Last night I didn't realize I was in for the flu, and was laid up on the sofa with a headache reading Remembered Death by Agatha Christie. It was great, I've never encountered an Agatha Christie novel I didn't like. I thought the end was a wee bit thin, but it was still a good story. I enjoy how she paints characters and families and then brings the reader behind closed doors to peer behind the image they portray to society, to see what they're really like. You might think reading mysteries before the advent of DNA testing would be hokey, and maybe they are a little, but I like the fact that the stories rely so heavily on motive, character histories, and secrets.
I somehow often end up envisioning the characters as people I know. Like, Ryan will be the dashing young soldier, Tim and Sara will end up the playwright and his actress wife, Preston might be the police detective assigned to the case, Amy the distracted baker, Gracie the young debutante. I don't do this so much when I read other books, but there is something so casual and 'Clue' like in Christie books. It's so easy to just let my mind wander over the pages. And any read of her books is only about 3-4 hours. We don't have tv and watching the same movies over and over can get tiring. The Christie paperbacks my Nana gave me a few years ago are a great pastime.