Tomorrow we should all drink a toast to Dame Agatha Christie. She was born on September 15, 1890 in Torquay in the UK. She’s the lady who led me to my love of the mystery genre and my love of all things British (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was the man who did the same thing- wouldn’t they have been a formidable team as co-writers?).
I love her stories and I was chagrined the other day to learn that her heirs have agreed to allow Hercule Poirot to return in a new novel. No offense to Sophie Hannah, the author the heirs chose, but please, some things are sacred. I loved Gone with the Wind but when Alexandra Ripley (who’s work I like) was authorized to add more to Scarlet and Rhett’s story, it was an abomination. I read it and kept saying, “Who are these people and where are Scarlet and Rhett?”
So, drink a toast with me to the grand dame of mystery and maybe even sneak in a slice of cake but don’t make me read that new book coming in 2014, okay?