Red Herrings in And Then There Were None 

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By Elle Thompson

Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None has been praised as a masterful mass murder and a testament to successful suspension of mystery across multiple points of view, including the killers. However, to maintain dispersed suspicion across the ten suspects and provide their candid interiority, Christie breaks one of the fundamental rules of fair play: no red herrings. 

A red herring within investigative fiction can be defined as a clue or detail that is intended to misdirect or distract the reader. It is a betrayal of trust to further obscure the mystery and suspend its resolution. However, it is important to note that not all red herrings are necessarily a violation of the reader’s trust, nor directly in violation of fair play. Red herrings between characters within a story, for example, are necessary and natural. A murderer may try to misdirect suspicion by throwing in false evidence, or as in And Then There Were None, faking their death.

Justice Wargrave’s staged murder is as flamboyant as red herrings come, almost comical in its theatricality, with a scarlet oil slick curtain for a robe and yarn for a judge’s wig. The readers learn later that the judge was alive in this scene, and had faked his own murder through an allegiance with a too-trusting doctor and a dollop of red clay. However, that moment of revelation isn’t a betrayal of the reader’s trust but the characters. The readers know something is amiss, that the characters are constantly trying to deceive each other, even if they do not know how or when that deception is taking place. Therefore when Wargrave takes action to deceive his fellow murderers, it is perceived as a part of the mystery, contributing to it instead of distracting from it. Furthermore, the sheer dramatics are a clue to the reader, either in the moment or in retrospect, that an active attempt at distraction is taking place.

Characters in a mystery story inherently have something to hide, but so does the author. Agatha Christie’s red herrings are more subtle than the red herrings exchanged between her characters, but just as retrospectively incriminating.

Justice Wargrave is sometimes described as “reptilian” and smiling at in opportune moments. A detail that would seem damningly villainous if it were not for the “wolf-like smile,” used to describe Phillip Lombard throughout the story. Lombard’s wolfish persona is used as a distractor and equalizer to Wargrave’s unnerving presence, effectively allowing the reader to recognize the ‘snake in sheep’s clothing’ in retrospect but not in advance of when Christie wants them to. Furthermore, these animalistic characterizations, while dramatic, are used sparingly to not draw attention to the clue or the red herring until the opportune moment. This artful manipulation of the red herring still airs on the side of fair play and trust because it does not obscure details from the reader. Instead, it provides fertile ground for hindsight bias without giving away Justice Wargrave’s identity. 

While red herrings between characters or from the author can be excused as mechanics of genre, allowing the mystery to unfold at a measured pace, red herrings between the characters and the reader are another matter. To have a character actively lie or obscure information breaks the fourth wall and casts doubt upon all information presented whether it be a red herring or true evidence. In the middle of a mystery, this disruption can prove fatal to the credibility of the author and the narrator, rendering the mystery unsolvable using the evidence presented. Perhaps this is why Agatha Christie only dared to include it as a bookend revelation.

The first paragraph of the novel begins with the perspective of the Soldier Island Murderer, Justice Wargrave, seemingly thinking about everything except anticipating the murder of ten people. His voice is distant and aloof, providing only the details that he would provide later in his cover story. This is necessary for the plot to progress, and otherwise benign considering the reader has only been introduced to the character moments ago.

The epilogue, however, changes things. Justice Wargrave is revealed not only to be the Murderer of 10 on Soldier Island, but a raving, passionate, justiciar with a voice so unlike the first paragraph it seems a different character altogether. This confession letter and the voice it contains cast doubt on the sincerity of Wargrave’s point of view in the first scene. If Wargrave is thinking to himself in a carriage car, who is he acting for? The omission of his true motivation and plans is intentional, but on who’s behalf? Wargrave could indeed be role-playing or getting himself into the role he is about to play, but the grey area between character omission and authorial voice makes or breaks the rules of fair play. 

That being said, the grey area between right and wrong, fair and unfair play, is the perfect playing field for And Then There Were None theoretically and thematically. The multiple POVs, the thin line between detective and murderer, and the uncharacteristically unfit cast of characters dance on the line between genre writing and forbidden territory. Blurriness between murderer and victim, between justice and tyranny, and between red herrings and clues, further the sense of paranoia, suspense, and prophetic danger that drive the novel. The question then becomes not if Agatha Christie breaks the rules of fair play, but how she bends them and if the boundaries of investigative fiction are truly rigid enough to collapse when crossed.

The Colonel’s Bequest: A Great Watch, but Awful to Play

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The Colonel’s Bequest is a point-and-click murder mystery game that uses “real-time” mechanics to give the player an active investigation experience involving traveling through rooms to find physical clues, peering through the eyeholes of paintings to hear secret conversations, and talking to NPCs to get information about suspects. As one of the first of its time (first released in 1989), this game takes some bold approaches to mechanics, and oftentimes fall flat, though the ideas explored can be observed both for their successes and failures to further the genre.

During the regularly scheduled Monday evening play sessions held for MAAD 14900, Alex Duarte, Hunter Kuhlemeier, and I chose to play The Colonel’s Bequest out of the possible “real-time mechanic games” options we had to choose from. To quote Kuhlemeier, “[The Colonel’s Bequest] is the worst gaming experience I have ever had.” Duarte remarked similarly. I found this interesting, considering the fact I personally had a wonderful time. I realized quickly though that there was one small difference: each of them took turns playing the game, while I watched and offered suggestions, but never took the helm. This led me to a really interesting question: What made the play experience so awful?

When in a friendship, there is a certain aspect of doing activities together where small amounts of pain to one member of a group is enjoyable for the others to observe. This has been seen time and time again, and at times, friends can be no better than bullies when it comes to pain reactions. And thus, as I think more on it, perhaps what made the game so unenjoyable to play was exactly what was enjoyable to watch. In talking with my companions afterwards, they shared similar experiences: the game only got unenjoyable once they themselves took the controls. There are a couple factors that I think played into this.

The first factor was definitely the movement. Rather than a standard movement system where players use W, A, S, and D or the arrow keys, holding them down to instruct the character how to move through the space, The Colonel’s Bequest instead has a press-and-release movement system, and in fact, trying to press and hold down the arrow keys leads to the game becoming slow and unresponsive. Beyond that, even when the movement was used in the intended way, the character would consistently get snagged on set pieces and invisible barriers. As a result of these, moving anywhere in any quick fashion is nearly impossible. Additionally, many modern-day point-and-click games have additional measures built into their movement system to allow the player to type a written command to move to a specific area; when used to those systems, coming to this early exploration of the genre can be met with frustration.

The second large frustration is the data gathering methods. The biggest problem here was the idea that due to how time passes, data is incredibly easy to miss. Throughout the game, various things happen that are time-sensitive, and the only way to catch them is to go to the correct place at the correct time. This becomes a problem when time progresses by simply walking into specific rooms, pushing the clock later into the night and removing any chance of hearing important conversations, barring returning to previous saves (which are manually done, the game does not save automatically), making players do things again and again in order to find everything. Additionally, sometimes the game expects one specific command to do a certain action, so even when you know what you are supposed to do, there are times where the player sits there typing 20 different commands before finding the one that the game expects to actually execute the action.

Each of these alone and even together, while frustrating, can still be played with some success, if not for the third frustration, which is how punishing and random the possible ways to die are. Upon further analysis, it is definitely understandable to recognize this problem as a product of its time, where games weren’t taken quite so seriously and unavoidable, unfair deaths were probably a little bit funnier for the player (don’t get me wrong, they were hilarious to me). The most egregious example of this is that at some point in the evening, the chandelier in the front entryway begins shaking (which you can only see if you approach from the second floor) and from that point on, if the player walks underneath it, it falls on the player’s character, crushing them and instantly ending the game. I imagine that the intent is to be a reference to Clue, released 4 years prior, as other references to this have been seen previously, such as the titular colonel’s name being Colonel Dijon (referencing Colonel Mustard from Clue). Other unfair deaths include being grabbed from a mysterious person inside a closet upon inspecting it, opening the gate in front of a horse which kicks you to death, and using a cane found somewhere else in the house to pull the string on the old bell outside, which promptly falls on the character’s head. All of these deaths are unpredictable and most certainly not fair, and really interrupts the flow of play when the player is trying to focus on a specific task.

With all this information on the table, it is easy to see how a player in control of the game could be extremely frustrated with the result. Even using a guide, we only got through the first three of eight acts in the time that we had, and by the end, both players were ready to call it quits. Not having this control gives the spectator a different perspective, and watching my friends get slowly deteriorated by this, upon closer look, torturous game was a delight. But maybe that says more about me than the game itself.

On Fair Play in And Then There Were None

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And Then There Were None is a detective novel that first appears to us to abide by all the established rules of fair play. But, upon closer inspection, we find that Christie has violated several well established rules, both from the set we concocted in class, and those drawn from elsewhere, and often in an egregious manner. At the on-set Christie seems to be providing us with a situation so fair and just to the reader that it sickens us. Ten perfect strangers, all trapped on an island. Their desires and motives unknown or obfuscated, any one of them could be the killer. And indeed, by the end of the book, Christie has ostensibly followed our rules to the letter. She does not avail herself of a supernatural or otherwise “cheap” solution to the ultimate “locked room” (or perhaps “locked island” would be more appropriate here). Instead, the culprit is one of the characters we were introduced to at the beginning of the story. She does not introduce an unknown third party who is responsible, and who it would have been impossible for the reader to guess at. She does not point to some specter or ghoul, but a flesh and blood man, and a man the reader was intimately familiar with at that. So where is the cheat? Where has she led us astray? Let’s begin at the beginning.

Her first trick lies in her set-up. Providing the reader with all ten suspects from the get-go, and indeed allowing them all to be our guides through the story seems like a generous move on the part of the author, but in reality it violates one of the first rules of fair play: consistent viewpoint. There can be only one. A characteristic that must be shared by all law-abiding detective novels is the presence of one and only one viewpoint through which the reader experiences the story. Having multiple perspectives as Christie does, lends more credibility to the story on its face, as the reader now has multiple points of access and more lenses with which to view the world, but in reality only serves to “muddy the waters,” so to speak. The potential for more variety of information that we gain from listening to multiple narrators is hugely offset by how unreliable ten voices shouting different versions of the same events soon becomes. 

The second befuddlement lies in the death of Judge Wargrave. I said at the beginning that to her credit, Christie doesn’t resort to “cheap” tricks, but this device comes quite close. In allowing a murder victim to “rise from the dead”, she has subverted not only the rules of the genre, but also her own. Previously, suspects were eliminated from the mind of the reader when they were killed, “proved innocent by way of their death”, but Wargrave is the exception. And in being the only exception, she renders her own ending arbitrary in a sense. This is not to say that there was no way for the reader to know, but guessing at Wargaves’ guilt requires such a substantial leap in logic that it doesn’t allow for us to consider it “fair play”, at least under any reasonable definition of the word. Aside from its use as a literary concept, there is also an issue with how it is carried out in practice. To put it frankly, it was unbelievable in hindsight. Some might argue that the brilliance of the twist is in how believable the Judge’s death seemed at first, but I would argue that its believability is its greatest fault. The truth of the matter is so impractical, so fantastical, that the reader has no choice but to believe the false narrative present, but this is not a stroke of genius on Christie’s part, but instead an infraction on the rules of logical deduction wrapped in the veneer of wit. 

The final breach I’ll discuss today again concerns narration. As we discussed in class on the 24th, an author must take care when hiding and disguising information from the reader. To use the example of the phone call from Prof. Jones’ slideshow, if the story is told from the detective’s perspective, the author cannot in good conscience obscure the contents of a phone call received by the detective from the reader. It would contrast harshly with the sense of closeness one feels when experiencing a detective novel through the detective’s eye’s, and it is not a pill the reader would easily swallow. They would be understandably distraught at suddenly being yanked out the detective’s mind when they were once allowed free reign in it. So too, if the story is given in some flavor of omniscient or semi-omniscient perspective, does the reader have trouble swallowing the omission of the phone call’s contents. It is only if Watson tells us that Sherlock receives a call, that the reader is satisfied not being privy to the call’s contents. And here, Christie commits another transgression. In the first few pages of the novel, she boldly introduces us to our killer-to-be, unbeknownst to us at the time, of course. And yet, though he is readily and giddily planning to murder nine strangers on an island, some in particularly brutal ways, none of this is betrayed to us at the time of his introduction. Obviously, it couldn’t be, or else she might as well have ended the book at the second page, but therein lies the problem. She cannot simultaneously present to us the inner workings of the characters’ minds, their thoughts and feelings and at the same time leave out that one of the characters we have been living within is a psychotic serial killer.

But maybe the fault lies with the reader. Maybe we should be amazed that Christie snuck this right under our noses, and indeed, when one goes back over what they read previously, they may be inclined to chastise themself for not seeing what now appear to be “obvious” clues, or to draw flimsy connections where none actually existed in order to justified Christie’s shocking reveal. I submit they should not avail themself of this feeling, and instead try and take a logical and unbiased look at what is before them. Difficult as this is, I believe that when it is done, the reader will realize that all those supposed connections they drew, and many of the “clues” they missed resulted purely from the knowledge they now possess about the ending of the book. Indeed, even the early forays in Wargrave’s mind, when glanced back upon do nothing to indict him as the guilty party. How is it that we are in the head of a murderer, but don’t take him for a murderer? Some may say this is proof of a brilliant writer, but I take it as proof that Christie didn’t read the relevant literature on the rules of fair play as they pertain to detective novels. 

Justice and the Pursuit of It in And Then There Were None

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For a mystery novel, And Then There Were None has pretty much everything a reader could want. From limiting the setting to an isolated, dreary island with only one means of egress to including a colorful cast of characters each with equal motive to kill, And Then There Were None has all the suspense and intrigue it needs to remain a staple of the mystery genre to this day. In addition to Agatha Christie’s well-crafted narrative, And Then There Were None wouldn’t be complete without its potent exploration and critique of justice—both the kind found within our judicial system and the kind achieved through extrajudicial means. Not only is And Then There Were None thrilling, but it also provides sumptuous philosophical food for thought for the most detail-obsessed of readers, which, as luck would have it, are often avid fans of the mystery genre. 

The Culprit

Hindsight truly is 20/20. Only with knowledge of the ending—and his entire written confession—does Wargrave become the obvious killer. Combined with the knowledge that he has a self-confessed “definite sadistic delight in seeing or causing death” (285) and learning that he had formed an alliance with Dr. Armstrong outside of the reader’s perception, Wargrave swiftly acquires the motive and the means necessary to become the killer. 

There are other clues that, in retrospect, point to Wargrave being the elusive mastermind. For example, the fact that Wargrave has a lesser, if not the least, amount of intimate perspective exhibited in And Then There Were None can be cited as potential evidence. This is a more meta indication rooted in Christie’s story-crafting methods and techniques. There is a case to be made that Marston has the least amount of intimate perspective; however, he is unceremoniously disposed of first and has the least amount of time to impact the narrative beyond being his adrenaline junkie self. The remaining cast are given far more time to expound upon their guilty consciences and their building paranoia, both internally and externally. Compared to them, Wargrave is subtly neglected.

Another meta detail of note is the fact that Christie intentionally describes Wargrave as “reptilian” towards the beginning of the novel: “The hooded reptilian eyes met [Dr. Armstrong’s]” (66). She repeats this descriptor sporadically to describe Wargrave and using turtle-like behaviors to further push his inhuman attributes. While innocuous at first, this early descriptor becomes more significant when paired with Christie’s intentional use of animalian descriptions to portray the mental deterioration of the surviving characters later in the novel:

And all of them, suddenly, looked less like human beings. They were reverting to more bestial types. Like a wary old tortoise, Mr. Judge Wargrave sat hunched up…Ex-inspector Blore looked coarser and clumsier in build. His walk was that of a slow padding animal…He was like a beast at bay ready to charge its pursuers. (212)

All of these details are subtle and could be regarded as throw-away elements. Other small details abound, such as the fact that Wargrave is the one to lead the discussion concerning the assertion that Mr. Owen must be one of their party. How much significance these details warrant remains up to the reader’s discretion. 

Additionally, Christie does play somewhat unfairly to obscure Wargrave’s truth. By “killing” Wargrave, she removes him from the survivors’ and the reader’s suspicion, seemingly following her own pre-established rule: once a person has died and the murders continue, they are acquitted of being the killer. Any reader theorizing that Wargrave was the killer is forced to discard their theories in order to observe this rule that has stood for the past murders, which, in light of the ending, could be construed as “unfair” because the reader didn’t have access to the knowledge that Wargrave and Armstrong were in cahoots. However, unfairness is rather subjective. It could be further argued that Christie only breaks a rule of her own invention for the purposes of the narrative. Arguably, obscuring some knowledge is a necessity of the mystery genre in order to achieve a satisfying experience for the reader.

Justice and its Zealots

Wargrave certainly portrays himself as a reasonable man that is only doing as he should: condemning the guilty. On the surface, this could be an honorable creed that mirrors those of many other fictional characters. A figure like Batman certainly comes to mind. However, unlike Batman, Wargrave is also a man claiming to have a preternatural ability to discern the innocent from the guilty—an ability that he feels so confidently in he can dismiss the evidence gathered by the police and Edward Seton’s to secure the guilty verdict. Despite the fact that evidence was found later that proved Seton was guilty of his crimes, it cannot stand that a man like Wargrave should retain his position as an arbiter of justice—and Christie makes no secret of this sentiment. 

Our justice system is not perfect. There are a multitude of reasons to justify this statement with varying degrees of complexity and nuance. However, one of the potential complications Christie explores in her novel is actually a particularly celebrated feature of the English judicial system (and many, many others): the presumption of innocence. The burden of proof remains with the prosecution, and it must withstand the scrutiny of the defense, presiding judge, and/or the jury. There is a unique tension between the presumption of innocence and the pursuit of justice. It is the same tension that exists between the concept of free will and the idea of living under a nation-state—as any SOSC class exploring Locke, Hobbes, and Rousseau will tirelessly discuss. When every suspect is assumed to be innocent, the chance that a truly guilty person will escape punishment is never zero, which is illustrated by select occupants of Soldier Island. However, the alternative of presumption of guilt is punitive and holds the potential to do far more harm than good. It also still does not address the quandary of what to do with cases where no legal wrong has be explicitly committed but a certain social infraction is suspected to have taken place.

Wargrave is the kind of madman found only in fiction. Despite the fact that he was right—everyone on Soldier Island was guilty in one way or another—this could never realistically occur using the same methods Wargrave employed to create his guest list to Soldier Island: listening to gossip and hearsay and relying on his sixth sense honed to sniff out the guilty. Nevermind that this sixth sense could merely be something every living person has: bias. Therefore, it cannot be assumed that Christie means to only criticize the legal system. Naturally, there is still critique. However, Christie is not saying that extrajudicial justice is the correct course of action once the legal system has fallen short. Wargrave’s mission can be more accurately described as not the pursuit of justice but the pursuit of punishment. 

And Then There Were None certainly contends that a society’s laws are fallible, and our legal system is not the only determiner of wrong or sin. However, Christie assuredly does not support the total abandonment of the established judicial system, nor does she throw her support behind the acts of people like Wargrave. Justice is complicated, and And Then There Were None provides a potent exploration of its many facets, strengths, and weak points.

– Carrie

The Lone (Were)Wolf: Predictable Unpredictability in Games of Ruse, Trust, and Betrayal

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Social deduction games are an interesting case of fair play as every player goes in with different skill levels and goals, which can sometimes lead to unsatisfying outcomes.

With games of ruse, trust, and betrayal, player unpredictability is a core tenet, adding excitement and variability to gameplay. However, unpredictability is often heightened in groups of players with varying skill levels and mindsets, reflecting the broader social dynamics beyond the game itself. Having played a number of process of elimination social deduction games (Secret Hitler, Among Us, One Night Ultimate Werewolf, Mafia, etc.), I’ve encountered diverse strategies, gameplay styles, and player psychology. While I mostly agree with Robinson’s notion of “emergent fiction crafted by the game designer” in RTBs, where players “pursue goals at the behest of a designer, following that designer’s rules, and procedurally generating fiction in parallel,” it assumes that unpredictable players will adhere to socially expected rules. Sometimes players, from lack of experience/knowledge of the game or just love of pure chaos, throw a wrench in this expectation of predictable unpredictability, introducing another layer of complexity to the ruse, trust, and betrayal and/or ruining intended mechanics.

In Werewolf, players must employ various levels of ruse, trust, and betrayal to achieve conflicting goals outlined by the game developer. Lying or revealing partial truths about one’s character is a common tactic (ruse). For characters like the Seer, it is recommended to pretend you are a regular villager for as long as possible, as revealing yourself might get you killed, putting the werewolves at a significant advantage. Playing as the werewolf necessitates ruse, requiring players to convincingly blend in with the villagers while subtly manipulating information to their advantage, like picking unclaimed roles with flexible interpretations to be more convincing than others. Trust in other players’ narratives becomes essential due to the voting aspect, leading to betrayal when the convincing ruse and misplaced trust are uncovered. That expectation of play however falls through when at least one player doesn’t like rules.

Part of RTB’s predictable unpredictability is understanding that there are competing goals and every player will strategize in their best interest. Where Robinson’s theory of game designers being the ultimate arbiters of the emergent narrative falls apart is with these rogue players that do not have their best interest in mind, either by chaotically sabotaging themselves and their team’s goal of winning or by misunderstanding what their role/strategy should be to accomplish said best interest. 

Starting with the chaos players, no matter how rigid, constricted, or freeing the rules of the game are, part of playing with human opponents is that they have a mind of their own. The game expects that you would want to tell mostly truths to be trustworthy and deduce your teammates to further the collective strategy, but some lone wolves have other plans. I’ve seen this many instances with Secret Hitler, where players who are bored of being liberal will play openly fascist, thus confusing their teammates and the actual fascists, creating an extra challenge for everyone else. Werewolf is no different. Players may reveal they are werewolves, whether they are or not, and tell their fellow players to do with that information what they will, offering no other explanation. They may claim false roles despite having their own, just for the fun of it. That way, even though they have a logical alibi, they are now untrustworthy and presumed to be guilty werewolves because this radical plan was not fully thought out like we would expect of a strategy. They may also just go completely off script and not play their role, either choosing not to do the action that they have to at night, doing someone else’s actions which is not allowed, or refusing to ever check their role at all. Technically, there is nothing binding players to rules, especially soft mechanics, but it upsets the structure agreed upon by all other players, and out of the collective desire to have fun playing a game together, a player like this could be kicked out of the group for “ruining the game.”  

On the other hand, while not as frustrating as a player purposefully introducing chaos, it’s also just as likely that an inexperienced player may not play their role correctly out of confusion, adding a different layer of uncertainty. Each night, the players with roles must complete their actions as dictated by the game designer. I’ve seen many occasions where players, usually newer to the game, were not paying attention during the “nighttime” where everyone’s eyes are closed and either missed their turn, forgot their role so they didn’t do anything, or even worse, opened their eyes when they weren’t supposed to, ruining the mystery and forcing us to start over. You cannot fault players like this, especially as some fault is on the more experienced players to properly explain the rules and strategies, but it is frustrating nonetheless for those invested in the gameplay and expect a level of crafted uncertainty versus accidental failure to produce the unexpected. Just like in detective novels, it is unsatisfying to have information revealed because of an accident or coincidence. Newer players also often contribute less, leading to their being left out of the vigorous back-and-forth that is the entire excitement of the gameplay and unlikely to play again later to get better. Alternatively, this lack of experience can be used to your advantage, claiming that you are not as aware of the strategies you have indeed employed. This was my excuse for most Among Us sessions, both a partial truth that I was new and unaware of the layout and a ruse to go undetected. Werewolf is similar in that sometimes it helps to be quiet to avoid suspicion, and a new player can do that, while those more experienced are expected to be more clever in their social game. 

All of these factors need to be taken into consideration during social deduction games. Usually, everyone plays as expected, providing or withholding information to achieve their goals. Rarely are players so inept or chaotic that it completely ruins gameplay, and sometimes it spices up the monotony of predictable unpredictability, but this does lend to the idea that all games are confined to their play session. So I partially agree with Robinson that game developers craft an expected unexpected experience for players to build up within themselves, but for every rule there is a rule breaker, purposeful or not. In this way, players are the ultimate generator of deductive fictions because game rules are only a guide and the accepted laws are socially determined. A game can be very enjoyable or completely ruined based on who you trust to sit down with you, after all, the most satisfying part of a game of ruse, trust, and betrayal is not properly deducing or concealing identities but playing in accordance with what is socially acceptable. Unpredictable players create their own fictions, but they need a group to create a larger narrative within a game.

– Lia

And Then There Were None: A Lesson in Mystery

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By Will Traband

Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None is a true mystery. Many of Christie’s earlier works are considered mysteries, but many are not. They are more akin to jigsaw puzzles, where the player knows what the end product is supposed to be. A real mystery has no obvious path forward. And Then There Were None creates a real mystery by directly attacking this formula. It sets up characters like any of Christie’s works but pulls the rug out from under the reader. Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None is a successful mystery story because it subverts the reader’s expectations in a way that forces them to consider all outcomes. 

Many of Agatha Christie’s texts work around a set of tropes. For example, in the Poirot books, there is a formula. Poirot arrives in some new setting, and a murder occurs. Poirot decides to investigate, but almost everyone is suspicious in one way or another. After a while, and with a few twists and turns, there is always a section where Hercule Poirot gathers all the suspects in a room and gives a long speech about all the clues as to who the murderer is. He ends with his announcement of the murderer’s identity, and they get taken away. These tropes are not limited to story beats, however. There was often a mysterious wealthy person who needed care for an illness and a kind caretaker who helped them. Formulas like these were ubiquitous in mystery texts but posed a problem. When a mystery becomes formulaic, it ceases to be a mystery. The clues are often the same and in the same places. There is no mystery how the story will unfold when it has occurred a thousand times before.

Christie understands the tropes that she created and uses them to her advantage. One brilliant example is Dr. Armstrong. A mysterious, wealthy person who needs care due to an illness is a recurring character in Christie’s work. Dr. Armstrong is the kind caretaker, as mentioned earlier. This setup feels familiar to long-time readers of her novels and gets them off their guard. The general setting of the book is also recognizable. A large number of suspects gathered in one place, and a murder happens. Now, the detective has to find the guilty party despite everyone involved being suspicious in one way or another. And Then There Were None first shakes up the formula with the shifting perspectives of the first chapter. No detective will solve the case, as everyone is that detective at one time or another. With the death of Mrs. Rogers, it becomes even more clear that this book is unique. Two murders, while not unheard of, are rare in Christie’s works. When General MacArthur dies, it only gets worse. Three deaths are even less common, and suddenly, there is a sense of panic.

The paranoia instilled in both the characters and the reader is palpable. It is unclear who will die next; the only clue is that it will follow the Ten Little Indians poem. It is so different from most of Christie’s works that while there is a mystery, there is also an element of horror. There is supposed to be a hero in this kind of text. There is supposed to be some detective who will save the day. As the death count mounts, the most significant subversion in this text becomes clear: there is no hero on Indian Island. There are only villains, all of whom will die. 

It is brilliant that nobody ever finds the murderer. Vera believed it to be Lombard but was wrong. The trope of someone explaining how the murders occurred still happens but in the form of a message in a bottle. Wargrave was the murderer, and he constructed the deaths of every character. Fundamentally, the lack of a hero in this text means everyone is an investigator. However, in a complete twist on most of Christie’s work, nobody succeeds. Even the police only figure out what happened from the message in a bottle. There is no satisfaction from the detective solving the case. There are only ten bodies on an island. 

Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None uses a subversion of traditional mystery tropes to create a true mystery. It is unclear who will die, and with every death, the number of suspects seems to go down. Christie sets up a traditional murder mystery but uses a shifting perspective to show that And Then There Were None is not a typical mystery story. Once the murders start occurring, it becomes increasingly urgent to find the culprit, which encourages both the reader and the characters to rush. Ultimately, And Then There Were None is not just a murder mystery. It is successful because there is a grand scheme rather than a simple crime. And Then There Were None is a great mystery because it breaks the tropes the reader has been trained to expect.

The Last Express Interactive Video Essay

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Please use the link below to play in browser.

https://steelecitrone.itch.io/the-last-express-interactive-video-essay

The game works through point and click. Click on the following arrows and hands to navigate through the train. Click on me to listen to my analysis; I recommend staying in the room until I am done speaking. There may even be some hidden items to find along the way!

Attached below is the script for the video essay. I highly recommend playing the game first before looking at this, as it will spoil the experience.

last-express-video-essay-script-1Download

Fair Play in And Then There Were None

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“”One of us… One of us… One of us…”

Three words, endlessly repeated, dinning themselves hour after hour into

receptive brains.

Five people – five frightened people. Five people who watched each other, who

now hardly troubled to hide their state of nervous tension.

There was little pretence now – no formal veneer of conversation. They were five

enemies linked together by a mutual instinct of self-preservation.”

The excerpt from Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None captures the thrilling suspension echoed throughout the novel. The book presents a story where ten individuals of varied backgrounds who all committed different levels of crimes, found themselves stranded on a desolating island and unwillingly involved in a meticulously planned homicide. The book was published in 1939 and till today remains one of the most influential mystery novels of all time. When detective fiction was first established as a genre back in the 1800s, most novels follow a puzzle-solving formula involving the concept of “fair play.” In And Then There Were None, Christie reimagines the genre and breaks the traditional “fair play” rules established in the past, creating a complex narrative that challenges the readers not only intellectually for logical deductions, but also psychologically by presenting moral dilemmas. In this blog post, I will review the concept of “fair play” employed by classical detective fiction and analyze how the novel’s deviations from traditional structures contributed to its popularity.

One of the first detective stories, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, was written by Edgar Allan Poe and published in 1841. The story introduced a narrative convention to mystery fiction, which eventually evolved into a stringent formula that for once defines writings within the genre. This set of conventions ensures the authors unwrap the mystery puzzles in a way that creates fair and engaging reading experiences. In class, we summarized common “rules of the game” suggested by four different mystery story critiques: Marie F. Rodell in Mystery Fiction: Theory and Technique, Rex Stout in What to Do About a Watson, and Howard Haycraft in both The Rules of the Game and Murder for Pleasure: The Life and Times of the Detective Story. Stories written under this convention usually present all the clues necessary to solve the crime to the reader during the narrative in a way that is accessible by the readers, without intentionally concealing evidence or deceiving the readers using misleading information. The narration of a classical detective fiction generally revolves around a detective who eventually solves the crime through logical deductions, and a less omnipotent foil character who offers the readers a limited perspective on the case of murder. This duo usually serves as the protagonists, and thus cannot be revealed as the murderer according to the rules of “Fair Play.” The stories usually end with having the criminal arrested or punished, restoring justice and ensuring a moral closure to the criminal case.

However, in And Then There Were None, Christie violated most formulas established for “successful detective fiction,” creating characters with conflicting identities. The most striking rulebreak is the murderer Justice Wargrave, who revealed himself as well as every crime he committed through a manuscript in a bottle discovered by a fisherman at the very end of the story. On one hand, Wargrave was a judge, owning an occupation that stereotypically resembles moral authority and judicial power. He is supposed to be one to uncover the crime and restore justice for the victim, similar to a traditional omnipotent detective. However, instead of mediating the crime, he orchestrated the sequential murders in the name of justice. In the story, Wargrave deceived all the other characters by faking his own death; outside of he book, due to the limited perspective, the readers are also tricked by the author into ruling Wargrave out when attempting to deduce the murderer and believing that the crime must be committed by one of the characters alive. would not be considered as fair play, as, by manipulating the perspective of the narrative, Christie hid the crime Wargrave committed until the very end of the story. Although the physical clues are present in the book, the staged death made it extremely difficult for the readers to deduce without reading the killer’s confession. Besides the identity of Wargrave, other violation of “fair game” involve the fact the motive behind the homicide was not completely personal since Wargrave only found out the crimes committed by some of his “victims” by stumbling upon the information. For instance, he learned about Vera Claythrone’s crime via her past lover Hugo Hamilton on a cruise at the Atlantic. After the final reveal, the identity of Wargrave as a Judge became ambiguous, leaving it entirely up to the perspective and interpretation of audience.

Even though “fair play” was considered to be a key to success in mystery novel writing, And Then There Were None gained unprecedented popularity after its publication. A possible reason could be that while traditional work of this genre focused on logical scrutiny in the story telling, Christie added another component of psychological depth in her narration by challenging her readers with moral dilemmas consistently throughout the reading experience. One example is General Macarthur, who was a war veteran who caused the death of a young officer whom he suspected of having an affair with his wife. His death was one of most moving– after accepting his fate, he calmly awaited his death while reflecting remorsefully on his past decisions. Although he committed an indirect murder, his vulnerability and introspection prior to death led readers to empathize with him. Additionally, by abandoning the predictable narrative of a mystery novel and eliminating the usually present dependable narrator (the detective), Christie pushes her readers outside of their comfort zone. Once the readers start simultaneously suspecting all of the characters, the story naturally becomes more interactive and unpredictable. Moreover, at the time of publication, a closed circle mystery did not existed yet. Therefore, the novel setting of a secluded island with a serial killer, combined with a nursery rhyme that serves as a clock to countdown the deaths captivates the audience, amplifying the tension and suspense.

In conclusion, in the novel, Christie did not follow the convention of detective fiction at her time, and introduced a new sub-genre of mystery story. The compelling structure of closed circle mystery left a lasting legacy and inspired subsequent works in various media such as locked room murder mystery movies and social elimination board games.

— Panthita. T.

And Then There Were None (and Inspired Media)

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By Tara Makhija

And Then There Were None, arguably Agatha Christie’s most famous novel, has inspired an entire generation of books, movies, and video games. I read it for the first time as an assigned reading in middle school, and that book served as the gateway to Agatha Christie’s other works and an entire genre of mystery in my future. The story is well-known with much appeal for its suspense, which makes it a common required reading for students. That being said, regardless of whether the reader has engaged with the book in the past, they likely find the premise familiar. Especially if the reader has seen works like the movie adaptation of the popular board game “Clue”, they will recognize the following similarities, among other things:

  • A group of strangers having been invited to a remote mansion without easy means of egress
  • A host unknown to any of the strangers, who doesn’t show face immediately upon arrival
  • Evidence unveiled against each guest for committing a crime they had gotten away with
  • One by one murder of the guests, and the realization that one of them is the murderer

While the Clue movie served as a more comedic parody of And Then There Were None, the latter proved more sinister in tone through a more restricting sense of entrapment, a sense of “justice” associated with each murder, and a more ominous sense of inevitability. While the Clue movie kept guests trapped in the residence through locking the main mansion door and vicious guard dogs, a truly terrified guest likely would have chosen the dogs over a potential death, giving them the possibility to have broken window glass in attempts to escape. This option is not available in And Then There Were None, which takes place on a remote island that can only be left through a boat that did not arrive. Furthermore, the desire for murder in Clue stemmed primarily as a desire of preventing the guest from being blackmailed in the future. This is dissimilar to that of And Then There Were None, where murder came from Wargrave’s perverted desire for justice. This is an important distinction to note, as while blackmail is enough of a motive for a person to commit murder, justice is a motive that stems past the individual, and could be seen as of a broader scope. That sense of broader scope creates a sense of “right” and “wrong”, playing on the guilt of characters and leading to the next major difference between the two works, a sense of determinism in And Then There Were None.

From the start, Clue dispelled any notions of determinism within the movie. The characters were granted agency within their own lives, and the opportunity to kill either the butler or the blackmailer with weapons provided to them. While the blackmailer or butler may have had their own prepared plans for the events that would unfold, these plans relied on encouraging guests to act in a certain way, rather than committing any of the actions themselves. This created a sense of inconclusiveness in the movie, with even the planners unsure of how the night would unfold. This idea of uncertainty is further demonstrated through the movie format itself, which featured 3 alternate endings. In And Then There Were None however, there was a sense of inevitability from the first murder. This was created through a variety of motifs and events throughout the story: the missing figurines representing each death, the link between the murders and the children’s nursery rhyme, and more generally, a sense that each murder was committed “for the greater good”, and that the actions each character had committed in the past had already condemned them to their fate. To reiterate, while characters in both And Then There Were None and Clue had committed some sort of heinous act in the past, they were only murdered for such acts in And Then There Were None, whereas in Clue they were murdered more for the current threat they portrayed (due to blackmail, etc). This all worked to create the sense of inevitability that led to the final death–not a murder but a suicide, with the last victim only being provided the means to kill themself. Instead of being killed, they chose to kill themself for a sense of poetic closure linked to the idea that from the beginning, they were already dead. That idea is likely part of the reason why the novel is so successful. The reader finds themself unsure of not only who the murderer is but if they’ll be caught in time, instead of assuming that good will always win in the end. The sense of uncertainty And Then There Were None cultivates adds to the suspense, which is only amplified with the murderer’s prioritization of justice over his own life. As such, while many pieces of media find themselves inspired by And Then There Were None or strive to achieve that level of acclaim, Christie’s creation of senses of entrapment, justice, and inevitability make the novel difficult to replicate.

Exploring Justice in “And Then There Were None” through Wargrave’s Perspective: A Comparative Analysis Between Novel vs. Film

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Exploring Agatha Christie’s novel And Then There Were None has been an eye-opening experience for me as I was only aware of the mini-TV series on Amazon Prime. It was so satisfying to me that the title resonated well with the novel’s plot. Although I wasn’t able to figure out the right person at the end, it is possible for other readers to reasonably deduct the true mastermind as the book involves some concept of “fair play” as Christie presents a series of clues, both subtle and overt, and also is transparent with the information given to the readers.

After reading its content, I also decided to watch portions of each of the adapted mini-episodes, and it was interesting to see several differences, visually and narratively. For instance, in Lifetime’s miniseries, each of the ten characters’ crimes are portrayed differently, with much more explicit violence and brutality. For example, the general directly kills Richmond by shooting him in the back and Philip Lombard killing the East African men for personal greed instead of abandoning them with no resources. Unlike Christie’s characters, who somewhat maintain a sense of detachment from knowing that they could truly be a murderer, I felt as though these characters are depicted as more aware of their guilt, with the crimes being showcased more brutally.

As I reflected on the visual and narrative disparities between the two separate mediums, one theme that really stood out to me in the novel rather than in the series was the portrayal of justice through the progression of the murder plot. 

As the narrative unfolds, a group of eight strangers are lured to the remote ‘Indian Island’ under various pretexts. Upon arrival, they are accused of past crimes that have gone unpunished. This theme of justice and guilt, a central element in both the novel and the miniseries, fuels the tension and paranoia among the characters as they confront their dark pasts. Each murder, executed in accordance with the nursery rhyme ‘Ten Little Soldiers,’ serves as a stark reminder of the repercussions of their actions. In the end, all the characters meet their fate, victims of a meticulously crafted plot orchestrated by (spoilers) Judge Wargrave, a chilling embodiment of justice, albeit in a twisted and merciless form. 

Wargrave’s character in the novel raises questions about whether he serves as a protagonist pursuing “justice” or the main antagonist due to his skillful murders, even of himself. He is deeply committed to avenging those he believes have evaded punishment, even if it means carrying out the killings personally. His manuscript found in a bottle reflects this inner conflict, where he acknowledges his desire for murder but is restrained by his sense of justice as he writes, “Yes, I wanted to kill. But-incongruous as it may seem to some– I was restrained and hampered by my innate sense of justice. The innocence must not suffer” (Christie 351-352). Thus, the novel effectively explores Wargrave’s internal struggle, providing insight into his reasoning for the killings as he wanted to give back karma to those who were “unreachable” by the civic law.

Additionally, the novel presents each character’s supposed guilt. Here are some examples:

  • Vera Claythorn’s indirect responsibility for a child’s drowning
  • Philip Lombard’s involvement in the deaths of East-African tribesmen by not providing resources (food & water)
  • Edward Armstrong’s fatal mistake while operating under the influence of alcohol
  • Emily Brent’s role in her servant’s suicide
  • William Blore’s false testimonies leading to wrongful conviction

Considering the characters’ actions and guilt, it’s intriguing to question why Wargrave targets certain individuals in a specific order. For instance, Blore’s involvement in the death of an innocent man may be seen as indirect, as he sent him to prison, where he died. Lombard’s actions, while callous, may not have directly caused harm. Similarly, Brent’s decision to cast out her servant may not have directly led to her suicide. Nonetheless, Christie does an amazing job explaining the devious sequence of murders in the novel in specific detail as she writes through Wargrave’s perspective, “There were, I considered, amongst my guests, varying degrees of guilt. Those whose guilt was the lightest should, I decided, pass out first, and not suffer the prolonged mental strain and fear that the more cold-blooded offenders were to suffer” (Christie 354). We can see how Wargrave even kills himself around the middle of the death sequence, implying that his actions of performing this whole killing spree incorporate a mix of justice and guilt, which I think is a really fascinating detail. The novel ends with nobody knowing about Wargrave’s true identity as the mastermind behind this scene. 

The mini-series takes a different approach to the sequence of killings, which I found confusing. It’s unclear why the directors chose to have Wargrave reveal himself to Vera at the end and then commit suicide. This choice diminishes the power of the ultimate mastermind, Wargrave, as it’s questionable why he would reveal himself to someone he knows will die rather than showcase the manuscript in a more cinematic way. Does this decision provoke a sense of justice and order, aligning with Wargrave’s intentions in the novel? Additionally, it’s strange that Wargrave is the last person to survive and then commits suicide after his plan succeeds. This scene doesn’t clearly justify why he is the last person alive. Did the directors intentionally keep him last because he sees himself as the most “cold-blooded,” as Christie suggested? If so, this reasoning is dubious since he attempts to serve “justice” against all the other individuals who couldn’t make it to trial. Thus, I believe that Christie’s novel does a much better job of capturing a smoother and thought-out narrative when explaining the murder plot to the audience. 

Overall, Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None elevates the mystery genre by transcending its conventions. The novel expertly intertwines the suspense of a locked-room mystery with the psychological depth of a thriller, delving into how the concept of justice really works in a nuanced manner that captivates and unnerves the reader. Rather than checking out the film, I highly recommend reading the novel first, as it has a much better chronicle to follow!

Author: Daniel Myung
Sources used: “And Then There Were None.pdf – Perpustakaan UNP”