
It’s hard to talk meaningfully about this book without spoilers. Let’s see…the first chapter deals with the discovery of the murdered body of a famous author, and is narrated by his childhood friend, one of the people who discovers the body. Soon after, someone confesses to the murder, but the detective in charge of the case thinks there’s more to it, and decides to keep digging.
I both did and did not enjoy this book. It’s focused on an issue mostly pursued by true crime books: it’s not a whodunnit, but a WHYdunnit. What is the psychological motivation behind the crime? That’s the part I enjoyed. The part I did not enjoy was everything else about it.
Maybe it’s partly a translation issue: the novel evidently enjoyed success in Japan, but wasn’t translated into English for about 20 years. It’s hard to know how much gets lost, but the writing seemed unnatural and self-conscious to me. That said, it wasn’t just style, it was also content. There were any number of details that were perfectly self-evident, but that the author evidently felt a need to spell out in explicit terms. I’m always one for subtext over text. It is also utterly inconceivable to me that a detective would be permitted to continue investigating a case for so long after a signed confession was given that was perfectly consistent with the evidence. My suspension of disbelief does not stretch over police department budgets, no matter what continent they might be on. It also, unfortunately, has trouble with the ultimate solution of the murder, resulting in a very unsatisfactory reading experience all up.