Insomnia & Inspiration

I find inspiration in the oddest things. Once in a while, I have the good fortune of revisiting some of the events that shaped my youth. I have had just once such opportunity moments ago, when I enjoyed once again a marvelous mystery of the Dame of Murder Mysteries herself, Agatha Christie.

I grew up surrounded by books. Most of them rather boring texts belonging to my parents, who were both Primary School teachers. Children's stories adorned the shelves, with Enid Blyton's leading by sheer numbs. (I like to think that I had been a generous sort of older brother by purchasing all those Twins of St Clare's & Mallory Towers books so that my younger sister could share.) Of course, Secret Seven & Famous Five mysteries soon became favourites of mine. But I can still recall that that it was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Speckled Band & Red-head League that truly inspired my great love of puzzles. I was also deeply fortunate that I have a mother who is, to this day, a great fan of Sherlock Holmes. Just today she showed a great deal of interest in my iBooks app, when she saw the Holmes titles therein. (I might have promised her an iPad for christmas. Hmmm.)

Agatha Christie's Poirot was similar in his detachment and brain-power. Who would think it possible for ten people, coming from all walks of life, to have convened for the sole purpose of committing murder? That tale awoke my curiosity regarding the limitless human capacity for revenge, I confess. Till now, I still find the subject incredibly fascinating.

Yet, despite the pleasure of following the exploits of that Baker St genius, I have always felt intimidated by his intelligence. Just as it was somewhat depressing to read of Hercule's little grey cells. I also found the pair of them to be egotistical to the extreme, though I shall admit, deservedly so. I would not like to sit next to them at a dining table, however. No doubt they would find me utterly boring.

Then one day, I was called to the living room while a television movie was playing. I honestly cannot remember who it was who called me to join the family. I was never much for watching television. The commercials I found terribly irritating and only a handful of shows were interesting in my opinion. I did remember what it was that drew me to watch that show that evening - it's based on an Agatha Christie mystery, I was told. So I sat myself down, prepared for yet another American adaptation that completely destroyed the plot. But to my surprise, I rather enjoyed it! But who was this captivating old lady who saw past all the glitz and glamour? I dug around, and discovered the single greatest force that shaped my life, Miss Jane Marple.

I thought it rather odd that I had not heard of her before I watched that movie (it starred Elizabeth Taylor, it one must know which version). I learnt, much to my dismay that my earlier devotion to Hercule had blinded me to other works by the great lady, and I had missed Miss Marple in entirety! Horror. Well, I soon rectified that! After all, I had a Library Card and I was not afraid to use it! Ha!

Well, I had the pleasure of watching 'A Mirror Crack'd again this night. The Joan Dickson version by BBC, this time. And I find myself thoroughly fulfilled by it's conclusion. The acting was impeccable and very British. That is to say, with great subtlety and no little humour. And watching the show, rather than reading the book, made me understand why I love Miss Marple mysteries so much:

Unlike dear old Sherlock and the Belgian, Miss Marple relies on one very simple principle - people will be people. From her, I haves learned that one only needs to pay attention to understand what it actually going on around oneself. She has taught me to open my eyes and see, to use my ears to listen, and to empathize, to feel what each character must be feeling. Unlike the pair of great Brains, she gave me hope that I too could solve difficult puzzles by doing these very simple to achieve things. And so I have, from time to time.

It is a reminder, more to myself than to anyone, to watch, listen, and put oneself Into another's shoes. Each time I watch or read Jane Marple, I feel the touch of my muse. And I wonder if, like the dear old lady, if there has been anything that I've missed.