Agatha Christie by H. R. F. Keating

Author:H. R. F. Keating
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pegasus Books
Published: 2021-08-03T00:00:00+00:00

The Christie Nobody Knew DOROTHY B. HUGHES

Everyone knew the Agatha Christie who created Hercule Poirot. She was the clever Christie, the one who thought up all manner of intricacies to tempt the attention of the reader and of the little Belgian detective. Almost as many knew the Mrs Christie who wrote of Miss Marple, illuminator of the English village, a lady in the complete sense of the word, genteel and imperturbable. In later years she would become a part of the Christie self-portrait. There were many who knew the Christie who, more or less as a pastime, wrote of that bright young couple, Tuppence and Tommy. And certainly, known to all her admirers was the Christie of centre stage, she who proved a writer could be at one and the same time equally successful as a playwright and as a novelist.

There was yet another Christie whom nobody knew, or so few as to amount to almost nobody. This was Mary Westmacott. Even today, and even in book circles, there are more who do not know than who do know her true identity.

Agatha Christie became Mary Westmacott in 1930 to write an unmystery novel, Giant’s Bread. It caused rather less than a sensation. Four years later, Mary Westmacott tried again. Her second novel, Unfinished Portrait, like the first, made little to no imprint on the literary annals of the season.

And so, Mary Westmacott disappeared. For ten years. Until 1944, when once again she entered the lists. It would seem her return was because she had a story that had to be told, a story which Agatha Christie could not tell. It was Absent in the Spring, and it is la crême of her small body of works. As before, all the beauty and emotion she poured into a work was as a libation wasted upon barren earth. She followed this one in 1947 with The Rose and the Yew Tree. It created no more stir than its predecessors.

Five years elapsed before she tried again. In 1952, A Daughter’s a Daughter appeared, and in 1956 The Burden. They were received with the same lack of interest. With these she completed her six-novel offering. This was the end of Mary Westmacott’s career.

Why? Why the waste of six unusual books, six fine books, six books which encompass some of the best of Christie’s writing? There is no reason why anyone should pay a lick of attention to my answer to my question. True, it comes from a good many years of observation of the way of books. But it is no more than a personal opinion.

In my opinion then, Mary Westmacott’s work was mishandled. Why else, before the secret was out, when it was no more than a murmur, was there always the addition of that disparaging throwaway line, ‘not very good, woman-type stuff’. Woman-type indeed! As if Christie under whatever name would fashion a damsel shrinking through cold stony hallways and winding towers, her heart given to a dark and dour character whose

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