That said,
The Hollow
was different, and this was largely due to the ambitious character of Henrietta, the sculptor, in whom Agatha Christie tried to portray not only the agony of creation (the scene where she destroys a statue just after laboring to finish it because she senses that it is lacking
something
),
but that suffering that is particular to being an artist, an inability to be
truly
happy or unhappy, to
truly
feel hatred, despair, ecstasy, or love —the sort of aesthetic filter that separates, mercilessly, the artist from the world. The author had put much of herself into her character, and her candor was evident. Unfortunately, this isolation causes the artist to experience her surroundings in only a vague, ambiguous, and consequently less intense manner, making her a less interesting character.
Fundamentally conservative, and hostile to any idea of the social redistribution of wealth, Agatha Christie promulgated many deep-seated ideological positions throughout her career as a writer. In practice, this radical theoretical engagement nonetheless made it possible for her to be frequently cruel in her descriptions of the English aristocracy, whose privileges she so staunchly defended. Lady Angkatell is a burlesque character, only barely credible and often almost terrifying. The author is clearly fascinated with her creation, who has clearly forgotten, even those rules that apply to all human beings. She must have enjoyed writing sentences like "But then one doesn't exactly
introduce
people —not when somebody had just been killed" —but her sympathies did not lie with Lady Angkatell. On the other hand, she paints a warm portrait of Midge, forced to work as a salesgirl during the week, and who spends her weekends among people who haven't the faintest idea of what work really is. Spirited, lively. Midge loves Edward hopelessly. Edward, for his part, thinks himself a failure. He hasn't succeeded at anything in his life,
not even at becoming a writer
:
he writes short stories of disenchanted irony for obscure journals read only by confirmed bibliophiles. Three times he proposes marriage to Henrietta, without success. Henrietta is John's mistress, and she admires his strength and his radiant personality, but John is married. His murder shatters the delicate balance of unfulfilled desire between the characters. Edward finally realizes that Henrietta will never want him, and that he can never measure up to John. Nor can he bring himself closer to Midge; thus, his life seems to be completely ruined. It is at this point that
The Hollow
becomes a strange, poignant book, as these are deep waters, with powerful under-currents. In the scene in which Midge saves Edward from committing suicide, and in which he proposes to her, Agatha Christie achieves something beautiful, a sort of Dickensian sense of wonder.
Her arms closed round him firmly. He smiled at her, murmuring:
"You're so warm. Midge—you're so warm."
Yes, she thought, that was what despair was. A cold thing, a thing of infinite coldness and loneliness. She'd never understood until now that despair was a cold thing. She had always thought of it as something hot and passionate, something violent, a hot-blooded desperation. But that was not so. This was despair—this utter outer darkness of coldness and loneliness. And the sin of despair, that priests talked of, was a cold sin, the sin of cutting oneself off from all warm and living human contacts.
I finished reading at about nine o'clock and walked to the window. The sea was calm, myriads of luminous specks danced on the surface. A delicate halo surrounded the circular face of the moon. I knew there was a
full-moon rave party
*
tonight at Ko Pha-Nghan. Babette and Léa would probably go, with a good many other guests. Giving up on life, putting one's own life to one side, is the easiest thing a person can do. As preparations for the evening continued, as taxis pulled up at the hotel, as everyone began to bustle in the corridors, I felt nothing more than a sad sense of relief.