The Adventure of the Cheap Flat by Agatha Christie

Tout doucement, mon ami.

Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot mysteries are some of my ultimate comfort reads. There’s just something so wonderfully cozy and delightful about them—like curling up with a warm cup of tea on a cold winter day. Jumping into a Poirot mystery can also feel like spending time with that one friend who definitely thinks they’re the smartest person in the room—and, annoyingly, they’re usually right. But with Poirot, it’s all part of the charm! His cases are always a treat, filled with sharp wit, brilliant deductions, and just the right amount of theatrical flair. Christie's fast-paced, crackling dialogue and witty banter always bring a smile to my face, especially when Poirot is trading quips with his ever-bewildered sidekick, Captain Hastings.

Now, The Adventure of the Cheap Flat is definitely one of those mysteries where you just have to sit back and enjoy the ride because it is utterly ridiculous. The central premise about an apartment that's suspiciously affordable because it might be linked to international espionage is delightfully absurd. And at one point, Poirot and Hastings break into the flat using a coal lift, which is as silly as it sounds and had me picturing the dapper detective covered in soot, grumbling about the indignity of it all.

The climactic reveal is a also bit underwhelming, but I'm not really here for shocking twists even though these are Christie's specialty. The real joy of these stories, for me, lies in Poirot’s ego and cleverness, Hastings’ charming obliviousness, and the way Christie skillfully ties everything together in a neat little bow within such a confined narrative space. 

I can overlook the many faults because the amusement factor is off the charts, and of course, you have the iconic Hercule Poirot at the center of it all. Where else will you find a detective who solves crimes with the sheer power of his "little grey cells" while also being the most gloriously vain and particular man to ever grace the pages of detective fiction? Poirot doesn’t just solve mysteries; he does it with bravado and stylistic flair. Don't forget his perfectly waxed mustache either. Poirot’s presence elevates the silly mystery to pure entertainment. He’s fussy, theatrical, and occasionally exasperating, but you can't help but love him. Whether he’s lamenting the English obsession with undercooked vegetables, condescendingly berating Hastings for his lack of deductive prowess, or casually outwitting international spies with relative ease, he’s always such a delight. So yes, the plot may be a bit far-fetched, but who cares? As long as Poirot is there to smugly explain it all, sign me up.