And Then There Were None

There was something magical about an island—the mere word suggested fantasy. You lost touch with the world—an island was a world of its own. A world, perhaps, from which you might never return. Ten unsuspecting people invited to an island. One by one, each is murdered ruthlessly. They come to the conclusion that the murderer is one of them. As each one awaits inevitable death, their pasts come back to haunt them.

This was my first Agatha Christie novel. I was initially disappointed. I had come to the end of a harrowing tale and had also perused the epilogue. Had I stumbled upon another of those inconclusive books that unsettle me? And then … there was the letter. A few unobtrusive pages tucked at the end of the book. In it, the seemingly inexplicable mystery is explained in a way only Agatha Christie could have. I guess I had underestimated her brilliance.