Murder she wrote and deliciously well

To a modern eye, her books reflect many of the faults of her generation -- "And Then There Were None" was originally titled "Ten Little Niggers" (which was also the original title of the poem changed to the only slightly better "Ten Little Indians"), and the British class system, still in place when Christie grew up, is often replicated in her books without question or argument.

That said, there were no sacred cows -- her murders were as socially diverse as her victims, and Poirot's greatest asset was that, as a foreigner, no one thought him important enough to guard against. Through him and his less-than-perceptive British foil, Hastings, Christie was able to dissect the famous British reserve and rigid dictates of class. The running joke that no one seemed capable of believing that, although he spoke French, Poirot was in fact Belgian, served as a perpetual admonishment against Britain's often dismissive relationship with its European neighbors.

But it was Miss Marple who became the most vivid symbol of Christie's worldview. With her white hair, cornflower blue eyes and gentle ways, Miss Marple took a lively interest in the world around her but knew from experience, alas, that pretty much everyone was capable of anything, including murder. People can be wonderful creatures, my dear, she would inevitably say, but still it pays to keep your wits about you.

It's a dictum that has lost neither its social nor literary resonance, though it's difficult to think of anyone since who has wielded it more effectively. The problem was never that Christie wrote too many books but that she wrote too few.

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mary.mcnamara@latimes.com