This was a sweet and formulaic and ultimately bad book that I still enjoyed listening to because a) it is narrated by David Suchet, who wrote [1] it b) I love Suchet, and could probably listen to him recite the OED so long as he has a requisite number of warm and pleasant asides.

I didn’t learn that much about Poirot in this book, let alone about acting or Suchet’s life or any of the surrounding context. It is mostly a trip down memory lane: Suchet goes season by season, talking about which scripts and actors he liked [2] and what he did with the intervening years between seasons.

If you are a Poirot devotee, you will probably like this book! If you are not, then I cannot fathom a reason why you’d be interested in this book in the first place.

  1. “Wrote” should really be in quotes here; the thing is poorly and predictably written, and stinks of ghostwriting (which of course Suchet acknowledges in the prelude!) ↩︎

  2. Spoiler alert: it is nearly all of them. ↩︎



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