Closed Casket

Closed Casket by Sophie Hannah
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“The Brand New HERCULE POIROT Mystery” proclaims the cover of this book which boasts the full support of Agatha Christie Limited. Christie fan that I am, I understandably approached it with some caution. I needn’t have worried. It is absolutely wonderful.
It starts with a chapter delivered in the third person, in no sense mimicking the great Ms Christie but so well written I was immediately hooked. I would have been quite happy for it to continue in this vein, but it didn’t. It then changed to the first-person narrative of one Edward Catchpool—a detective with London’s Scotland Yard—whose voice at times might have been that of the good Captain Hastings himself. But do not curl your lip, I beg of you, mon ami. This is no meagre pastiche by any means.
Lady Playford, author of the beloved Shrimp Seddon mysteries (whose precocious ten-year-old heroine leads of a gang of child detectives), invites Poirot and Catchpool to a family house party at her rural Irish mansion where she announces that she has changed her will, disinheriting her two children in favour of her terminally ill secretary.
Hannah’s characters are at once complex and yet instantly recognizable. Even the supporting cast is beautifully drawn. I was immediately attracted to the ageing Irish cook who takes one look at Catchpool and says, ‘I knew I was right—you’ve got that look about you!’

“…I asked the obvious question, to which she answered, ‘The look of a man who drinks water all through the night!’ She said this as fiercely as if she were accusing me of baby farming or some equally hideous crime, then pointed to her mouth and said, ‘Dry lips—I can see them from here!’”

She enigmatically goes on to relate a seemingly unconnected story about a nephew who had once stolen some peppermints from a bowl and had broken the bowl in the process. Although I wasn’t expecting an explanation for these bizarre and unfathomable utterances on her part (the mother of a friend of mine was an ageing Irish cook whose comments and observations were just as obtuse), I was truly delighted with it when one finally came.
That kind of sums up how very generous this book—and its author—is. Cozy thrillers don’t get much cozier…and certainly no more challenging. I think the last words should go to Lady Playford, Shrimp Seddon’s creator, whilst I go hunt down the first in Hannah’s series:

“‘…if my plots were simpler then people would guess, wouldn’t they? And you can’t have people guessing. I’m afraid I don’t write for dimwits and nor will I, ever. I write for those capable of rising to an intellectual challenge.’”

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