements.

I really cannot wait to finish this book and move on. 

Just in case this wasn't clear, yet, this book is a gigantic mess. 

Poirot nodded his agreement.

‘Fee Spring, the waitress from Pleasant’s—she told me that Jennie suffered a heartbreak in her past. I wonder what it was.’

‘Haven’t we just answered that question?’ I said. ‘It must have been leaving Samuel Kidd behind.’

‘I think it is more likely to have been the death of Patrick Ive, the man Jennie truly loved. Incidentally, I am certain that this is why she altered her way of speaking: to sound more like someone of his class, in the hope that he might see her as an equal and not merely as a servant.’

That Patrick must have been one hot vicar judging by the masses of women who fell so passionately in love with him that they all completely lost their minds.

Seriously, tho, the backstory in this mystery is utterly ridiculous. 

It also does not portray women in a light that I would expect from a Christie novel.

Seriously. WTF?

‘I will be angry until my dying day, Mr Catchpool. Greater sinners persecuting lesser sinners in the name of morality—that’s something worth raging about.’

‘Hypocrisy is an ugly thing,’ I concurred.

Well, that backstory was underwhelming. Certainly not a motive.

And I wish Hannah would stop with the polemics. It's not something I would expect in a Christie book. (Well, not in a good one. There is plenty of it in Passenger to Frankfurt...)