I know it’s a classic. I know it’s widely considered one of the greatest detective novels of all time. But I avoided The Murder of Roger Ackroyd for years for one simple reason: I have a deep, abiding hatred for poorly executed unreliable narrators.
Ever since slogging through The Girl on the Train, where the unreliability felt more like a gimmick than a craft, I’ve been wary of books that pull the rug out from under the reader without earning it. So when I heard that Christie’s 1926 novel used that same device, revolutionary at the time but widely (and poorly, IMO) mimicked since, I hesitated. I assumed it would frustrate me. I assumed I’d see the trick coming and roll my eyes.
I was wrong.
Even going into Roger Ackroyd fully aware of its infamous twist, I found myself completely absorbed. Agatha Christie doesn’t use the unreliable narrator as a twist for the sake of shock. She builds a meticulously crafted mystery around it, planting clues with such elegance and restraint that the final reveal feels both astonishing and inevitable. The brilliance lies in how fair the novel is: the truth is there all along, hidden in plain sight. Unlike more modern thrillers that often blur the line between withholding and deceiving, Christie invites the reader to play detective alongside Poirot, and she respects our intelligence every step of the way.
The narrator, Dr. James Sheppard, is deceptively ordinary, his voice understated and self-effacing. Christie’s mastery is in how she uses that ordinariness to lull the reader into a false sense of security. When the truth clicks into place, it doesn’t feel like betrayal—it feels like revelation.
Yes, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is a classic. But it’s also a masterclass in narrative control, subtle misdirection, and genre-defining innovation. If, like me, you’ve been burned by unreliable narrators before, don’t let that stop you from reading this one. Christie didn’t just do it first—she did it best.
I wanted to keep that momentum going and check out more versions of the story, so I checked out a screen adaptation.
In this feature-length episode of Agatha Christie’s Poirot (Season 7, Episode 1), Detective Hercule Poirot (David Suchet, the best Poirot, no argument) is drawn out of retirement to the quiet English village of King's Abbot after the sudden death of Mrs. Ferrars, who was suspected of poisoning her husband. When her fiancé, the wealthy Roger Ackroyd, is found murdered shortly afterward, the village is thrown into turmoil.
Poirot carefully investigates the secrets and lies of the Ackroyd household and their neighbors. As tensions rise and suspicions multiply, Poirot’s keen intellect uncovers shocking truths hidden beneath the surface of this seemingly peaceful community. The story culminates in a stunning and unforgettable twist that challenges everything the audience thought they knew. I think the adaptation remains faithful to the novel’s intricate plotting and suspenseful atmosphere, though there were some minor changes I noticed at the beginning, probably to make things more enticing on screen without the need for written explanation.
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After enjoying Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd—both the novel itself and the masterful David Suchet TV adaptation—I was intrigued to dive into Pierre Bayard’s Who Killed Roger Ackroyd? This book takes a daring, unconventional approach, re-examining the classic mystery and proposing an alternative solution to one of literature’s most famous whodunits.
Bayard’s work isn’t a straightforward sequel or a typical mystery novel. It's a playful and intellectual literary investigation that challenges the “official” narrative that Dr. Sheppard is the culprit, The author argues, through close textual analysis and imaginative interpretation, that Christie’s story leaves room for another, perhaps even more surprising, answer.
What makes Bayard’s book compelling is how it dialogues with both the original novel and adaptations like the David Suchet episode—works that have defined the mystery’s place in popular culture. While Christie’s novel and the TV version build tension toward that unforgettable twist, Bayard invites readers to reconsider their assumptions and engage more deeply with the text. His work highlights the fluid nature of storytelling and how mysteries can live beyond their original telling.
For fans of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd who want to explore beyond the classic detective story and delve into literary theory and alternative readings, Bayard’s book is a thought-provoking companion piece. It adds a fresh dimension to a mystery that has captivated readers and viewers for nearly a century.
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