Our series on Miss Marple continues, as we examine literary adaptation via one of my favorite cozy mystery series. As always, expect spoilers for The Moving Finger (and The Murder at the Vicarage) – both the novels and their BBC + iTV adaptations.
We are moving on to the third Miss Marple novel, The Moving Finger. Published in 1943, just a year after The Body in the Library, the novel feels like an improved version of The Murder at the Vicarage. The two novels share many common characteristics: a first-person narrator, pulled into an investigation due to unwitting involvement in a village scandal, is aided by Miss Marple in their crime-solving. But where The Murder at the Vicarage felt muddled in characterization and theme, this attempt is much more compelling.
A narrative redo
The Moving Finger structurally resembles its predecessor, The Murder at the Vicarage, in many ways. Both feature a male narrator navigating a romantic mishap – Jerry Burton is falling in love, and Len Clement is learning to trust his new wife. They’re both surprised by a murder in a sleepy village, and are somehow directly involved in the proceedings. Both have access to upper-class villagers; both involve themselves in the murder investigation; both are surprised by the sordid facts they learn about their village in the process. And, in the end, both settle down to the domestic bliss predicted by Miss Marple and others, affirming the virtues of English country life.
Yet The Moving Finger is a more entertaining read, and the plot is easier to follow. There’s more narrative tension and I found myself caring much more about the characters and their outcomes. If The Murder at the Vicarage was the “MVP” Miss Marple, The Moving Finger is a meaningful upgrade.
This difference in narrative effectiveness stems from a few differences in the character setup between the two novels. Specifically, the narrator, the victim, the villain, Miss Marple herself, and the police cohere to create a sense of community. Breaking down these differences can help establish what makes this a truly cozy mystery.
1. The narrator (and his development)
The narrators of the two novels are very different, and I find Jerry Burton more compelling than Len Clement. Jerry is told by his doctor to
“… go down to the country, take a house, get interested in local politics, in local scandal, in village gossip. Take an inquisitive and violent interest in your neighbours.”
Agatha Christie, The Moving Finger
He does just that, and his development from glamour-obsessed townie to rooted, community-oriented villager is both narratively and thematically interesting. So you get to watch Jerry’s evolution as he learns to look beyond the surface to the substance beneath. This parallels (or is exacerbated by) his murder investigation, where he uncovers all sorts of secrets and scandals.
Len’s story of learning to trust Griselda is a bit underwhelming by contrast. Len’s a pretty flat character, and his mistrust of Griselda always feels a bit silly. Not only that, but Len doesn’t get any other character development (murder-related or otherwise), leaving the story arc feeling flat.
2. The victim
The victims in the two novels create different forms of mystery. Mona Symmington, in The Moving Finger, is low-grade unlikable. While she’s unpleasant, she fits into the village of Lymstock, and the mystery comes from dissecting the murder of a pretty ordinary person. Colonel Protheroe of The Murder at the Vicarage, in contrast, is horribly unlikable – and very disliked. This means there’s a long list of potential suspects, but less intrigue and discovery go into investigating each one.
3. The villain
The villains are also interestingly different. While both murder for love, The Moving Finger’s Symmington does so for a governess who does not return his affections. His clear self-absorption makes him more interesting as a villain. This a story of self-delusion and self-absorption, and it’s easy to root for his downfall.
Compare him with Lawrence Redding and Anne Protheroe from The Murder at the Vicarage, whose murder of the Colonel seems much more justifiable. The Colonel abuses Anne; she can’t get out of the marriage; and both are charming, passionate characters. The book therefore has to lean heavily on judicial logic rather than emotional reasoning. (This isn’t necessarily a bad thing – just less of a “cozy” mystery vibe.)
4. Miss Marple’s role
Most of The Moving Finger takes place sans Miss Marple. Instead of riding along with the entire investigation, Miss Marple swoops in at the end of the novel, solving the murder relatively quickly. This mimics the short stories that best show her off – Miss Marple uses her human expertise, not physical evidence, to solve crimes.
Contrast this to The Murder at the Vicarage, where the solution is quite fiddly. It relies on both physical evidence and Miss Marple’s personal knowledge of the suspects. This undermines her general human expertise in favor of specific clues and knowledge. While both solutions are impressive, The Murder at the Vicarage dilutes our understanding of Miss Marple and her keen eye for human behavior.
5. The depiction of the police
The police in The Moving Finger are essentially non-entities, serving as plot devices to establish certain facts for the villagers. They’re reasonably competent and professional, the villagers trust them, and they catch a criminal, even if it’s not the ultimate murderer. They may not be the quickest officers, but their inability to solve the crime reflects its difficulty, not their stupidity.
In contrast, Inspector Slack from The Murder at the Vicarage manages to irritate every potentially helpful witness. This calls his competence into question and implicitly reduces Miss Marple’s accomplishments and expertise. It’s hard to compare two investigators’ skills when one has witnesses actively hiding information from him. By The Moving Finger, it seems, Christie understood that the smartest detectives can outwit competent police – not just annoying ones.
Cozy mysteries are more than the sum of their plot devices
Structurally, then, in The Moving Finger we spend a lot of time with the protagonists and their love interests before we get to the “real” mystery-solving with Miss Marple. As readers, we understand how the Burtons move to Lymstock, and why they might look down on it. We get to watch them meet their love interests, and grow increasingly interested in a village life. And when the nefarious events escalate, they directly impact this ongoing story. Miss Marple’s crime-solving simply removes an obstacle from the central village romance. The Moving Finger is a village story first, and a mystery second. But because we’re bought into the characters and their well-being, the mystery-solving takes on new importance.
In The Moving Finger, Christie realizes one of the core elements of the cozy mystery – how community drives narrative tension. Unlike a hardboiled detective story, a true “cozy mystery” often puts community integrity on the line. This doesn’t work well without a distinctive, compelling community or a murder victim that represents a real threat to the status quo. The community – and the threat to it, posed by the murder – is the reason to solve the murder, beyond an academic hankering for justice. And a good mystery is one that you want to see solved – not just one that can be.
Of course, it’s easy to see these differences when you’re in the midst of a Miss Marple reading marathon. The television adaptations play with different constraints. (For one thing, they needed to expand Miss Marple’s role, as audiences presumably expected to see her leading each investigations). In this case, the BBC team chose to stick more closely to their Miss Marple prototype, while the iTV team chose to heighten the novel’s approach to storytelling. We’ll explore the specifics of these choices – and what they can tell us about creating narrative tension – in next week’s post.
Until then, stay cozy, and stay curious!
