Thoughts on A Murder is Announced

In A Murder is Announced it appears to be the ‘foreigners’, at every turn it is the fault of the foreigners. An attitude that is mainly led by the police in charge of the investigation.

Old women being called ‘pussies’ I cannot imagine it. I think of women’s genitalia, or a coward. They were really going around in 1950 calling women ‘old pussies’?

This is obvious. If there were 2 shots – to frighten the people in the room, and then the 1 which killed Rudi. Why would he shoot himself, how do you trip and shoot yourself?

‘What she gets for working in the garden, it is not enough for such a fine lady, no.’

Well, really, working as a gardener surely will not bring in what Mrs Haymes needs for her lifestyle. She has to be one of the siblings who could inherit a fortune. I was smug I had solved it, too easy, and then there is the truth – trickery by the fraying wires of a lamp and a case of duplicity in the murderer assuming the identity of someone else.

I love good dialogue, and this small bit here stood out to me.

‘Hi-youp, Murgatroyd …’

‘Coming …’ floated back a thin cry.

‘Hurry up – polieece,’ bellowed Miss Hincliffe.

I thought in some ways A Murder is Announced was old-fashioned, especially in its views of people from other countries, and yet in others, like there’s not much difference between then and now.

Especially in this passage here. Sums up my April and May. The accuracy of this line ‘It’s the rent – always the rent – that’s got to be paid – otherwise you’re out in the street.’

‘I’ve heard people say so often ‘I’d rather have flowers on the table than a meal without them’ But how many meals have those people ever missed? They don’t know what it is – nobody knows who hasn’t been through it – to be really hungry. Bread, you know, and a jar of meat paste, and a scrape of margarine. Day after day, and how one longs for a good plate of meat, and two vegetables, and the shabbiness. Darning one’s clothes and hoping it won’t show. And applying for jobs and always being told you’re too old. And then perhaps getting a job and after all one isn’t strong enough, one faints and you’re back again. It’s the rent – always the rent – that’s got to be paid – otherwise you’re out in the street. And in these days, it leaves so little over. One’s old age pension doesn’t go far, indeed it doesn’t.’

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