Ten strangers arrive at a secluded mansion on Soldier Island, invited by an absent host named U.N. Owen. The group includes a reckless driver, a corrupt detective, an aging general, and a religious fanatic, all of whom share a history of unpunished crimes. After a recorded message accuses every guest of murder, people begin dying in patterns that follow a nursery rhyme displayed in their rooms. With no way to reach the mainland and guests falling one by one, the survivors must identify the killer hidden in their own ranks.
Fans of locked-room mysteries and psychological suspense read this for the intricate puzzle and the grim atmosphere of isolation. The narrative forces the reader to track motives and alibis while the cast shrinks, challenging them to solve the crime before the final reveal. Readers gain a study of human desperation and the mechanics of a perfect crime, walking away with a total resolution that accounts for every technical detail of the slaughter.
Insights from And Then There Were None
“The sea... the sea... her mind drifted. She was in a boat... a boat that was swaying.”
Waiting for justice to catch up with you is worse than the crime itself. Vera can't stop hearing the waves. They sound just like a drowning boy.
“We’re the zoo... that’s what we are. We’re the zoo.”
Everyone on that island looks like a respectable citizen. Underneath they are all just terrified animals. Their manners vanish as soon as the lights go out.
“Behold, thy sin shall find thee out.”
Guilt makes every shadow look like a killer. They all start suspecting each other because they know what they did. Their own pasts are the real monsters in the room.
“I have a pitifully human wish to be known.”
Justice becomes terrifying when it falls into the hands of a fanatic. Wargrave thinks he is doing something holy. He enjoys the power far too much.
- Published
- 1939
- Publisher
- St. Martin's Griffin
- ISBN
- 9780312330873
- Language
- EN
