We’re past the halfway mark on the Miss Marple series, and I’m so excited for this exploration. 4:50 from Paddington is the epitome of Marple-dom, an encapsulation of so much that I identify with the sleuth. But Christie keeps it fresh with new additions to the formula – most notably Lucy Eyelesbarrow, a smart and capable Watson. This is a risky move, but it works well because Lucy is such a delightful character.
So it feels like a good point to reflect on the nature of a series: what elevates 4:50 from Paddington to a series entry? How do series connect old ideas and patterns with new ones? And how can an author keep a series fresh with new ideas while maintaining the core?
From stand-alones to series
Until this point in the series, each of the entries has served (more or less) as a stand-alone mystery. Christie keeps certain details consistent – Raymond’s name, Miss Marple’s hometown – but each of the mysteries has an entirely new cast and plot. So while each of the stories is linked by a central detective character, a new reader doesn’t miss out on references and history in a meaningful way.
And in some ways, that remains true in 4:50 from Paddington. Christie throws in some nice references for prior readers – Marple’s connection in the Railways is Raymond and Joan’s grown-up son; Griselda’s son gives Miss Marple a map to identify Rutherford Hall. This is very mild fan-service (Griselda spends a paragraph of so wondering what Miss Marple’s up to) that shows the world progressing outside St. Mary Mead. For the most part, however, a new reader won’t miss much from these small cameos, and they don’t detract from the standalone nature of the novel.
The same goes for D.I. Craddock (though a little bit less). For the fan who remembers his journey in A Murder is Announced, it’s easy to understand his joy at finding Miss Marple on the case. But for the new reader, I’d imagine simply assuming that they’re run across each other before. The reading experience may be a bit less rich, but the story still makes fundamental sense as a mystery.
To share or not to share? On th dinner workings of Miss Marple
It’s not just about the Easter Eggs, though. In prior books, Miss Marple or the narration would explain her thought processes. Even if you hadn’t read a Miss Marple novel before, the text would ensure you knew that Miss Marple combined intuition with solid reasoning. This wasn’t just an old spinster getting lucky – this was a human expert, pattern-matching and narrowing down options.
But somewhere between A Pocket Full of Rye and 4:50 from Paddington, Christie took the reasoning internal. No longer does the text narrate Miss Marple’s thinking – instead, she simply ambles through the story, apparently indulged by Lucy and D.I. Craddock and other who can’t be rude to this nice old lady. As a series reader, of course, I know the level of thinking that goes into each question and suggestion. Her suggestions and questions serve as guides for my own reasoning – not just random outputs. But for a new reader picking up the series? I imagine Miss Marple coming off as a bit batty, a nice old lady who lucks into the right answers. Mysterium ex machina, skirting the edge of the fair-play rules.
A series needs references
This is the crux of the transition from standalone to series – the point where new readers lose out on elements of the reading experience that draw on prior work. Robert Barnard in A Talent to Decieve praises The Murder at the Vicarage for the “strong dose of vinegar” in Marple’s character – apparently more appealing than the “touch of syrup” in these works. And if you dive into reading Miss Marple solely from this point forward, it would be understandable if you agreed.
But Christie never intended Miss Marple as a syrupy simpering spinster. In fact, in They Do it With Mirrors, she gives us clear insight into Miss Marple’s mental acuity and suspicion. And because we can compare and contrast her thoughts and actions, it’s clear that Miss Marple never stops thinking in a “vinegary” way – she just takes it inside herself. (Additional evidence here: Christie loved Joan Hickson’s portrayal of Miss Marple – one that I’ve criticized for being too externally snarky. Miss Marple is a snark machine, the only question is whether she chooses to share it.)
So what’s happened? In these last two novels, Christie’s cut the exposition into Miss Marple’s thought processes (until the final monologue). And that creates a real divergence in reading experience, based on how well you know the character. Because if you’re a huge fan, you take it on faith that her questions and guidance for D.I. Craddock and Lucy come from somewhere. In fact, you know that most likely she’s not only guiding the investigation but trying to confirm her own hypotheses, well ahead of others.
But if you don’t know Miss Marple, you read about a nice old lady who sits in a parlor and then springs a convenient trap, and that’s not quite as compelling? I’d be surprised if a reader’s enjoyment of 4:50 from Paddington doesn’t correlate with their knowledge of the character. It is valid to find Miss Marple syrupy and lucky as a new reader, and valid to disagree as a fan. This divergence is the heart of the transition from connected stand-alones to serialized novels, and it’s fascinating to watch this happen.
Lucy and the value of domestic labor
So Christie, by removing all the wordy exposition of Miss Marple’s thoughts, has given herself some extra word count. What should she do with it? In this case, she choose to add a co-investigator, Lucy Eyelesbarrow. Lucy serves as the hands and legs for Miss Marple’s investigation, and she’s one of my favorite characters in the whole series.
Let’s take a step back – who is Lucy Eyelesbarrow, and why do I love her so much? Lucy is the best freelance domestic help money can buy. When younger, she took a first in Mathematics at Oxford University – so she’s smart and capable. She decided to turn that into a freelance housework businesses, and makes bank while doing it. In a society that still undervalues domestic labor, Lucy is a breath of fresh air. She’s fiercely independent and feminine, and knows her own worth – in many ways, her story gives echoes of Gaudy Night.
In fact, Lucy is only the start of a book that is deeply about women and the domestic sphere. Contrasting her is Emma Rutherford, whose age leads her brothers to ignore any potential domestic aspirations. In the edges of the work, there’s Florence and Mrs. Kidder, the enabling members of the domestic class. And then, Lucy, a shining star of domesticity, with the audacity to get paid for her work and skill.
Of course, none of this matters if she comes to ignominious or disappointing ends. Christie, textually, leaves the door open, with Miss Marple suggesting that she’ll obviously end up with one of the young male protagonists. It’s a bit of a “choose your own adventure”, with your preference saying as much about you as the text. And by doing this, Christie suggests a happy ending for Lucy without certifying what that ending should be. (Readers continue to disagree about the “right” answer.)
And while that brings our time with Lucy to a close, in some ways that’s nicer. Lucy is a curious mind, but it’s clear that her fulfillment does not lie in crime-solving. Shoehorning her into more novels would only make them worse or make her story sadder. And so Christie creates a compelling story with a sense of development, without compromising Miss Marple’s character or reducing her time at play. Lucy, like the Burtons, allows for a more satisfying story while letting Miss Marple do what she does best.
4:50 from Paddington is an iconic Miss Marple novel: it “turns the corner” from collection to series, and introduces one of the great feminist deuteragonists on Golden Age mystery. Next week, we’ll look at how the BBC and iTV handled their adaptations, with a particular emphasis on Lucy.
Until then, stay cozy, and stay curious!
