As much as I love Christie, nobody's perfect, and The Murder on the Links was a real slog to get through. I was about two thirds in on my plane ride home from London when I thought I'd use my time far more constructively by sleeping. The issue might have been the same as I had with The Mysterious Affair with Styles (1920): an early mystery (second Poirot, third altogether) still searching for the flow and the ease of the later mysteries.

None of the pieces just come together for me, although superficially it has all the aspects of a good Christie novel. The labyrinthine crime itself is not very interesting, nor are the suspects or the investigation (although I did enjoy the contrast and competition between Poirot and Monsieur Giraud, who resembles Sherlock Holmes), and the blunders of the police feel too obvious efforts to highlight Poirot's deduction skills.

Not only that, but the whole Hastings as a lovesick puppy thing is awkward as hell. I just couldn't care less about his swooning, and he honestly comes across as a total chump who should really take his head out of his ass for a second. Unfortunately, he's the narrator, so you're stuck with him. Those of you who are introduced to Hastings here for the first time: no need to worry, he later settles into a more pleasant character.

I do, however, think that two stars instead of one is warranted, because The Murder on the Links is still better than The Big Four (1927). Still, nothing would have convinced me to read the rest, so the Wikipedia plot summary more than satisfied my need to know the solution to the mystery.