There's been a murder! On the Orient Express! Specifically, one coach car of the Orient Express, and the train's stuck in a snowdrift, so it's basically just a locked room mystery. And that's fun! Or, at least, it should be.

So why is this treasured classic so devoid of tension? I think the problem might lie in detective Hercule Poirot's aloofness. From the start of the story, he sets himself apart from his fellow passengers, preventing the establishment of any dynamic relationships or genuine investment in the other characters' lives. Through the act of the crime and the subsequent witness interviews, the reader sees the case through Poirot's eyes alone. Of course, this allows objectivity, but I would have much preferred to watch the story unfold while viewing the other passengers' reactions to events. It didn't help that there was no threat of continued violence on the train beyond the first death, so the motivation to solve the case was purely intellectual and legal in nature, rather than stemming from a time limit or need to prevent another murder. Everything about the investigation is cool, calm, and collected, but I had expected Excitement and was disappointed by its absence.

I was fascinated by the crime and resolution of this novel, but it just didn't resonate with me as the particularly exceptional story suggested by its status as a revered touchstone of the mystery fiction genre.