I went into this expecting it to be the usual slightly cosy whodunnit. Fussy Belgians, sharp-eyed old ladies, all in a traditional English setting. This is not that book. The book is told in the first person, by Mike Rogers, who is young and poor, skipping from job to job, until he runs into one of the richest women in America, in a quiet English village, where he wants to build a house. The two court and get married and Mike builds his house, but there’s discomfort around Gypsy’s Acre – will the curse on the land strike again and bring doom to Mike and his wife, Ellie?
Gypsy’s Acre haunts this book almost like Manderley in Rebecca, even from before it’s built. You get this sensation of fear and discomfort when you’re around it, as a reader. Mike’s narration builds up a feeling of being trapped, and prowling in a cage, even as he professes how much he loves it. This is much more of a psychological thriller than Christie’s usual fare.
It’s a very strong book (despite the casual prejudice against Travellers), keeping you on your toes throughout as you’re waiting for something awful to happen. And then it does, and you’re dealing with the aftermath, and then towards the end, Christie slips out the truth of what’s happened, and you’re forced to re-evaluate everything you’ve just read. It’s an amazing piece of work, completely different to her usual style. It really shows just how versatile that Christie was.
