Agatha Christie does thrillers.
Or not, depending on your point of view.
This one might work as a movie (I’m disinclined to find out, but if you are interested, here, but fails to impress as a book.
Victoria Jones has been fired from her typist position. As she sits in a courtyard, eating her lunch, she’s politely approached by a diffident young man, Edward, who strikes up a conversation. In America, Miss Anna Scheele, personal secretary to the head of a firm of international bankers, informs her employer she must leave on vacation to care for her sick sister in England. In the Iraqi countryside, Carmichael is trying to sneak back into Baghdad in time for a major world powers meeting with proof of a certain conspiracy. Mr. Dakin, the local Baghdad covert agent is charged with ensuring security for the meeting, and is hoping to preserve international peace. Richard Baker is an archeologist fanatic traveling to Dr. Pauncefoot Jones’ dig in the Iraqi countryside. When Victoria decides she is in love with Edward, she takes a position with a couple traveling to Baghdad. Separate plot lines build and come together in a dramatic finish.
One of the ways Christie excels is in capturing the minutia of the small town life, the details that instantly identify a character, making them resonate in the imagination. In Baghdad, there’s a full cast, but no one but Victoria Jones really gets the attention they deserve, and once introduced, they tend to fall out of the action, only to appear significantly later. As a non-thriller reader, I find I’m not particularly impressed by megalomania as character motivation.
Mostly, I blame the lack of world-building. Baghdad of the 1950s was an entirely different city from Baghdad of 2014. Its one of those books that was probably perfect for the decade is was published in, but works significantly less well for current times. I needed more atmosphere. I had the vaguest sense of place, most likely pulled from old memories. In my case, Christie’s 1950s Baghdad felt a lot like Elizabeth Peters’ Egypt in 1880, which most likely reflects time spent reading the Amelia Peabody series.
So many coincidences in this plot! The government recruiting a naif based on her spunky attitude and ability to lie convincingly? She was charming, no doubt, but it played like a Cary Grant script, not a thriller. Overall, I don’t regret the time, but it wasn’t a great example of Christie’s capabilities. I prefer her Marple and Poirot series. It’s passable, but I recommend it for fans of thrillers and Christie completionists.