I'm reading Passenger to Frankfurt by Agatha Christie. My mum had a big Christie collection, but I only recall reading one of them. I wasn't that impressed.
The plot is wooden, the writing is piss-poor, and you can tell it was dictated without being proofread. I did wonder if it were just written under her name as a sort of franchise, as happened with Alastair Maclean, and, I think, Neville Shute. But no, it was apparently 'penned' by the great lady herself, though she was 80 when it was published.
What a pile of steaming turd!
Christie had clearly lost her marbles by the time she dictated this one. She clearly has no idea about world politics, and just has miles of improbable expositionary dialogue about some fanciful neo-Nazi plot which is behind the student insurrection of the times. Yeah, right. And apparently Castro & Guevara (both mentioned by name) are behind an Aryan supremacist movement.
And then, out of the blue, the main character we started with and lost about half way through, appears in an Epilogue to have a romantic happy ending.
It's supposed to be a thriller (with no action at all?), but is basically Christie's diatribe about how the world has gone to the dogs, and young people these days etc etc. Although the Nazis are the baddies, you can sense a certain admiration for their discipline etc creeping through creepily. Reading what she says about the Third World is just cringingly embarrassing. She doesn't even understand the term.
Not really recommended.
