When Agatha Christie died in 1976, she was the best-selling novelist in history. Her appeal was widely discussed at the time, and has been subsequently. Early commentators were apt to agree with the crime fiction historian Julian Symons, who put Christieâs âpermanenceâ down to âthe comfort of the familiarâ. 1 According to Symons, the formulaic nature of Christieâs puzzle-based detective fiction, combined with her stereotyped characters and picturesque middle-class settings, created a literary landscape that was unlikely to shock or surpriseâa reassuringly conservative world view. By the same token, Symons acknowledged a limited audience: âFew feminists or radicals are likely to read her.â 2
Nonetheless, familiarity does not breed certainty, and âfeminists and radicalsâ have long noted something playful or even subversive in Christieâs conservatism. 3 For one thing, any âfictional worldâhowever [familiar]âwhere almost all the players are [murder] suspectsâ, and most characters are hiding something, âhardly suggests a society at peace with itselfâ. 4 Christie, touted by her publishers as âthe Queen of Crimeâ, has become synonymous with her branch of crime fiction, to the extent that her name appears in the Oxford English Dictionary definition of âwhodunitâ. In that genre, it is a truism that few characters present themselves as they âreallyâ are. By the end of the narrative, the detective will have assigned identity labelsâguilty/innocent and so onâto a motley collection of individuals. Although these characters and their surroundings are recognizable to even casual readers, as are the plots they inhabit, when such limited âtypesâ are repeated in different arrangements over sixty-six novels and hundreds of other texts, the effect can be disorienting. The murderer might be an elderly colonel âtypeâ in one book, but that âtypeâ may describe the victim in the next; the combination of identities varies. Far from being safe in its familiarity, an Agatha Christie novel notions towards fear of disorder and uncertainty in recognition.
Here, the detective resembles the figure of the doctor as described by the historian and philosopher Michel Foucault: an authority figure who reads the human body, identifies and categorizes âdiseasesâ (or, in the detectiveâs case, clues) and finally declares what will become accepted as ânatural truthâ about the individual. 5 Several theorists have built on Foucaultâs insights and set to âqueeringâ modern culture, pointing out that without the authority of official identity categories, human behaviour would be defined very differently. Figures such as Judith Butler and Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick have critiqued apparently ânaturalâ ways of categorizing human beings. For example, Butler has revealed gender and biological sex to be âperformativeâ, part of a social script that owes more to people enacting it than to any natural authenticity, and Sedgwick has explored ways of registering human sexuality beyond, or more appropriately than, the gay/straight binary. 6 This project starts with a rarely acknowledged similarity between puzzle-based detective fiction and the writings of queer theorists: both present human identities as constructed within their given contexts.
Queer theoristsâ insights can afford new readings of Christieâs novels and short stories as texts with queer potential. That is, the texts can be read as spaces in which presumptions about human identity are exposed, undermined and renegotiated. Drawing parallels between queer theory and questions of identity in Christieâs detective fiction means rethinking the relevance of a body of work, once dismissed as escapist and âephemeralâ. 7
This study has a twofold relevance. On the one hand, it provides a new reading of Christie, acknowledging an historically unique context of change, development and adaption. Social customs, codes and orders came under unprecedented scrutiny in the context of two world wars and advances in technology and communication, while the necessity of change was underscored by an increasing awareness that nothing was stable; that little if anything about individuals and their worlds could be âknownâ. On the other hand, as the first full queer reading of a âGolden Ageâ detective novelist, this book expands queer notions of archive and canonicity. Despite the diversification of queer theory in the twenty-first century, engaging perspectives beyond those of white gay Western men, and despite the increasing popularity of queer methodologies in literary analysis, very few scholars to date have considered mainstream literary texts without already obvious queer coding from a queer theoretical perspective. 8 Such exclusionary readings endorse a key presumption against which many theorists rally: that âqueernessâ already exists, delineated if not defined as the âotherâ of some unproblematized model of straightness or normalcy.
Christie described herself, foremost, as a wife and mother, and insisted that her passport should list her profession as âhousewifeâ. 9 A staple of British television and tourism initiatives, the best-selling English-language author in history and a Dame Commander of the British Empire, she can be identified positively with âEstablishmentâ institutions. White, English and politically conservative, Christie is hardly an obvious candidate for a queer reading. Accordingly, her main detective, Hercule Poirot, has long been read as a figure whose âaim (and purpose) [is] to restore order after it has been disrupted by crimeâ. 10
Nonetheless, as Sally R. Munt observes, â[h]e is a parody of the male myth; [âŠ] a shortened Hercules [âŠ] and socially âotherââ. 11 Moreover, Christieâs prose, which relies on ready stereotypes but also on presenting them in unexpected ways (if only to fool the reader as to the puzzleâs solution) must have something to say about normality; a construction queer studies seek to destabilize. As Christieâs other popular detective, the spinster Jane Marple, states in The Murder at the Vicarage (1930), âmost people areâ âa little queerâ, âwhen you know them wellâ: queerness may be hard to spot and harder to define, but is more pervasive than its opposite. 12 This study uncovers an extraordinary amount of playful destabilization in the texts, much arising from Christieâs deliberately jarring presentation of ready stereotypes. In this sense, her writing is not merely superficial; it draws attention towards the artificial nature of taxonomized identity itself.
Treatments of Christie to Date
Before going further, we must define the âGolden Ageâ of British detective fiction. Christie is usually said to typify the Golden Age, partly because of her memorable sales figures, but also because of her strict adherence to the puzzle format, which has become the trademark of the period. 13 Commentators do not agree upon a time-frame for the Golden Age; Heather Worthington puts it between 1918 and 1930, John Curran between 1918 and 1945, and Susan Rowland between 1920 and 1937. 14 More universally accepted is that Golden Age detective fiction is both puzzle-based and highly artificial, usually featuring murder and an amateur, rather than a professional, detective. The detective discovers who committed the crime and how; the solution is often outlandish but the reader should have access to sufficient clues to solve it. 15
In the 1920s, when Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers and J.J. Connington dominated the market with their puzzle-based mysteries, the Detection Clubâa body of crime writersâwas established. There followed, both within and beyond the Club, numerous sets of ârulesâ for writing detective fiction. The most famous British example is Ronald Knoxâs âTen Commandmentsâ (1928). Knox stipulated that a detective novel
must have as its main interest the unravelling of a mystery; a mystery whose elements are clearly presented to the reader at an early stage in the proceedings, and whose nature is such as to arouse curiosity, a curiosity which is gratified at the end. 16
Rules included âfair playâ clauses (âNot more than one secret room or passage is allowableâ) and snobbery concerning populist clichĂ©s (âNo Chinaman must figure in the story [âŠ] Twin brothers, and doubles generally, must not appearâ).
17 As the tone indicates, these ârulesâ were chiefly gentle satires between professionals acknowledging the tropes and clichĂ©s of each other...