Endless Night is late, Christie. It’s a standalone that doesn’t feature Miss Marple or Poirot. I get the impression that those who have read Christie aren’t aware of this one. I’m here to tell you it’s very much worth your time.

Told in first person, Michael Rogers introduces himself as a working-class bloke in his early twenties, easy on the eye with expensive tastes. His dream is to purchase the property, “Gipsy’s Acre”, and have the world-famous architect Rudolf Santonix build the house (who he met when working as a chauffeur). It’s after he attends the auction of “Gipsy’s Acre” (no, he doesn’t buy it, how can he?) that he stumbles across Fenella (Ellie) Guteman—an incredibly wealthy heiress (although Rogers doesn’t know this when they meet). They fall in love. They decide to marry. Rogers realises his dream of building a house on Gipsy Acre (Fenella bought it before she met Michael, a means of escaping her overbearing family). It’s all going so well. But according to the local “gipsy” woman, the property is cursed, and if they don’t leave the property, Michael and Ellie are sure to die. And, after an increasing number of disturbing events—rocks thrown through windows and the like—it looks like the “gipsy” curse is coming true.

Let’s deal with the elephant in the room. The treatment of Romani and traveller culture is dreadful. I’m not even convinced it’s “of its time”. There’s an argument that given that no one in this novel (bar Ellie) is especially likeable, their stereotypical views of Romani culture are to be expected. I don’t buy that either. The entire culture is used as a plot device, a red herring, leaving a bitter taste in the mouth.

But, if you can squint at the racism (clearly I could), you get a funny and keenly observed novel about class. Via Rogers, Christie takes the piss out of the rich—their blinkered, ritualised view of the world and their delight in backstabbing each other. Even Ellie, the only truly “nice” person, has the naivety and innocence of someone who’s never had to work or wonder where their next meal is coming from.

Then there’s the twist. Because the novel is six decades old, and because it’s since been employed again and again and again, I’d be disappointed if you don’t pick it. (I’m not even sure the twist is original to Christie. I’m looking at you, The Good Soldier). But Christie pulls it off so damn well, with such skill, that it has all the makings of a slick magic trick. The ending is also much more savage and darker than I thought it would be.*

Given how little Dame Agatha I’ve read, I see more of her work in my future.**

*No, I’ve not seen the film.

**I know, I know, I should read “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd”… even though I know the twist.