I Want To Be Hercule Poirot When I Grow Up

Agatha Christie’s egg shaped, moustached protagonist is my literary ideal for the future.

When I was a child, I thought I would be Piglet when I grew up.

When I was a teenager, I thought I would be Elizabeth Bennet when I grew up.

When I was in my early 20’s I thought I’d be Lestat De Lioncourt when I grew up.

I now would like to Hercule Poirot when I grow up.

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Courtesy of Pinterest

I, like many forgot all about Agatha Christie after reading it casually in University. Until Kenneth Branagh of all people decided to make an adaptation of Murder on The Orient Express, Agatha Christie’s most famous novel. Let me tell you, the movie looks stunning and feels like an Agatha Christie novel, but Mr Branagh is not portraying Poirot, he’s portraying action hero Poirot. Gone was the egg shaped man with the many moustaches, in was the running around and fighting people with a cane.

Regardless, I still watched every movie in the cinemas.

Then in early 2024, I found a weathered old copy of ‘The Murder of Roger Ackroyd’ at my local thrift store for $2. I read it obsessively on my way home, and about four Poirot novels later, I realised how interesting Hercule Poirot actually is.

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M. Poirot likes things to be even and symmetrical, from his eggs to his furniture, and indeed any furniture in any room he walks into. This is what makes him such a good detective, things stand out to him, and when things are disordered, he likes to find out why. He also likes to tell others he’s good at his job, without irony.

When someone comes to his house he has petit fours laid out with tea, no matter if they want it or not. He remembers what drink people he knows like to have, and he makes sure he has it on hand for them, even if he doesn’t particularly like it.

He speaks politely, slips into french and likes when people do their jobs and do it well, without fuss. He hates the dentist, he likes to be appropriately dressed for all meals, and sometimes has just jam pastries for breakfast. No wonder he looks like an egg.

The one thing he doesn’t do is apologise for his particularities.

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When I was a child, my parents told me having preferences was wrong, you have to want all food and be grateful because it’s food, and never be vain, never complain and work towards stability. I flew in the face of that, even as a child. I hate tomatoes in everything but sauce, the texture of hardboiled egg yolk upsets me and bitter foods such as pickles grossed me out. My parents labelled me ‘too much trouble’, ‘too picky’, ‘spoilt’ and the often used ‘you wouldn’t survive in Sri Lanka’.

Other peculiarities include wearing all black, a different tiny notebook for different topics, watering my plants all at once so they don’t feel left out and speaking to my dog…even when she’s not there. Oh, I sometimes listen to french podcasts, but don’t speak much french. I like the way the language sounds.

I also would like to stop apologising for these particularities.

When I go to a nice restaurant with my friends, and they want to share a tomato based entree, I would like to stop saying ‘sorry, I’m so picky!’, and instead, in the style of Poirot, I should say “Ah, Cherie, you know how I feel about tomatoes, they are not for me.’

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It’s important to make it clear that i’m not quite ready to become Hercule Poirot just yet. There are some things getting in my way. I’m a mess of a person, I certainly don’t earn enough to be having petit fours on hand at all times and I don’t even live on my own yet.

But I can see the type of person I would like to be reflected in Agatha Christie’s work, and right this moment, I aim to have a sitting room of my own, and a standing invitation to all of my loved ones to drop by at any time. I want to be busy, mind never settling, running around to all of my esteemed acquaintances, and if I can avoid looking like an egg, that would be lovely. But if all the petit fours keep getting eaten, it seems inevitable.

At some point, perhaps in the next 20 years, I want to escape the chaos of this age and finally settle into some form of unapologetic existence. I want to be flexible in mind, but not flexible in the standards I hold for myself. I want to be generous with my time and affection and I’d like to be able to say ‘You know, I am an incredible writer.’ without any irony involved, and actually believe it.

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