Agatha Christie

The first Agatha Christie novel I read was called (back in the 1950's) "Ten Little Niggers". Of course the title was subsequently changed first to "Ten Little Indians" and then to "And then there were None"; as political correctness became more and more aware of the feelings of various groups so did the title change accordingly.
I thought it a great read. But though I tried other of her novels, I was not able to finish any - except "Murder on the Orient Express" which I thought, a few pages before it ended, I had cracked the solution, only to be proved wrong when I found that all the chief suspects had "done it".
There, I've gone and given away the ending, a cardinal sin for reviewers of books.
But now there must be few readers who don't know the ending of that famous novel - even if they haven't read the book, surely they know the ending from the film.
Charles Moore in his Spectator column committed the cardinal sin of giving away the ending of the new Oscar winner, "Slumdog Millionaire".
Ok it's not so much a sin as a "not very nice thing to do". Now I know the end I don't know if I want to see the film.
After all it's not like seeing "Hamlet" where, though you might have seen it a few times and know the end, you don't go and see it again for the desire to know "who dun it" or "who wun it"; you go because there's great depth in the play and each time you see it then something new is learnt or the poetry seems more magnificent or the character more fascinating. With Who-Dun-It's the ending is what you read it for, the excitement of getting there, trying to work it out on the way.
Go to the corner of the room, Charles Moore and put the dunce's cap on.
I am reminded of what Edmund Wilson wrote after he had read, and reviewed, Agatha Christie's first Poirot novel, "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd"; "who cares who killed Roger Ackroyd?" he wrote.