Thursday, 31 August 2017

I WISH.....

     In this blog post, I want to deal with my continuous DISDAIN for who I facetiously refer to as  'Lady Christie' .

 
Poirot's most dangerous enemy.
After repeatedly beating my head against the proverbial brick wall, I've come to the hard conclusion that I will never be able to account for her hatred of Poirot.  I can only say the animosity was not deserved. My animosity against Agatha, on the other hand, is very much justified.
    For starters, I won't support a so-called novelists who does not stand up for his/her character.  It's the novelist who creates the character, with all the personality traits;  strengths and weaknesses any human (even in the best of us)  possesses.
    To create a character with quirks, eccentricities, foibles that you can't tolerate in a regular person for five minutes, is STUPID. It makes working with said character just about impossible because said author can't tolerate how the character says a particular word or hums during meals ...or symmetrically organizes mantle-piece ornaments...a characteristic the novelist gave that person.  A characteristic in a character is given, it doesn't magically just appear, anymore than a character magically appears on paper. The writer has to pick up a pen and apply ink to paper (or digital type to a document page)   and make that character happen.  The literary version of sperm and egg.    They don't meet accidentally either. Something has to have happened to bring the two elements together.
   Unfortunately, how those two elements come together is, very often,  the result of irresponsible 'activity' on the part of the male and female involved.  Said irresponsible behavior often winds up crippling the  life of a child,  who is told,  his  or her entire life, that their mother never wanted kids; as if the child's to blame for his or her existence.   I know that feeling,  personally.  By the same token, Poirot was spoken of,  by his creator,  like the child she didn't want.
I WISH....
   Those two sad factors in mind, I have a  wish I can only make come true on this page.  At first, I thought I'd like to have someone like Poirot in my life. Then again, since I'm dreaming aloud anyway, I might as well go for the gold!  I don't want SOMEONE LIKE him...I want Poirot in my life.  That example I had always needed in a father but never got.  If I could dream something into reality, then Papa Poirot would help me re-organize my desk to where it would look more like a desk and not something left from a WW 2 air raid.  I would even let him teach me how to cut toast into those perfect little squares. In turn, I would TRY to persuade him that boiled eggs of different sizes taste no different than symmetrically exact eggs.  I'd go so far as to appeal to his sense of religious ethics and tell him, in all honesty, that it's a sin to waste food.  I'm sure he'd even agree with me. Whether or not he'd be able to rid himself of a habit of a lifetime, though...well... ๐Ÿคท Failing that, I'd ask him if he knew any recipes for egg salad.
   When he was away, I would write to him, and send him story clippings I'd written and he'd write back; telling me of his adventures. I could be the journalist I'd always wanted to be because I'd have someone who told me I could be.  When he FINALLY retired, he'd write his stories in books that I would type up.
    I would marry, because I'd be able to trust my judgement as well as the opinion of someone, who, I knew, wanted the best for me. But I would never be far from him.  Maybe even under the same roof.... apartment building so he could call on me when he needed help.
   His memorial service would be attended by many he'd helped over the years, and his good friends. Tears. laughs.Memories.  Among the eulogies and presentations would be a recitation of the poem;  The City FourSquare / Land of Fadeless Day  which I would like Miss Lemon to read. I'm not sure I'd get through it.  I'm not sure she would. Maybe we'd read it in turn.
 
    How odd, that the very person Agatha Christie cared so little for was trusted by so many others.  Norma Resterick (The Third Girl)  felt safer in the home of a perfect stranger than in her family mansion.  Katherine Grey trusted the eccentric detective enough to let him be her body guard, her Avuncular, and, well...viewers. Thanks to the screenwriter(s) of The Big Four, Poirot got a decent funeral, which, I think was done as much for fans as for the story.
     'Detestable' ?  Lady Christie? I think NOT !