Agatha Christie’s Secret Notebooks: Fifty Years of Mysteries in the Making - Includes Two Unpublished Poirot Stories

Dumb Witnesses

In February 1955, on the BBC radio programme Close-Up, Agatha Christie admitted, when asked about her process of working, that ‘the disappointing truth is that I haven’t much method’. She typed her own drafts ‘on an ancient faithful typewriter that I’ve had for years’ but she found a Dictaphone useful for short stories. ‘The real work is done in thinking out the development of your story and worrying about it until it comes right. That may take quite a while.’ And this is where her Notebooks, which are not mentioned in the interview, came in. A glance at them shows that this is where she did her ‘thinking and worrying’.

Up to the mid-1930s her Notebooks are succinct outlines of the novels with relatively little evidence of rough notes or speculation, deletions or crossing-out. And, unlike later years, when each Notebook contains notes for a few titles, at this early stage the bulk of the notes for any title is contained within one Notebook. These outlines follow closely the finished novel and would seem to indicate that the ‘thinking and worrying’ was done elsewhere and subsequently destroyed or lost. Notes for The Mysterious Affair at Styles (Notebook 37), The Man in the Brown Suit (Notebook 34), The Mystery of the Blue Train (Notebook 54), The Murder at the Vicarage (Notebook 33), The Sittaford Mystery (Notebook 59), Peril at End House (Notebook 68) and Lord Edgware Dies (Notebook 41) are accurate reflections of the novels. But from the mid-1930s and Death in the Clouds on, the Notebooks include all her thoughts and ideas, accepted or rejected.

She did all her speculating on the page of the Notebook until she knew, in her own mind at least, where she was going with a plot, although it is not always obvious from the Notebook alone which plan she has adopted. She worked out variations and possibilities; she selected and discarded; she explored and experimented. She ‘brainstormed’ on the page, and then sorted the potentially useful from the probably useless. Notes for different books overlap and intersect; a single title skips throughout a Notebook or, in extreme cases, through 12 Notebooks.

When asked by Lord Snowdon in a 1974 interview how she would like to be remembered, Agatha Christie replied, ‘I would like to be remembered as a rather good writer of detective stories.’ This modest remark, coming after a lifetime as a bestseller in bookshop and theatre, is unconscious confirmation of another aspect of Christie evident from the Notebooks—her lack of self-importance. She saw these unpretentious jotters as no more precious a tool in her working life than the pen or pencil or biro she grabbed to fill them. She employed her Notebooks as diaries, as scribblers, as telephone-message pads, as travel logs, as household accounts ledgers; she used them to draft letters, to list Christmas and birthday presents, to scribble to-do reminders, to record books read and books to read, to scrawl travel directions. She sketched maps of Warmsley Heath (Taken at the Flood) and St Mary Mead in them; she doodled the jacket design for Sad Cypress and the stage setting for Afternoon at the Seaside in them; she drew diagrams of the plane compartment from Death in the Clouds and the island from Evil under the Sun in them. Sir Max used them to do calculations, Rosalind used them to practise her handwriting and everyone used them as bridge-score keepers.

Pigeon among the Cats

Part of the pleasure of working with the Notebooks is derived from the fact that when you turn a page you never know what you will read. The plotting of the latest Poirot novel can be interrupted by a poem written for Rosalind’s birthday; a page headed, optimistically, ‘Things to do’ is sandwiched between the latest Marple and an unfinished stage play. A phone number and message break the flow of a new radio play; a list of new books disrupts the intricacies of a murderer’s timetable; a letter to The Times disturbs the new Westmacott novel.

You could discover the original ending to Death Comes as the End or you could try solving a crossword clue (‘—I—T—-’); you might stumble across the draft of an unfinished Poirot story or a list of tulips (‘Grenadier—Really scarlet, Don Pedro—good bronze purple’); you could read a letter to The Times (‘I have read with great interest the article written by Dr. A. L. Rowse on his discovery of the identity of Shakespeare’s Dark Lady of the Sonnets’) or a sketch for Mousetrap II.

A random flick through the Notebooks illustrates some of these points. A page of jottings—a short list of books (all published in 1970), arrangements for Christmas shopping and a quotation that caught her attention—interrupts the notes for Nemesis:

At some place in (Ireland?) (Scotland?) (Cornwall?) a family lives—writes her to stay for a day or two or weekend—rejoin tour later—(Has she been taken slightly ill? fever? Sickness—some drug administered)

Notes on books

Deliverance—James Dickey

The Driver’s Seat—Muriel Spark

A Start in Life—Alan Sillitoe

Let’s go to Syon Lodge Ltd. (Crowthers)—20 mins. by car from Hyde Park Corner—on way to airport—Xmas shopping? Collingwood in Conduit St

Remark made by McCauley ‘To be ruled by a busybody is more than human nature can bear’

One of the many lists of books scattered throughout the Notebooks, this one across two pages lists crime novels from the late 1930s/early 1940s, including titles by Simenon, Wentworth, Innes, Ferrars and Sayers…

…Her publishers would send Agatha books to read, and indeed the page above is headed ‘From Collins’.

What is this focal point of (an accused person imprisoned)—R’s son—a failure—R. always knew when he was lying

The plotting of One, Two, Buckle my Shoe and a listing of possible short story ideas is interrupted by a social message from her great friend Nan Gardner:

H.P. not satisfied—asks about bodies—at last—one is found

All away weekend—can we go Thursday Nan

Ideas (1940)

A. 2 friends—arty spinsters—one a crook—(other camouflage) they give evidence—possible for Miss Marple

A list of ideas, some of which became Death in the Clouds, The A.B.C. Murders and ‘Problem at Sea’, is put on hold for three pages of Christmas presents:

C. Stabbed by an arrow—Stabbed by dart (poison) from blow pipe

Jack [her brother in law]—Dog?

Mrs E—Menu holders

Aunt Min—blotter and notepaper stand

Barbara—bag and scarf

Joan—Belt?

D. Ventriloquist

E. Series of murders—P gets letter from apparent maniac—First—an old woman in Yorkshire

Three Act Tragedy is preceded by an address and phone number:

Toby, 1 Granville Place, Portman Street Mayfair 1087

P suggests Egg should tackle Mrs Dacres

Travel details appear in the middle of ‘The Capture of Cerberus’ (‘Robin’ was possibly Robin McCartney, who drew the jacket designs for Death on the Nile, Murder in Mesopotamia and Appointment with Death):

Young widow—husband missing believed killed—P sees him in ‘Hell’

Any Thursday by afternoon train Robin

Combine with idea of man who has gone under—Dead? A waiter in Hell?

As can be seen, Christie’s creativity was not exclusive—she was able to plot a murder while making a social appointment, or consider a murder weapon while compiling a reading list, or mull over a motive while transcribing travel directions. Throughout the Notebooks she is Agatha Christie, Queen of Crime while always remaining Agatha, the family member.

Motive and Opportunity

One of her most personal creations, Ariadne Oliver, is generally accepted as Christie’s own alter ego. Mrs Oliver is a middle-aged, successful and prolific writer of detective fiction and creator of a foreign detective, the Finnish Sven Hjerson. She hates literary dinners, making speeches, or collaborating with dramatists; she has written The Body in the Library and doesn’t drink or smoke. The similarities are remarkable. There can be little doubt that when Mrs Oliver speaks we are listening to Agatha Christie.

In Chapter 2 of Dead Man’s Folly Mrs Oliver shrugs off her ingenuity:

‘It’s never difficult to think of things,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘The trouble is that you think of too many, and then it all becomes too complicated, so you have to relinquish some of them and that is rather agony.’

And again, later in Chapter 17 she says:

‘I mean, what can you say about how you write your books? What I mean is, first you’ve got to think of something, and then when you’ve thought of it you’ve got to force yourself to sit down and write it. That’s all.’

It was as simple as that and, for 55 years, exactly what her creator did.

The process of production was, as we have seen, random and haphazard. And yet, this seeming randomness was transformed into an annual bestseller and, for many years, into more than one bestseller. For over 50 years she delivered the latest ‘Christie for Christmas’ to her agent; for 20 years she presented London’s West End with one box-office success after another; she kept magazine editors busy editing her latest offering. And all of them—novels, short stories and plays—flow with the fluid precision of the Changing of the Guard.

So although it is true that she had no particular method, no tried and true system that she brought with her down the long years of her career, we know this appearance of indiscriminate jotting and plotting is just that—an appearance. And eventually we come to the realisation that, in fact, this very randomness is her method; this is how she worked, how she created, how she wrote. She thrived mentally on chaos, it stimulated her more than neat order; rigidity stifled her creative process. And it explains how the Notebooks read from both ends, how they leap from one title to another on the same page, how different Notebooks repeat and develop the same ideas and why her handwriting can be impossible to read.