Agatha Christie, Hallowe'en Party

Ah...an Agatha Christie after ages and what a let down it is. Why was I ever addicted to this stuff? The writing suddenly feels clunky and inelegant. The plotting vague and much too reliant on the unexpected bit of information that pops out the author's sleeve in the very last chapter. The writing: the crafting of sentences is a skill granted to/cultivated by a few; the book is dedicated to P.G. Wodehouse, a man who possessed the skill in good measure. He was thanked for having said he likes Christie's work in one of the worst sentences in the book. Why? Why? The murderer - don't tell me you plan to read it - is a 'beautiful man' and we go overboard with the Greek references after that. We always knew she was racist and in love with stereotype, didn't we? Why does it seem more difficult to put up with now? Aaaand atleast five characters go on about how the mentally unstable are allowed to roam around, murdering the innocent, because the asylums are too full. Aaargh. From the badly crafted sentence and the over-simplified argument, good Muse deliver us.