The Demon of Dartmoor (1993) by Paul Halter, trans. John Pugmire (2012)

Paul Halter has long since become the pet favorite writer of the western detective community. The appearance of an author who is time and time again compared to the King of Locked-Room Mysteries, John Dickson Carr, in no less flattering terms than “second coming” is enough to attract the locked-room mystery lovers’ intrigue. His works boast impossible crimes, locked-room murders, and seemingly fantastical mysteries touted by respected veterans of the genre as “stone-cold masterpieces” and “among the best put to paper”. And with everysingleHalter I read, I’m left with a single thought:

I don’t really get it.

But, The Demon of Dartmoor is with zero uncertainty considered at the very least one of his three best, if not simply his best novel ever published. And now, having been able to read it, I can finally say, with confidence…

I don’t really get it.



Amorous teens John and Becky were enjoying each other’s company at Wish Tor, a famously gorgeous rocky peak with countless hiding places beloved by couples looking to hide from watchful eyes… Suddenly, they were interrupted by the appearance of Constance Keats, a young woman from the nearby town of Stapleford. She was happily and giddily walking up to the peak of Wish Tor like “a girl in love”, calling out to someone who didn’t seem to be there…

When, out of nowhere, an invisible hand seems to push Constance in the back and send her toppling over the edge of the Tor and into the void of darkness below!

The young couple rushes to the house of their teacher Victor Sitwell, where they tell him what they saw, hoping that his discrete and altruistic nature will allow him to find Constance without telling their parents about their secret meeting. Compelled by a sense of foreboding, Victor Sitwell gathered town drunk Basil Hawkins and Dr. Thomas Grant to investigate the river running beneath Wish Tor.

And found washed up-stream was the corpse of Constance Keats, with a full deck of playing cards found around her body and the surrounding area.

A young woman talking to nobody, chittering giddily as if in love. Her eventual ascent to Wish Tor. Her eventual push to her death. And the full deck of cards found all over the place. Circumstances that perfectly resembled a murder the year prior, and circumstances that would soon be repeated the very next year as well…

Does a demon lurk in Stapleford, wearing the face of a charming young man and seducing young women to their demise..?

Meanwhile, newlywed actor Nigel Manson and his wife Helen come across Trerice Manor, a dilapidated gothic home near the village of Stapleford. The manor is for sale, and for peanuts at that. As the couple learns, the home was the site of a ghostly murder. The wife of the home’s previous owner was pushed down the stairs to her death by a malignant force which all present witnesses swear was totally invisible… For fear of this demon lurking in the walls the house has gone 50 years untouched….

Until, naturally, Nigel Manson, an obsessive lover of dangerous and indulgent photo shoots, purchases the property and has it renovated! To celebrate the purchase, he hosts a get-together with himself, Helen, his unfathomably unsubtle mistress and co-star in “The Invisible Man” Nathalie Marvel, and Nathalie’s impresario Frank Holloway.

And no sooner than some locals from the village — the very same Victor, Basil, and Thomas — invited to the home for a drink does Nigel climb out onto the top-floor window of Trerice Manor for a photoshoot. And no sooner than he does that…

…is Nigel pushed by an invisible hand to his death!

Famed lover and talented unraveller of things impossible, Dr. Alan Twist, and his partner Scotland Yard Inspector Archibald Hurst are on the case to solve the many murders of The Demon of Dartmoor…


It would be an understatement to say I was excited for The Demon of Dartmoor. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a novel lavished with such unambiguous praise by the mystery community! Friend and fellow blogger J. J. Noy of The Invisible Event said very clearly that he considered the core mystery of the impossible defenestration “surely one of the best ever put on paper“. Suffice it to say I’ve seen my fair share of impossible defenestrations, and I was excited to see what trick could earn such praise. And The Green Capsule offered equally promising praise of “a bit of misdirection running throughout the story that is so well done that it again invokes thoughts of Carr at his best“.

I couldn’t wait to see what all the hubbub was about! My expectations were sky-high for The Demon of Dartmoor!

…Well, to begin with, I believe The Demon of Dartmoor certainly has a core trick that is more to my taste than the ones featured in, say, the impossible crimes of Death Invites You or The Lord of Misrule. However, I would be lying if I said that I thought it was shocking, or clever, or original enough to truly carry the entire novel for me. I say “carry”, because although the core misdirection is more my preferred style of plotting, the actual construction and cluing of The Demon of Dartmoor is by far the weakest of the four Halters I’ve now read.

Keeping in mind I still have an eBook version of the book from when it was on Kindle, about 30 out of 190 pages into the book I spotted a rather blunt, unsubtle misdirection that allowed me to easily identify the perpetrator(s) behind the initial three murders in Stapleford. It is a misdirection that I believe is so deeply-ingrained not only in mystery culture but storytelling as a whole, that I couldn’t help but recognize what game was being played.

About 60 or so pages in, with a very minor bit of genre awareness, I was able to use that previous revelation to make a fairly informed guess about the killer(s) of Nigel Manson.

About 70 pages in, a blunt contradiction in a clumsy lie told by the same person I identified as the culprit not only confirmed my suspicions, but further told me everything about how the impossible defenestration was carried out.

For the remaining 120 pages, I was never once persuaded from my theory, and by the end it turns out I was correct.

This isn’t just idle bragging, but rather I believe The Demon of Dartmoor is an incredibly thinly-plotted novel. The core conclusions are reached almost entirely with no more than one or two pieces of information, nearly all of which are presented rather early into the story, and all of which are rather blunt. By the time I reached the end of the book, I’d ended up feeling like the core conceit and everything around it would’ve better served a short story than a feature-length novel.

The core conceit is, also, perfectly okay. It is, however, deeply connected to what I believe is perhaps the single most common method of committing an impossible defenestration. (ROT13: Gur ivpgvz vf znavchyngrq vagb snyyvat/whzcvat/jnyxvat/ehaavat bss gur rqtr gurzfryirf). While this core principle is amusing and I always appreciate the many different methods authors have manufactured to do this, it is still an idea that is always in the back of my mind when reading any work of this nature. The method The Demon of Dartmoor used to accomplish this is certainly clever, but as I said before betrayed by a fairly clumsy bit of cluing, and truthfully not quite clever enough to strike me as particularly genre-defining or brilliant enough to stop me in my tracks and make me want to sing the book’s praises from the rooftops.

As is common of Halter, The Demon of Dartmoor is also what one might call a “Banquet of Impossibilities”, and like other “Banquets of Impossibilities”, generally only the one core idea is worth writing home about. What I mean by “Banquets of Impossibilities”, I refer to such books as The Rim of the Pit that, rather than one core impossibility, pride themselves on having half-a-dozen or even more bizarre crimes floating around the narrative. I am truthfully rarely excited about books that boast having 4, 5, 6 or sometimes even more impossible crimes in them, because I am not invested in the idea of a locked-room mystery for the mere sake of a locked-room mystery. For me, the solution to an impossible crime as a piece of ambitious, clever plotting is important to the effect of the overall work, and I know that I cannot reasonably expect anything of any standard from the countless ancillary impossible crimes of a book like this.

That being said, I will not hold the secondary impossibilities being poor or under-developed against the book, because I am aware that they are not the focus. In fact, I did appreciate in The Demon of Dartmoor that the ancillary impossibilities aren’t just idle exercises in padding. Rather, while the solutions to the problems themselves aren’t inspired, the existence of the problems itself contributed to a core piece of misdirection. No, it’s not a baffling piece of misdirection, but the way the side dishes was incorporated into the entree makes the book feel a bit more tightly-wound around a core point than many other “Banquets of Impossibilities” manage. I will happily praise Halter for this success.

So, in the end, do I like Halter now? No, not particularly. While the impossibility features a trick that is definitely more in line with my personal tastes than the other Halters I’ve read, it is not brilliant enough to convince me of Halter’s bonafides as a plotter of impossible crimes. The thin plot, blunt clues, and clumsy, unconvincing misdirection all pull the book down a fair bit too. Perhaps as a short story I would’ve been more amenable to this tale, but in novel form, it was simply too much for too little.

I remain uninitiated as an Halterphile, and one can only hope that my inevitable reading of The Seventh Hypothesis, The Tiger’s Head, and The Gold Watch will sway me over…

The Mysterious Affair at Styles (1920) by Agatha Christie

For one reason or another, I often refuse to cover “The Big Names” on this blog.

Firstly, I just don’t believe I have anything new to add to the discussion surrounding works like The Murder on the Orient Express or John Dickson Carr’s The Three Coffins. Why should I bother if I don’t have anything of import to say? And even if I did find something new or compelling to say about these landmark novels, because they’re so substantial, I risk my own personal opinions being seen as divisive or controversial or even disingenuously contrarian if my reading strays off the beaten path.

I feel it’s also in a sense selling out. I want my blog to represent me, my tastes, and my habits, and so I like to keep posts focused on works that aren’t as broadly discussed in the world of western detective fandom. Video games, animation, Asian detective fiction, niche authors from the 1960s, and underappreciated reprints are where I like to busy myself because those are my own personal cubbyholes. In short, I like to cultivate a unique identity for my blog.

So it might come as a surprise to those of you who neither read the title nor saw the giant book cover at the top of this post that I am reviewing a particularly important Agatha Christie novet. One that is not only her debut, but also the debut of her most esteemed Hercule Poirot, Belgian sleuth and persnickety-incarnate — The Mysterious Affair at Styles.

Well. it came as a surprise to me, too…

I do not believe Agatha Christie needs any introduction, but suffice it to say that she is the many-times best-selling novelist not just of the detective fiction genre but of all time. She is the Queen of Crime, the face of the Golden Age mystery novel, one of the most important forces in the genre to this day, and an influence to thousands of writers and millions of readers both alive and dead. She is, as we all surely know, The Queen of Crime.

Like any self-respecting mystery fan, I’ve read her oeuvre from top to bottom, left to right, and even upside down. She was one of my first forays into Golden Age mysteries once I knew what the Hell that even was, and to this day there are still a-plenty and a-plenty of her works that I deeply respect as more than just “the popular works from the popular author for newcomers to the genre”. But I was approached by a friend who made a comprehensive ranking of every single Agatha Christie novel ever written and I suddenly realized… I couldn’t comment on many of them, at least not honestly.

Right, Agatha Christie is so significant that I read and exhausted her entire catalogue in the first 1% of my mystery-reading journey, and then just… forgot about it all. Well, that won’t do it, will it? So of course I decided that in order to better contribute to conversations surrounding the Dame herself, I will make it a mission to read through all of her works yet again to see how well they do or don’t hold up for the Me of Today. And where better to begin than where she herself got her start…

Let’s read The Mysterious Affair at Styles!


Invalidated home from the World War, Arthur Hastings is soon called upon by his friend John Cavendish to visit his home in Essex, the astounding manor of Styles Court!

However, almost immediately, the visit turns sour, as the Cavendish family and manor staff loose their frustrations with the new man of the home and new husband of their mother-in-law, Alfred Inglethorp, whom they believe to be taking advantage of the financially generous old woman. Emily Inglethorp’s lady companion Evelyn Howard has a row with her in which she tells her about Alfred’s infidelity. Some days later, the same Emily Inglethorp argues with her daughter-in-law Mary Cavendish, husband of John, over some inscrutable matter. And even more days later Emily is once more heard arguing with one of the men of the house.

With all of the bad blood in the family surrounding the worry of changing wills, Alfred’s duplicitousness, Emily’s capricious generosity that risks seeing her own children much less well-off in her death, hints of infidelity, and no less than three heated confrontations with the woman of the house, the stage is set for July 18th…

In the middle of the night, Hastings, the Cavendishes, visitor Cynthia Murdoch, and the family staff are summoned to Emily Inglethorp’s room by the sound of a fit and a table overturning. Although bolted on all sides, with considerable effort the congregation breaks into the room where they find Emily Inglethorp in the clutches of spasms, which within some time subside with her evident death… A death which is soon to be confirmed to have been the result of strychnine poisoning…

Baffled by the sudden and violent death of Mrs. Inglethorp, the family allows Hastings to call upon Hercule Poirot, his friend from the war, current refugee in England not far from Styles, and by all accounts a brilliant detective! And with such apparent insignificances as candle grease in the floor, an unstable table, salt on a tray of coco, a crushed-to-powder cup of coffee, a green coffee, he might just manage to put the matter straight…


What will immediately stand-out to someone reading the synopsis of The Mysterious Affair at Styles is that it feels very much like a prototype of countless Agatha Christie novels yet to come. And, what will immediately stand-out to someone reading the book from beginning to end is that it certainly does feel very much like a prototype of countless Agatha Christie novels yet to come.

And I do mean that in the nicest way possible.

Of course, the setting of a country home filled with rich children bickering at the chance to be the favorite child in the will of a certainly soon-to-be-deceased matriarch is nothing new to the genre. However, it’s the plot that unravels from this set-up that showcases the many ideas that Christie have gone on to refine in later works and have even gone on to be credited to those works as innovators. It is hard to say what works exactly without spoiling this novel, but a very well-known Christie-ism that has been credited to a number of later works in fact can have its origins traced to this very first novel.

It’s as clear a day that Christie from the beginning had a subversive mind that enjoyed having fun with the reading habits and assumptions of the mystery-loving public. The plot is very complex and features a number of moving parts that come together satisfyingly, even if not entirely originally reading the novel in 2025. From the very start of her career, Christie was pushing boundaries and showcasing her fertile mind for plotting…

But it isn’t by any possible stretch “fair play”.

It’s quite odd, because there are many ways in which The Mysterious Affair at Styles seems to be flirting with the idea of fairplay, even though by this point that is still not a concept that has fully taken the mystery-writing scene as “the ideal to aspire to”, and in many ways the novel totally fails at making the solution in any way solvable by the audience. There is a microcosm of this odd paradoxical approach in that Christie scrupulously mentions some pharmacological knowledge that certainly wouldn’t be common-knowledge to the average reader, presumably so that they would have this knowledge, only to then clever discredit the idea entirely in a way that allows for it to play into the solution later after cleverly tricking the audience into not realizing they’d been fed a smoking gun — in other words, a very natural bit of cluing in which cluing and misdirection go hand in hand! But she does all of this very clever, crafty cluing, only for the solution to turn on another piece of pharmacological knowledge that is equally arcane but not mentioned at any point in the book to prime the reader for its usage. Specific cultural knowledge, such as clothing worn by a very specific, I’d say lesser-recognized branch of the military also plays significantly into the solution. While I’d come to expect something of this caliber from a Marple story, seeing a Poirot clue turn on knowing the specific article of clothing a specific type of person is likely wearing shocked me!

There are, furthermore, many examples where Poirot does what I’ll call “pulling a Sherlock Holmes”, where he comes to conclusions that are treated entirely as if they are brilliant and clever, when all that really happened is Poirot went off screen and asked someone a single question and reported his findings later. It’s a bit silly, and while small conclusions reached throughout the work being unfair is entirely fine as long as they’re presented before the denouement, it does add to the overall feeling that Christie hasn’t entirely found herself comfortable with fairly presenting the reader with necessary evidence yet.

On re-reading I was also surprised how much my sympathies shifted from Hastings to Poirot. As a child, I remember finding Poirot incredibly mean and condescending and begging for him to please be nicer to his friend, but as an adult Hastings is nothing short of entirely insufferable. He is a huffy brat and will refuse to talk to Poirot by his own admission hoping that his petty silence will coax Poirot into comforting him at any sign of Poirot showing him up in the investigation. Hastings also carries on romances with two women throughout the book — romances which exist entirely within his own head. When Mary Cavendish, the husband of his friend John, carries on an extramarital affair with Dr. Bauerstein, Hastings is jealous because the married woman is cheating on her husband with a doctor, when really she ought to be cheating on her husband with him! And despite his single-minded jealousy of a married woman he acts entitled to the attentions of, he proposes to Cynthia Murdoch, seemingly to take advantage when she comes to confide in him about her quarreling with Mary. He is the closest thing a person can come to being a womanizer while keeping the plausible deniability of being a “fine English gentleman”. And despite being so overtly stupid, he is also incredibly proud, so now I find myself smirking along a bit every time Poirot knocks him down a peg. Compared to his model, Sherlock Holmes’s Dr. John Watson, Captain Hastings is nothing short of distinctly unlikable.

So in many ways, The Mysterious Affair at Styles is both supremely ahead of its time while also being incredibly outdated in the oeuvre of Agatha Christie. It is filled to the brim with subversive and clever trickery that for the time was likely ambitious and shocking, but also falls behind her later works in giving the audience any room to work with when trying to solve the case for themselves. In short, The Mysterious Affair at Styles is more than anything an interesting time capsule of ideas that is best read as a historical novelty in the world of Christie than it is taken purely as a mystery novel to read for mystery-novel-reading pleasure. That isn’t to say that it’s bad, but merely that it’ll certainly find itself overshadowed both by works by Christie and works by other authors — and that’s entirely fine! Starting at the best would be demoralizing when you have, what, 50-odd books to go? So all things considered, this is a fine beginning to re-reading Christie.

So, what the Hell happened to this blog anyway?

First of all: rude. Don’t swear at me.

Second of all… yeah, okay. Fair. It’s a good question.

It doesn’t take a great detective to figure out that in the span of two years to the day, I’ve written exactly four blog posts. One’s a review of the (fantastic) Ace Attorney manga that promises a Part 2 which still hasn’t shown up. Another’s just a repurposed capstone I threw up here to fill space.

Sure, I had the occasional hiatus before — but it wasn’t uncommon for me to come back and crank out five posts in a week. Two entire years without regular updates? Unheard of.

So sure, I guess you would be within your rights to ask…

So, what the Hell happened to this blog anyway?

Well, here’s something the great detectives in the audience can figure out. I included a clue to the answer in this blog post, in fact. I’ll give you time to figure it out.

…Why, of course — I was writing a capstone! I’ve been preoccupied with university, so forget blogging about detective novels! I barely had time to read one, let alone write a review of one between all the textbooks and final papers. But the fact I’ve written a capstone contains another juicy little bit of information:

I’m almost done.

I am at this time just five days away from becoming a college graduate with a degree in Japanese Language Studies and a minor in East Asian Culture, Digital Humanities, and Film. So, yes, I am openly doubling– tripling– quadrupling down on being unemployed. But this also means that I am about to divest myself of the main thing that’s been holding me back from regularly updating the blog in the first place.

But in another sense, this is quite substantial for my relationship with Solving the Mystery of Murder. See, the very first post I ever wrote was written the same day I first moved into my college dorm. I remember being propped up against the wall, laying on one of those uncomfortable plastic box springs they call a bed, not even having put the sheets on yet, hitting “Publish” on my review of John Dickson Carr’s The Case of the Constant Suicides. The blog started with my college career. Now that that college career is coming to and end it’s interesting to look back on everything I’ve done here — and what I intend to do in the future.

So I guess first off, besides my absurdly inconsistent upload schedule, what do you think makes my blog stand out from other blogs you could spend your time reading?

I’d say, for starters, my eclecticism. I don’t particularly focus on any one side of the mystery fandom. Even early on I was already dipping my toes into reviewing non-literature mysteries, such as chronicling my disappointing experience with the game Paradise Killer and writing a rather mediocre review of the first Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney game. To this day, these remain two of my worst performing posts of all time.

Over time, though, I started to more consistently review manga series like Detective Conan and The Kindaichi Case Files and television series like Furuhata Ninzaburou. Since then, my reviews discussing pop culture mystery fiction have started to gather quite a bit of traction, and I’ve gotten no small number of comments telling me that it is those posts which encourage people to read my blog in the first place. My milestone 50-page retrospective on the Ace Attorney franchise performed extraordinarily well, despite being, as I said, both 50 pages long and a blog post about Ace Attorney. Seeing the difference between its response and the response to my first attempt to cover Ace Attorney on the blog, I think, really showed me just how well I’ve cultivated an audience who appreciates my willingness to expand out from the usual suspects of western Golden Age detective authors on a fairly consistent basis.

Secondly, I’d like to think my Discussion posts have done their part at shaping my blog’s identity. Discussion posts are, frankly, something I’ve wanted to be a regular feature on my blog from the very beginning. They’re actually where the name of the blog — Solving the Mystery of Murder — comes from. The whole point of naming my blog that in the first place was because I wanted my blog to be a resource that didn’t just review novels, but one that really broke down and dissected the craft of mystery writing as a subject of study.

Admittedly I fear my blog may have fallen a bit short in that regard. I haven’t covered as many topics as deeply as I would’ve liked in the 5 years since my blog went live. But some of my essays, like On the Increasingly Essential Frontier of Hybrid Mysteries — Fantasy, Science-Fiction, and Murder and On the 15 (and a half) Types of Impossible Crimes, still stand as examples of the kind of thing I’ve always wanted my blog to really be about: scholarly discussion of the genre as a craft and artform.

As often as I look back at something I wrote and feel as if I’d rather be covered head to toe in honey and released buck naked into a swarm of bees than continue to read my own writing, I can’t deny that some small part of me is proud of what tiny, insignificant bit I’ve managed to accomplish here.

So, what does this mean for Solving the Mystery of Murder going forward?

Well, a little bit of the same and a little bit of not-so-much-the-same, I’d say.

I want to further hone in on the parts of my blog that I’ve always considered my special little touches, so I fully intend to continue covering non-literature mysteries. My series of reviews following Detective Conan will be resumed, as will my reviews following Detective Academy Q, The Kindaichi Case Files, Furuhata Ninzaburou, Ron Kamonohashi’s Forbidden Deductions, and Furuhata Ninzaburou. In addition, I also intend to start covering new series like television programs Death in Paradise and Johnathan Creek, and more consistently cover video games as long as their style of mystery-writing fit squarely in our niche of Golden Age detection. Serving as a bridge to the gap between the old school and new school of fairplay mysteries has been a major part of my identity as a reader of and writer about detection fiction for years now. I’d really like to zero in on that part of my blog by more seriously covering extra-literary mystery fiction.

Furthermore, I intend to start focusing more heavily on my Discussion posts going forward. I always wanted my blog to seriously discuss mystery writing as a craft through essays and analyses beyond the regular feature of reviews. At the moment I’ve already got a few drafts for posts like these ready to go, but the one I’m most excited for and the one that is the furthest in writing is On An Alibi Lecture of Our Own. This post will be my attempt at writing an alibi lecture in the style of “Locked-Room Lectures” popularized by John Dickson Carr’s The Hollow Man and Clayton Rawson’s Death from a Top Hat. Like in those lectures, I intend to discuss the nature of alibi problems and attempt to taxonomically categorize every possible trick a killer might utilize in order to fabricate an alibi for their crimes.

While these two resolutions of mine are primarily focused on cultivating a stronger focus on the aspects of my blog I think are most characteristic, I have a few more resolutions that exist slightly outside of the scope of my blog as it’s come to be known.

For starters, I am officially able to read Japanese at a level where making my way through Japanese detective fiction isn’t as daunting as it once was. Reading novels is difficult but not impossible, and reading short stories is actually quite comfortable. As a result I intend to slowly but surely begin integrating Japanese-language detective fiction without English translations into my review circulation. As before, this will not be limited to literature, but will also expand to video games lacking English translations, such as TRICK X LOGIC, an excellent honkaku mystery video game that is essentially an interactive anthology of short stories written by famous Japanese detective novelists.

But there is one final project I’ve been working on getting off the ground for a while now. Admittedly I’m a little reluctant to mention it here. God knows my creative life is a graveyard of broken promises and failed ambitions. But what’s more corpse for the pile?

So, I’d like to introduce to you all…


JUDGMENT//RESET

In the year 2079, the city state of Neo Taleria has known decades of peace thanks to the watchful, protective gaze of GREY, an automaton capable of predicting and adjudicating crimes before they’ve ever been committed. Before long, GREY turned Neo Taleria into the world-famous “Crime Free Capital” of the world, and the jobs of policeman and lawyers became nothing but formalities held over from a different world.

However, on August 29th, the man responsible for keeping GREY functional is murdered. In his will? He demanded the immediate dismantling of the GREY system.

Now the spine of the system that held peace on its shoulders alone has been broken, and with it the floodgates are opened, and through them comes 20 years of pent-up criminal intent. The police and legal systems, complacent with the protection of GREY and unprepared for his disappearance, unequipped to handle the sudden wave of death and murder that hit Neo Taleria all at once.

Overnight, Neo Taleria went from the Crime Free Capital to ground zero for the Golden Age of Crime.

Enter Maria Somner, a fresh graduate from Brightbane University’s law school. A proud believer in the worth of human ambition, Maria Somner sought to prove the value human work over automation. The only person to take it on herself to study law in a world where the very idea that there’s any ambiguity about who committed a crime is laughable, Maria Somner revives a crumbling law office and instates as its only active employee. The office has only one rule: “We only help the innocent and helpless”.

Taking the Golden Age of Crime by the horns, Maria begins a career in which she defends from the gallows innocent people wrongly accused. In the sci-fi metropolis of Neo Taleria, Maria investigates seemingly impossible crimes wrapped-up in the worlds of robotics, virtual reality, and the internet, before taking them to court to dismantle the seemingly airtight case of the prosecution and their army of witnesses determined to see her clients sent to prison for good.

But despite these simple beginnings, the underbelly of Neo Taleria begins to show itself, and Maria may find herself butting heads with the very same mystery of the murder of GREY that plunged Neo Taleria into its current state to begin with…


…This, JUDGMENT//RESET, is a passion project I’ve been preparing for a while now. It is a webserial. Or, in other words, it’s a series of short stories that will be published online and will over time begin to reveal the overarching plot tying them together. It is somewhere between episodic fiction and a novel. Every “casefile”, as they’ll be called, is in and of itself a mystery story with a beginning, middle, and end. However, they are not self-contained, as a canon with an interconnected narrative will form around the stories.

I’d also like to give you a quick glimpse into some of the cases that will be featured in JUDGMENT//RESET

  • The Doll, The Doppelganger, and Death: Maria is initially underwhelmed to be assigned the case of a “murder” of a lifelike mannequin inside of an art gallery. Despite thinking this simple case of vandalism is beneath her, she handily solves the crime and identifies the vandal, and the crime is solved…

    That is, until Maria is summoned to the very same art gallery. Inside the locked-and-sealed building is the vandal Maria caught. Next to him, the same hatchet he used to decapitate the mannequin. Next to the hatchet, the corpse of a real woman with the same figure, wearing the same clothes as the mannequin, also with her head cut off…

    When the vandal is arrested, with the prosecution claiming the original act of vandalism was done in preparation for the murder, Maria rushes to his defense to prove how someone else could’ve committed this locked-room murder! Why did the vandal kill the doll? Who is the mystery woman who died that night? Why was she at the art gallery? Why was there a mannequin that looked just like her? How did the killer commit a murder in a locked-and-sealed art gallery heavily surveilled by security footage? And most bafflingly, why did the head go missing if the corpse is still so easily identifiable…?
  • Bury The Hatchet, Bury The Man – At a funeral, the last few remaining funeralgoers are shocked when a bell fed through a tube into the coffin starts to ring, the dirt starts to shake with pounding, and the man who was just buried can be heard shouting for help. Two of the funeralgoers go to get help while the last remaining one stays behind to use a forklift to dig out the coffin. However, when the two other funeralgoers return, they find the man with the forklift looming over an open casket. In the man’s hand, a hatchet. In the casket, a dead body, killed by a hatchet wound. The man is immediately accused of the crime, which seems to be the only possible solution… unless, of course, you can prove how someone else could’ve attacked the victim… while buried six-feet under the ground! A locked-room murder in which the earth itself is the locked-room!
  • Murder is in the Eye of the Beholder – A man is falsely accused of murdering a friend’s virtual avatar in a popular VRMMORPG called Realm of Mana. The rules of the real world, the rules of the video game setting, and the fictional in-universe rules of the world of Realm of Mana all come together to help explain how this complex digital murder was committed! RPG classes and abilities, Beastopedia entries describing the abilities of in-game enemies, the unique traits of different in-game gear, and even the testimony of NPC witnesses will play into the murder…
  • Any Old Portal – Maria defends a scientist who is falsely accused of stealing his company’s newest technological breakthrough: a device capable of creating space-folding doorways that allow a person to cross miles in just a single second! Or, in the words of “a particular retro video game: a portal gun!”. The only person capable of operating and accessing the device, the scientist is therefore reasoned to be the only person capable of stealing it, too.

As you can see, there will be a healthy mix of premises heavily using the sci-fi setting and those which don’t. JUDGMENT//RESET is a science-fiction courtroom drama mystery in which I attempt to fuse the worlds of science-fiction and fairplay mystery. It is heavily inspired by the courtroom battles of Ace Attorney, and I bring in a healthy dose of Perry Mason as well, but I feel confident saying that JUDGMENT//RESET is a concept that is uniquely my own. I’m incredibly stoked to finally get the project off the ground. I look forward to finally releasing the story for you all to read and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it.

In short — or was it actually quite long? — this is where I’m standing on the blog. The regular updates to the blog will be expected to begin no later than June 1st! As for JUDGMENT//RESET, the story will be expected to begin with a bulk drop of 7 chapters (one Prologue, one 2-chapter case, and one 4-chapter case) around August!

I look forward to finally reintegrating myself into the blogosphere, thank you so much for your time, and of course, happy reading!

On The Birth of the Modern Japanese Detective Story

The following was written by me as a capstone as a graduation requirement for a Japanese degree from Marshall University. Page and word limits applied; much essential information that I would’ve included without these limits was pruned.

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The purpose of this project is to explore the 1920s development of the “orthodox mystery” genre in Japan, its waning popularity in the 1950s and 1960s, the subsequent growth of the more politically-driven “social mystery”, and the orthodox mystery’s rebirth as “neo-orthodox mystery” in the 1980s. It examines the causes of the orthodox mystery’s revival through the debut work of Ayatsuji Yukito, The Decagon House Murders (1987), and Soji Shimada, The Tokyo Zodiac Murders (1981), and their influence on the history of the mystery genre in Japan.

本研究の目的は、パズル要素を重視した「本格ミステリ」というジャンルの1920年代の発展、1950年代から1960年代にかけての人気低迷、それに続く政治色の強い「社会派ミステリ」の台頭、そして1980年代に「新本格ミステリ」として本格ミステリが復活した経緯を掘り下げることである。

The orthodox mystery, known in Japan as honkaku mystery, was Japan’s answer to the English-speaking world’s “Golden Age of Detective Fiction” –  an era in which the mystery genre was defined by a spirit of fairplay and sportsmanship. As Western interest in intricate plots set in old English manors waned in favor of gritty noir dramas exploring corruption in everyday life, Japan’s orthodox mystery genre underwent a similar shift, being replaced by the shakaiha (or “social”) mystery. However, while the western “Golden Age mystery” never fully recovered its footing, often criticized as trite, repetitive, and unrealistic, Japan’s orthodox mystery quickly rebounded. Less than two decades after its presumed end, the orthodox mystery re-emerged as the neo-orthodox (shin-honkaku) mystery and did so with such force that it remains the dominant approach in Japanese mystery fiction today.

This massive resurgence is due primarily to the work of Ayatsuji Yukito and Shimada Soji, which appeared in an era of stagnancy in the mystery genre and reignited interest in orthodox mysteries in a time when “social mysteries” were the prevailing genre of crime writing. This paper will be exploring the cultural conditions that allowed the orthodox mystery to flourish in Japan while it faded into obscurity in the western world, as well as its continued development into the modern day. However, in order to discuss the development of the Japanese mystery genre, we first need to understand the genre’s English-speaking roots.

What is the Orthodox Mystery Genre?

The term honkaku, or “orthodox,” codifies a standard of mystery writing that, in the West, was more loosely referred to as the “Golden Age mystery.” Among enthusiasts, it is also known as the “fairplay mystery” or “puzzle plot mystery.” Although the term honkaku as used in Japanese retroactively encompasses works from the English Golden Age, unless otherwise stated for the sake of this project we will be using “orthodox mystery” to refer to qualifying Japanese-language works, and “fairplay mystery” to refer to qualifying English-language works as well as the genre as a whole.

Foreshadowing is a staple of storytelling, especially in crime and mystery fiction, but “orthodox mysteries” were unique in that foreshadowing alone was not enough.  “Orthodox mysteries” as a genre were written with a deep sense of sportsmanship, as noted by famous American detective novelist John Dickson Carr who, in his essay “The Grandest Game in the World”, a term with which he christened the genre. A mystery author was expected to provide the audience with every piece of information available to the detective, and this information had to be sufficient for the reader to reach the same correct conclusion as the detective—without guesswork, intuition, leaps of logic, or specialized knowledge (such as detailed scientific information or obscure historical facts).  As a consequence, where the “orthodox mystery” deviates from its more well-known cousins in the crime fiction genre is that the audience is not merely invited to be swept away by intrigue, but rather explicitly or implicitly challenged to treat the story as a puzzle to solve. The goal was not just to surprise the reader, but to outwit them, ensuring they felt bested in a fair contest of wits in which the reader challenges the author to produce a solution they cannot anticipate, and the author in turn challenges the reader to anticipate the ending. (1963)

To supplement this “game-playing” as it was perceived, orthodox mystery novels became defined by narratives that were increasingly complicated compared to other mystery genres: the culprits began to employ increasingly involved methods to commit the crimes and avoid detection; clues became more subtle; and the logic required to bring those clues home to the culprit became more precise and complex. Much like a video game has a so-called “meta” – a constantly evolving set of dominant strategies in competitive play – the orthodox mystery genre also developed a “meta” that mutated with every new story that was written. What solutions did readers anticipate from a given set-up? How are readers conditioned to think about certain clues (Carr, 1963)?  

To adapt to this “meta”, further enhance and deepen the mystery plots, and more adeptly fool readers, the fairplay mystery also developed its last defining characteristics: “tricks” and misdirection. “Tricks”, often used interchangeably with the term “misdirection”, are anything employed by the culprit to mislead other characters, or by the author to mislead the reader about the nature of the crime. For instance, one of the archetypal tropes of the mystery genre is a dead body being found without a head, only for it to turn out that the victim was someone entirely different from whom we initially thought. The act of cutting off the victim’s head to disguise their identity is a classic example of a “trick”. Tricks will often be used to do things that seem impossible, weaponize assumptions in order to confuse the nature of the crime, or hide or disguise essential information to prevent the reader from realizing they’re missing critical clues (Carr, 1963).

The nature of treating fairplay mysteries as “games of wit between writer and reader” led to a highly dynamic genre that inordinately valued originality and cleverness. As the “meta” quickly evolved, fairplay mysteries changed dramatically in short periods of time, adopting and then moving on from trends and adjusting to reader expectations at speeds unprecedented among other literary genres. 

This dynamic quality is what contributed to the genre’s rapid growth, but is also in part responsible for its equally sudden decline in the west and in Japan.

Pre-War History of Orthodox Mysteries

Although what the first detective story was is disputed, the first detective story which is universally agreed to be a detective story is Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841), published in Graham’s Magazine (Silverman, 1992). It starred an unnamed narrator chronicling the exploits of C. Auguste Dupin as he investigates the mysterious murders of two women on Rue Morgue, a fictional street in Paris.

This story contained the DNA of what would go on to become evergreen tropes of the detective fiction genre. The narrator acting as a chronicler to the detective protagonist would be mirrored in, to name a few, Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, and Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot and Lieutenant Hastings, and later in Japanese mysteries like Arisu Arisugawa’s Hideo Himura and the self-named Arisu Arisugawa and Soji Shimada’s Mitarai Kiyoshi and Kazumi Ishioka. The murders of the women were also an archetypal locked-room mystery – the victims were killed within a room in which every possible exit was sealed, with the only key to the doors inside of the room. In other words, the crime appeared impossible, making the central mystery a question of “how could someone commit the crime in a location they couldn’t possibly access?”. This premise, as well as a larger variety of so-called impossible crimes focusing on how a human could commit seemingly-illogical crimes, would go on to be a major sub-genre in orthodox mysteries.

This story as well as its two sequels – “The Mystery of Marie Rogêt” (1842) and “The Purloined Letter” (1844) – sparked two parallel paths of evolution in the pre-orthodox mystery genres of England and Japan, as essential to one as the other.

In the west, the C. Auguste Dupin stories would go on to influence the French author Émile Gaboriau in his creation of Monsieur Lecoq in the 1866 novel The Lerouge Case, a novel credited as creating the first dedicated armchair detective  – detective characters who solve crimes through second-hand accounts without doing proactive investigation – in Lecoq’s mentor Tabaret following Dupin’s example in “The Purloined Letter” (Murch, 1958; Schutt, 1998). Gaboriau’s stories would in turn compel Arthur Conan Doyle to write the stories of Sherlock Holmes, starting with A Study in Scarlet (1887), who remains to this day one of the, if not the single most recognizable fictional character of all time (Bonnoit, 1985).

Meanwhile, “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” being translated into Japanese in 1887, many of the stories of Sherlock Holmes from 1894 to 1905, as well as G. K. Chesterton in the 1920s, would similarly inspire the works that would go on to form the basis of early Japanese mystery fiction (Queen, 1978).  Edogawa Ranpo, whose pseudonym is a Japanese transliteration of Edgar Allan Poe, is credited as being the father of modern Japanese detective fiction. Inspired by the works of Edgar Allan Poe and Arthur Conan Doyle, Edogawa Ranpo would write his first mystery short story “The Two-Sen Copper Coin”, which was published in the Shin Seinen magazine in 1923. Although before him authors took elements of detective fiction in what were otherwise horror or so-called “weird fiction” stories, “The Two-Sen Copper Coin” was considered by critics noteworthy for its relatively unique focus on logic and ratiocination to solve a puzzling crime (Angles, 2011; Saito, 2012). Following the publication of this story was a long series of stories by Edogawa following Akechi Kogoro, a Sherlock Holmes-like figure who is one of Japan’s two most noteworthy detective characters. The series began in 1925 with “The Case of the Murder on D. Hill”, an early example of a true early Japanese locked-room mystery, and would in the same year go on to release the culturally significant “The Stalker in the Attic”, credited the earliest example of a locked-room mystery incorporating aspects of Japanese culture into the story, and “The Psychological Test”, although not the first certainly an early pioneer of Japan’s “inverted mystery” genre – mysteries where we see the crime committed from the culprit’s perspective, and the bulk of the story focuses on seeing how the detective reaches a conclusion we already know, much in the vein of the American television show Columbo. 

 Following Edogawa’s footsteps was Koga Saburo, a preeminent Japanese critic of mystery fiction who also wrote his own work combining detective fiction and elements of macabre “weird fiction”. 

 Although Ranpo and Saburo hadn’t themselves adopted the fairplay approach of orthodox mysteries, by this point in time the seeds of what would go on to become the English Golden Age mystery had already been planted and sprouted, marking an important stepping stone in the history of Japanese mysteries.

Formation of the Orthodox Mystery Genre

Although the idea of following rules and playing fair with the audience wasn’t a standard in the genre until much later, there were early works which preempted the growth of the “puzzle plot” mystery story.

Israel Zangwill wrote his 1892 book The Big Bow Mystery, an early flagship locked-room mystery novel. In its introduction, he included the following argument about mystery fiction:

“The indispensable condition of a good mystery is that it should be able and unable to be solved by the reader […] Many a mystery runs on breathlessly enough till the dénouement is reached, only to leave the reader with the sense of having been robbed of his breath under false pretenses […]  all [of the solution’s] data must be given in the body of the story. The author must not suddenly spring a new person or a new circumstance upon his reader at the end. Thus, if a friend were to ask me to guess who dined with him yesterday, it would be fatuous if he had in mind somebody of whom he knew I had never heard” (1892). 

This is possibly the earliest known example of an author proclaiming their dedication to the concept of “fairplay” (Edwards, 2015). However, it wouldn’t be until nearly 20 years later the movement was set in motion to turn this into the prevailing standard of the genre with the beginning of a series of mystery stories from Gilbert Keith (G. K.) Chesterton.

In 1910, Chesterton wrote “Valentin Follows a Curious Trail”, the first in a series of 53 short stories featuring his parish priest sleuth Father Brown. The crimes featured in these stories would abandon the more mechanical nature common among pre-Golden Age mystery fiction and replace them with more cerebral solutions preying on reader assumptions. In other words, these stories would go on to serve as models for future authors of the genre, and for this reason, G.K. Chesterton is sometimes credited as “the father of detective fiction” as it would go on to be known during the Golden Age, with it being claimed that “under the influence of Chesterton’s Father Brown, the mystery story became less a portrait of the detective’s personality, and more a puzzle that the detective and the reader could both solve” (“G. K. Chesterton”, Poetry Foundation, n.d.). These stories feature perhaps the earliest versions of many of the tricks that would go on to become mainstays of the orthodox mystery genre. Such tropes as manually attacking the victim with a projectile to make it appear as if they were shot from afar, and hiding something conspicuous by surrounding it with like things (e.g., a forest is the best place to hide a leaf) find themselves often sourced back in the Father Brown stories and would in time become mainstays of the orthodox mystery genre both in the east and the west.

In concert with this was the 1913 publishing of Trent’s Last Case by E.C. Bentley, which was, as Bentley put it, a “a detective story of a new sort” (Edwards, 2017). Trent’s Last Case famously deconstructs the then-omnipresent trope of the faultless, all-knowing detective by featuring an ending in which the detective’s seemingly perfect, airtight solution was entirely incorrect. However, despite the work being a scathing rebuke of a genre trope, what the work would go on to remain in the public consciousness for was not its metatextual commentary on the genre, but rather its clever, surprising solution (Edwards, 2017). For this reason, Trent’s Last Case can be considered the novel that fully inaugurates the Golden Age, being the work to pave the way for future authors to write “ingenious detective puzzles” (Edwards, 2017) with a focus on clever tricks and misdirection. 

Lord Gorell’s In the Night, written in 1917, is one of the earliest novels to show that, following Trent’s Last Case, the idea of “fairplay” was here to stay (Edwards, 2015). In the introduction, Gorell proclaims that “every essential fact is related as it is discovered and readers are, as far as possible, given the eyes of the investigators and equal opportunities with them of arriving at the truth” (1917). This quote is one of the earliest examples of the trope of the “challenge to the reader”, in which the author breaks the fourth wall to assure the reader that the game is being played fairly. Similarly the novel contains a very early appearance of the trope of including a floorplan, allowing readers to grasp the geography of the crime scene, making In The Night, despite being forgotten by even the most diehard historians of the genre, a perfect microcosm of what would go on to follow in the Golden Age of Detective Fiction (Edwards, 2017).

In the coming years, and particularly beginning in the 1920s, Golden Age mystery novels exploded in popularity. Agatha Christie, to this day the best-selling novelist in the world, wrote her debut The Mysterious Affair of Styles, which featured Belgian sleuth Hercule Poirot, in 1920, and many of the other representative Golden Age mystery authors such as Dorothy L. Sayers, John Dickson Carr, Erle Stanley Gardner, Ngaio Marsh, and Ellery Queen also got their start in the 1920s and 1930s. Along with them came less universally recognized but certainly not less important or less worthy Golden Age mystery authors such as Christopher Bush, Stuart Palmer, Christianna Brand, Molly Thynne, and Baynard Kendrick. Suffice it to say that the genre was in full swing, written by all manner of people all over America and English.

The growing sentiment that detective novels must be fair and engaging as experiments in “gameplaying” with the reader, the quality that defined the Golden Age now running at full-steam was crystallized with the many attempts to design sets of “rules” by which the genre must play. Such authors as A. A. Milne, the creator of Winnie the Pooh and writer of a single detective novel The Red House Mystery, and poet T. S. Eliot all made varying attempts to create a list of rules that, if followed, would supposedly distinguish a “good” mystery novel from the bad (Edwards, 2015). However, the attempt that would go on to be the most well-remembered, widely-regarded, frequently-referenced of this trend is that of Father Ronald Knox. In editing the 1928 anthology Best Detective Stories of the Year, writer Father Ronald Knox laid out 10 mystery-writing “Commandments”, as they were called, in what would be known as “Knox’s Decalogue”. Although many of the rules were conceived in jest, such as one disallowing making a “Chinaman” character simply to turn him into a killer in a tongue-in-cheek rebuke of the racist tendencies of contemporary thriller authors, to this day Knox’s Decalogue is frequently turned to by writers of classically-styled mystery fiction, either as guidelines to follow or to break (Edwards, 2015). Many of the rules, even if the Decalogue isn’t intended to be as serious as it seems, are still to this day considered important guidelines for writing mystery fiction, such as disallowing excessive secret passages, requiring the mystery give the reader all of the information given to the detective, and disallowing fictional or unknown poisons being brought up at the end of the story.

As the Golden Age and its standards began to become more and more defined, and translations of these stories began to make their way to Japan, there developed an increasing necessity to separate the complex, puzzle-oriented mysteries from their predecessors that often incorporated elements of horror and the supernatural or adventure stories (Taku, 2020). In 1926, the aforementioned critic Saburo Koga coined the term honkaku, a classification that would go on to be spearheaded by Edgoawa Ranpo as the new mainstream of the mystery genre (Taku, 2020). However, these two authors have up to this point developed their own writing styles, and despite their fervent campaigning for the orthodox mystery’s merits were unable to take the leap as the first Japanese writers to adopt it in their writing (Taku, 2020). What finally took the honkaku mystery from a foreign novelty to something fully embraced by Japanese authors was the American “Van Dine Boom” reaching Japan with the 1929, 1930 translations of the detective novels of S. S. Van Dine (Taku, 2020).

S. S. Van Dine was a preeminent figure of American detective fiction whose works discarded nearly every literary pretension not relevant to the core mystery plot. His undistracted focus on a mystery for mystery’s sake was considered by the Japanese reading public to be refreshing and his works boomed in popularity, paving the way for a wave of translations of other influential authors like the aforementioned Christie, Queen, and Carr (Taku, 2020). This influx of English detective novels generated enough interest in the genre for the first generation of Japanese orthodox mystery writers to be born (Taku, 2020). The genre was headed by Keikichi Osaka, who debuted with “The Hangman of the Department Store” in 1932 and is known to have set the foundation for Japan’s impossible crime scene, and Yu Aoi, whose 1936 novel The Tragedy of the Funatomi Family is credited as the first Japanese novel to adopt Freeman Wills Crofts’s style of mysteries focusing on alibis and railway tables. (Taku, 2020).

Although wartime bans on writing detective novels during World War II prevented these early adopters from truly ushering in the honkaku era, soon after the war’s end the genre finally flourished as a book-starved Japanese public took to writing with abandon, leading to the appearance of such authors as Seishi Yokomizo, whose debut in 1946 with The Honjin Murders also created Kindaichi Kosuke, one of the most iconic Japanese detective characters of all time. Other authors whose appearances in the post-war honkaku age led to great developments in the genre were Tetsuya Ayukawa, whose 1956 debut work Black Trunk was another entry in the Crofts-like railway mystery, and Akimitsu Takagi, whose 1948 debut The Tattoo Murder Case was an early pioneer of the trope of Japanese mysteries focusing on “corpse puzzles” that utilize the victim’s dead body itself for tricks. (Taku, 2020).

However, the rapid changes in post-war society, alongside shifting literary trends, soon pushed orthodox mysteries into decline both in the English-speaking world and Japan.

Post-War Decline of the Genre

While the end of the second World War gave Japanese orthodox detective fiction a second wind, it is often considered to be the end of the English Golden Age. At this time a number of works were published specifically oriented around criticism of the Golden Age mystery novel.  

Edmund Wilson in “Who Cares Who Killed Roger Ackroyd?”, the title of which recalls Agatha Christie’s famous novel The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, wrote that when reading mystery novels he “ought not to be expecting good writing, characterization, human interest or even atmos­phere”, complaining that due to wooden writing and flat characters “I understood that a true connoisseur of this fiction must be able to suspend the demands of his imagination and literary taste and take the thing as an intellectual problem. But how you arrive at that state of mind is what I do not understand”, ultimately dismissing the genre as inherently less-than-literature (1945). In addition to aping Edmund Wilson’s complaints of a lack of characterization and style, Raymond Chandler, a forefront author of the hardboiled school of detective writing, also wrote in The Simple Art of Murder that “fiction in any form has always intended to be realistic”, and that if fiction fails to meet this standard “you cannot even accept it as a light novel, for there is no story for the light novel to be about”, which he claims is a fault true of nearly all British detective fiction (1950). However, the one prevailing criticism universal among all major critics of the genre is that the Golden Age detective novel eventually became too formulaic due to its rigid adherence to rules, with Chandler writing of the genre that “[it] has learned nothing and forgotten nothing” (1950).

These criticisms, which reflected what had slowly become the prevailing attitude of the times, became a death knell for the Golden Age mystery genre as a preoccupation with realism and character-driven stories took hold, leading to the growth of the hardboiled detective story in the 1950s. That being said, to claim that the Golden Age mystery novel had died in its entirely is not true; even when it had fallen out of favor as the prevailing school of thought in mystery writing, many authors appeared during the second half of the 20th century to stubbornly adhere to the standard of the fairplay, puzzle-minded mystery, such as Roger Ormerod, Norman Berrow, and Douglas Clark to name a few. That being said, it is nonetheless safe to say that the 1940s and 1950s spelled the end of the heyday of Golden Age mysteries.

Japan saw a similar decline of orthodox mysteries in favor of realistic crime stories focusing on everyday people and exploring themes of injustice and corruption. However, the reasons this happened are fundamentally different from what caused the decline of English orthodox mysteries.

Starting in the 1950s, Japan entered a period of heightened economic prosperity due to American assistance recovering from World War II (Saito, 1978). Towards the end of the 1950s, it was officially declared that Japan was no longer in a state of postwar, and stability became the new norm (Saito, 1978). This era of peace is credited as the primary cause of the decline of the orthodox mystery. The Japanese public, accustomed to the monotony of a safe everyday life, would develop a macabre fascination with the idea that the spirit of crime may hide deep within salarymen and could flip everything they know entirely on its head (Saito, 1978). As a result, when Matsumoto Seicho in 1958 published Points and Lines and Walls of Eyes, early pioneering novels of the shakaiha (or, “social”) mystery that focused on such everyday crimes, a so-called “Seicho Boom” began in Japan (Saito, 1978).

During this time, many of the tropes characteristic of the honkaku mystery was slowly phased out as “[the shakaiha] style gradually began to reject elaborate tricks and locked-room concepts [and] ridicule great detectives as something childish” (Shimada, 2013). Discussions about the honkaku mystery were treated as dangerous to the status quo of shakaiha to such a degree that those who deviated from the shakaiha style faced potential expulsion from the literary scene (Shimada, 2013).

In short, the end of the English Golden Age and the end of the era of honkaku were two sides of the same coin, the same events playing out in inverse of one another. In America, England, growing resentments towards the genre as a result of a perceived lack of innovation or originality were the catalyst for the shift away from the Golden Age. However, Japanese mystery fiction didn’t pivot away from orthodox mysteries necessarily because of a growing resentment towards the genre, but rather a new economic reality simply caused people to develop a new kind of interest in a new kind of crime story; the resentment came later as a byproduct of the shift. It’s this fundamental difference that allowed Shimada Soji and Ayatsuji Yukito to pave the way for the revival of the honkaku school of mystery writing while the genre remained dormant in the English-speaking world.

Revival

Not long after the social school of mystery-writing took hold, the loosening of the rules of the fairplay orthodox mystery began (Saito, 1978). With it also went the boundaries between detective fiction and other literary genres, returning the genre to its amorphous ambiguity that defined its early years in Japan, allowing it to manifest as everything from romance to adventure stories to horror (Saito, 1978). By the middle of the 1960s, even Matsumoto Seicho, the very man whose works ushered in this era of socially-conscious mystery stories, was calling for authors to begin to incorporate aspects of the honkaku genre into their writing (Saito, 1978). To this end, he edited and published a 10-volume collection of mystery stories called Collection of Neo-Orthodox Detective Stories – the Japanese title of which contained the first instance of the term shin-honkaku, neo-orthodox (Saito, 1978). The result of this endeavor was a return-to-print of many pre-war and early post-war honkaku mystery authors. In particular was Seishi Yokomizo, whose popularity exploded to such a degree that his novel The Village of Eight Graves was adopted into a comic book (Saito, 1978). However, although the social school’s influence began to wane nearly as quickly as it was established, the time was not ripe yet for a full-fledged neo-orthodox revivalist moment to begin, as many works in the social mystery genre, albeit with some influence from the orthodox genre, continued to thrive. 

The true end of the social mystery genre’s reign was in the late 1960s and early 1970s, when Japan’s peace and prosperity was toppled (Saito, 1978). Malpractice among academic institutions sparked wide-reaching student protests, and America, now viewing Japan as enemies in the battlefield of the international economy, withdrew much of its financial support and heavily taxed exported goods from America to Japan (Saito, 1978). Suddenly, the stability that inspired the reading public’s interest in the social school disappeared (Saito, 1978). The very appeal of these stories was the encroaching of criminality upon the everyday, with the implicit assumption that peace was normalcy. As peace began to vanish, so too did the public interest in social mysteries. 

With this the stage was set for the 1981 release of The Tokyo Zodiac Murders by Shimada Soji. The Tokyo Zodiac Murders was the first truly and entirely orthodox mystery novel to be released in this time which Shimada called “the winter of honkaku” (2015). The work contained very little literary pretensions, telling its story entirely through the main character reciting newspaper articles, police records, and second- and third-hand accounts about a crime that happened many years in the past. The characters, their personalities, their behavior, were all abstracted and reduced to a complex logical puzzling. Due to the publishing world’s inertia to catch up with the declining interest of social mysteries, at this period in history honkaku mysteries were still seen by publishers as unworthy of publication, and Shimada claims many authors who tried to advocate for the revival of the genre or who tried to publish orthodox mystery works were summarily banished from the industry entirely (2015). Thus, the fact that a work like The Tokyo Zodiac Murders not only made it to publication but was also greatly popular among readers came as a huge shock to the publishing world which started, as Shimada called it, the thawing of “the thick ice conjured by Seicho (Matusmoto)’s spell” (2015).

The Tokyo Zodiac Murders’s impact was not immediately felt, however. Rather than converting current writers of social mysteries into writers of classic, puzzle-driven orthodox mystery, The Tokyo Zodiac Murders instead inspired young would-be writers, particularly those involved with the recent creation of the Kyoto University Mystery Club (Shimada, 2015). This organization fostered many young minds who, spurred into action by Shimada’s work, would write their own complex crime puzzles, sharing them with the rest of the club members and challenging them to solve them (Shimada, 2015). This created a whole generation of writers that wouldn’t fully manifest until over half a decade later in 1987 with the publication of The Decagon House Murders by Kyoto University Mystery Club member Ayatsuji Yukito (Shimada, 2015).

Shimada notes that “people who were used to American and English novels were shocked” by the novel’s perfunctory characterization, with characters who deliberately lacked expressive personality and behaved in predictable ways “like NPCs from a video game” (2015). This choice led to many people assuming that the then-newcomer Ayatsuji lacked writing skill (Shimada, 2015). However, this was a deliberate decision by Ayatsuji to maximize his novel’s emphasis on the mystery novel as a “game” – an intellectual challenge, in which the reader is challenged to attempt to solve the crime before the end of the story – that he valued so heavily in English-language “Golden Age” mystery novels (Shimada, 2015). Like Shimada’s own work, Ayatsuji’s debut novel was met with intense surprise and incredulity from the publishing world (Shimada, 2015). Nonetheless, as a generation of young people who, growing up in a new world of tumult, desired fantasies of crime and intellectual puzzles and found the corruption and dreariness of social mysteries too oppressive, depressing, and unpleasant, began to enter adulthood, Ayatsuji’s novel came to be seen as a flagship work that heralded a new era of acceptance for the genre. Other members of the Kyoto University Mystery Club would go on to become published mystery authors as well, such as Rintaro Norizuki and Yutaka Maya, and as these young enthusiasts began to take over the mystery writing scene with complex, orthodox, puzzle-driven novels, more writers totally unattached to the Kyoto University Mystery Club would appear. With this, the pendulum would fully swing back in favor of shin-honkaku mysteries and the movement would begin in earnest… 

Shin-Honkaku Movement

To this day, shin-honkaku mysteries remain one of the primary schools of thought in mystery writing. The genre has extended from literary works to manga (Japanese comic books) and anime (Japanese animation) like Detective Conan and The Casebook of Young Kindaichi, or video games like Ace Attorney and Danganronpa, or TV dramas like Furuhata Ninzaburou and Nemesis. A massive fandom has developed around the genre extending all the way from young children to fully-grown adults past the age of retirement. 

However, although the genre continues to thrive to this day, milestones and development did not end in 1981. Much like happened in the 1940s with English-speaking mysteries, the Japanese reading public began to bore of shin-honkaku for its lack of innovation, and fans of the genre yearned for something to come along that had the same earth-shattering impact as The Decagon House Murders had back in 1987 (Shimada, 2021). It was during this dry spell that Imamura Masahiro published Death Among the Undead, a 2017 locked-room mystery set amidst a localized zombie apocalypse, with zombies seemingly committing murders no zombie could ever commit. With this novel’s breakout publication in which it won first place in every major annual Japanese mystery ranking, the floodgates were opened to a new wave of mystery writers to write mysteries influenced by the supernatural, fusing elements with other literary genres in a way that respects and retains the heavy emphasis on puzzle-oriented plotting in honkaku fiction, or otherwise experiment with theme and style at a scale unprecedented before Death Among the Undead’s release. (Shimada, 2021). Aoyagi Aito’s Once Upon a Time, There Was a Corpse features mystery stories all adapted from famous Japanese fairytales in which the rules of the fairytale magic are incorporated into the murders; Kobayashi Yasumi’s Murder of Alice features a murder mystery set within a dream that resembles Lewis Caroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland; and Atsukawa Tatsumi’s An Invisible Person Lurks Within the Locked-Room features a murder mystery in a world where people can contract a disease that turns them invisible. Beyond incorporating elements of the supernatural, though, there were also a number of works which began to experiment with incorporating all of the appeal and plot-beats of the shin-honkaku genre into stories featuring non-criminal situations. For instance, Asakura Akinari’s “Looking for the Person of My Thread” features a story in which the protagonist must deduce which of three women is his secret admirer. However, no matter how far the genre strayed from murders as a focus or even from being set in the real world, this experimentation always, universally maintains all of the tenets of orthodox mysteries: playing fair; giving the audience all the information they need to understand the crime and deduce the solution; featuring complex tricks and misdirection. Death Among The Undead’s massive revitalization of the genre as recently as 2017 proves to us that the shin-honkaku movement isn’t a mere revival of a dead, washed-up genre; it is an era of renewed creativity in which the genre can be injected with a newfound imagination and experimentation that would bring it to new heights. While Western fairplay mysteries remain a niche interest, in Japan they stand at the heart of a genre that continues to evolve, proving that what some critics dismissed as outdated could, in the right hands, become timeless.

This would not have been possible if not for Shimada Souji and Yukito Ayatsuji who, stuck in a time when the orthodox mystery was believed to be dead, decided to nonetheless take up the mantle to write stories which may very well have resulted in their banishment from the literary world forever. Well into 2025 the orthodox mystery genre continues to stand not as a relic of the past, but as a thriving creative force, inspiring new generations of writers, readers, and mystery lovers alike—proof that the game between author and reader never truly ends.

References

Angles, J. (2011). Writing the love of boys: Origins of bishōnen culture in modernist Japanese literature. University of Minnesota Press.

Ashibe, T., & Ayukawa, T. (2020). In The Red Locked Room. introduction, Locked Room International.

Bonniot, R. (1985). Emile Gaboriau, ou, La Naissance du roman policier. Libr. philosophique J. Vrin.

Carr, J. D. (1963). The grandest game in the world.

Chandler, R. (1945). The simple art of murder.

Edwards, M. (2017). The story of Classic Crime in 100 books. Poisoned Pen Press.

Edwards, M., & Pugh, L. (2015). The Golden Age of Murder: The Mystery of the writers who invented the modern Detective Story. Lamplight Audiobooks.

Gorell, Lord. (1917). In The Night.  Longmans, Green and Company.

Murch, A. E. (1975). The development of the detective novel by A.E. Murch. Greenwood Press.

Poetry Foundation. (n.d.). G. K. Chesterton. Poetry Foundation. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/g-k-chesterton

Queen, E., & Saito, S. (1978). Ellery Queen’s Japanese mystery stories: From Japan’s Greatest Detective & Crime Writers. Tuttle Publishing.

Saito, S. (2012). Detecting the unconscious: Edogawa Ranpo and the emergence of the Japanese detective. Detective Fiction and the Rise of the Japanese Novel, 1880-1930, 235–276. https://doi.org/10.1163/9781684175215_008

Schutt, S. A. (1999). French detection, English detectives : a comparative study on the emergence of the detective story [Thesis, King’s College London (University of London)]. https://kclpure.kcl.ac.uk/portal/en/theses/french-detection-english-detectives–a-comparative-study-on-the-emergence-of-the-detective-story(9cc97ad9-ee35-462f-ab90-ad1481166c9a).html

Shimada, S., & Masahiro, I. (2021). In Death Among the Undead. introduction, Locked Room International.

Shimada, S., & Yukito, A. (2015). The experiment called The Decagon House Murders. In The Decagon House Murders. introduction, Locked Room International.

Silverman, K. (2009). Edgar A. Poe: Mournful and never-ending remembrance. HarperCollins Publishers.

Wilson, E. (1945). Who cares who killed Roger Ackroyd?

Zangwill, I. (1892). The Big Bow Mystery the perfect crime.

占星術殺人事件. (2013). . 講談社.

Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective – Volume 1 (2021) by Akira Amano

There has been no secret made of the fact that I appreciate mysteries no matter the medium. By no means do I think that the novel is the de facto form of the mystery puzzle. Mysteries featuring in TV shows, video games, and comic books have been a regular feature on my blog, and continue to this day to be a major fascination of mine. I’m always looking for the next big Golden Age-inspired mystery video game to take my breath away so I can proselytize about it to my audience of people who almost certainly don’t even play video games.

Let it go without saying, then, that when I heard about Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective, a manga (Japanese comic book) series praised by none other than preeminent Japanese Ellery Queen disciple Rintaro Norizuki as “a honkaku mystery manga for the new era”, I was stoked! The classical mystery manga scene has for years been dominated by Detective Conan / Case Closed and The Kindaichi Case Files. Sure, we do occasionally see a few oddities in the genre here and there, but it’s not often a new major long-running series in the genre comes out and garners enough acclaim to not only be adapted into a television animated series but also receive praise from one of the most well-known voices in the genre. I just had to read it!

Does Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective earn its place as the third cornerstone series in the mystery manga sphere? Well, that’s the mystery we’re here to solve!


Starting with Casebook 001 – The Case of the Metropolitan Serial Drownings (Chapter 1), Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective stars Isshiki Totomaru. Isshiki is a detective with the metropolitan police who is passionate about his job and works long nights, but never seems to get results. He can’t solve a crime to save his life, and when he does manage to find the perp he always gets tricked lets them get away. He is, in so many words, the shame of the investigative team, often forced by his boss to go home early instead of helping with investigations.

This doesn’t suit Isshiki, though, as he is desperate to help with the ongoing investigation into a serial killer who has just claimed his fifth victim. Unable to stand the thought of people being afraid — or worse, killed — while he helplessly sits around on his thumbs, Isshiki takes the recommendation of his co-worker Kiku to consult a great detective who is sure to be able to help.

A great detective by the name of Ron Kamonohashi.

However, when Isshiki meets with Ron, he finds that not only is Ron an antisocial recluse who spends his days in his padded-floored apartment moping around crying, naming his individual arm hairs, and knitting a 100-yard scarf, but he’s also totally given up detective work and initially refuses to help Isshiki. Nonetheless, after Isshiki is summoned to the scene of the sixth victim of the serial killer, Ron, claiming to be “unable to suppress the urge” to solve any crime he hears about, accompanies Isshiki to the crime scene.

After not much more than lying down with the corpse and hearing the basic overview of the case — all the victims were found drowned in locations without water, none put up a struggle, and all of them had their wallets stolen — Ron is able to identify the culprit!

It’s during the confrontation with the serial killer that Ron reveals why he quit detective work: it isn’t because he wanted to, but rather he was forced to!

In this world, the most prestigious detective-training organization, Detective Training Academy Blue, not only instructs people on how to solve such puzzling crimes as locked-room mysteries and crimes with perfect alibis, but is also responsible for licensing private detectives to do their work. Ron Kamonohashi has an infliction that makes it so that every time he discovers the culprit in a killing, he pressures them into killing themselves, and mysteriously they always oblige, leaving Ron with a solve rate of 100% and an arrest rate of 0%.

When this issue of his situational insanity reaches a point in which Ron was found guilty of a locked-room mass murder that has come to be known as “The Bloody Field-Trip”, Ron was thereafter prohibited from solving mysteries by Blue Academy under threat of execution. He nonetheless carries on a love for solving murders, and so enters a mutually fruitful relationship with Isshiki “Toto” Totomaru:

Ron Kamonohashi will solve mysteries in the background, while Isshiki, at risk of being fired, will take the credit for his work, securing his job while protecting Ron from retribution for breaking the terms of his disbarment. At the same time, Isshiki’s foolishly and straightforwardly moral disposition will help him save the lives of the culprits he and Ron discover…

And thus, the crime-solving partnership of Ron and Isshiki can finally begin…


As the first case in the manga, “The Case of the Metropolitan Serial Drownings” doesn’t focus so much on the mystery as it does setting the scene for future stories. While the logic leading to the culprit’s arrest is perfectly sound, and the audience is theoretically able to get a broad idea of what is happening, certain details of the solution rely on obtuse scientic concepts and details the audience isn’t privy to. The answer to the question of how someone can be drowned nowhere near water is also perfectly reasonable, though not astounding.

But don’t let that take away from what a good introduction to the series this is! Compared to Detective Conan, The Kindaichi Case Files, and Detective Academy Q, Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective has a much stronger sense of character. Ron in particular a very refreshing departure from the common archetype of “lacking in book smarts and social graces but intuitively talented and passionate supersleuth” you see so often in manga and anime-adjacent mystery fiction. His more more erratic, attention-deficit, and moody personality make him stand out among his peers in the genre, and the intrigue of whether or not Ron is guilty of the “Bloody Field-Trips” serve as a great plot hook for the series.

So, a great mystery story it is not, but “The Case of the Metropolitan Serial Drownings” is mercifully short and serves mostly as an introduction to the premise of the manga, its core conflict, and the central character dynamic of Isshiki and Ron! At this, it does a wonderful job.

Following this case, Ron and Isshiki’s first formal investigation as a partnership can begin in Casebook 002 – The Case of the Locked-Room Piggybank Theft (Chapter 2). Despite being instrumental in solving the case of the serial drowner, Isshiki is still treated as a low-level grunt in the investigative department, stuck doing nothing but clerical work and investigating low-grade offenses while his co-workers go investigate a dead body that was found near the river!

First on the agenda for Isshiki is an impossible crime, although not a murder at all; it’s the impossible theft of coins from a piggybank! Despite the fact it is so famed for being impossible to take money out of it without breaking it that it’s nicknamed “The Impregnable Pig” and has become a very popular, mass-produced item, a young woman’s piggybank has nonetheless become lighter as if coins vanished from within… A true locked-pig mystery!

…Not a ton of surprises in this one. It doesn’t exactly take a valedictorian superdetective to figure out how one can take coins out of a piggybank. The trick is entirely natural and inevitable, given the set-up. Although it does require a massive leap in logic, I do appreciate the why of the piggybank theft, as it plays into a trope I particularly enjoy. At the end of the day, though, it’s only a minorly clever and fairly typical twist on what is still a rather paper-thin mystery plot. A marginally better mystery story than the previous, but only just barely, and one that could’ve been improved on substantially with more compelling and tighter cluing.

Like in the first story, Ron is a big personality who steals the show. This case introduces the running gag of Ron adopting comically convoluted pseudonyms and fabricated identities while investigating and getting way too into character, in this case as an overly zealous piggybank inspector. It also introduces the ongoing joke of Isshiki’s boss, Amamiya’s crush on Ron (whom she will go on to know as Kamo). Although the mystery plots have yet to particularly impress themselves on me, Ron is an endlessly endearing sleuth protagonist with a strong character.

In Casebook 003 – The Case of Benizome Hot Spring Murder (Chapters 3-4), Ron and Isshiki win a drawing for a free trip to the Benizome hot springs for two! The Benizome hot spring were so named for a legend in which young women were sacrificed to the river in order to keep it from flooding the village. After a sacrifice, all the water in the area would turn red, giving the springs the name of Benizome, which is made up of the symbols for “crimson” and “dye”!

So, when a woman winds up dead with no visible wounds on her body in a hot spring dyed red with leaves, the clientele of the Benizone hot spring are convinced that the curse of the sacrificed girl has claimed her life! How could this murder have happened!?

This case reveals a recurring issue with Ron Kamonohashi where the cases are so short the investigations and central questions of the mystery don’t have time to truly marinate. Everything here feels a little bit rushed — for instance, the set-up of a murder supposedly committed by a curse lasts for all of a page and a half before it’s immediately rejected and suspicion falls on Isshiki’s boss, and a sizable portion of the investigation has to happen essentially in the middle of the denouement just to make time for both. But, despite all that, this one actually isn’t half bad! It’s the most decent case so far.

Mysteries in which the victims have no visible cause of death only really have two solutions most of the time — poison, and heart failure. So, I’m very happy “The Case of Benizome Hot Spring Murders” had the awareness to not hold onto the cause of death as a lame twist. They quickly reveal that the victim died from heart failure. Though I do wish they didn’t mention that the cause of the heart attack was specifically a “shock from the change in temperature”, since I think it reveals too much about the actual trick…

Instead, the focus of the case is on the question of how this murder could’ve been contrived when all of the suspects have an airtight alibi.

The alibi trick is, admittedly, mechanical in nature — I’m on record as preferring tricks oriented around strong misdirection than physical artifices — and it’s a type of trick that’ll go on to become a repeat trope in the series and the principle way Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective resolves these cases of airtight alibis. However, in a void, the mechanical trick does a good job weaponizing not only the setting of a hot spring, but also that of a dilapidated annex building to commit the murder, making it a solid weaponization of known information instead of a premise-arbitrary murder machine. The backdrop of the legend of a supposed curse also services a clever, if very traditional bit of misdirection.

The case also showcases a sharp sense of page economy, doing a fantastic job laying down a ton of essential cluing to the murder in the pages before the death ever even occurs.

So, the most involved case of the series so far! While the trick belongs to a particular school of thought I’m not personally a fan of, it still exhibits a clever utilization of the setting and the series’s strongest cluing yet. While this won’t go down as one of my all-time favorite mysteries even in the context of mystery manga, it’s a solid early effort from Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective, and easily the most decent outing yet. Good stuff, this!

Following the murder at Benizome hot springs, the case introduces the first member we’ll meet from the Blue Detective Training Academy, Spitz Feier, the Tracking Instructor! He quickly catches onto Ron and Isshiki’s ruse, but rather than turning him in to Blue, he gives the pair a proposition: he’ll help them however he can and pretend to be unaware of Ron’s activity if Isshiki and Ron help him locate his family, who have vanished without a trace.

Ron initially rejects the offer, not trusting Spitz’s intentions. Spitz runs off, promising to keep his end of the bargain and eventually prove himself to Ron…

Which leads us into the final story of volume 1 of Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective, Casebook 004 – The Case of the Hand Collector Killer (Volume 1 Chapter 5, Volume 2 Chapter 1). A serial killer who steals the hands of his victims has been on the rampage in the Aichi Prefecture, but his latest victim was found in Tokyo. Omito “Eagle Eyes” Kawasami, an obsessive-compulsive neat-freak and the Aichi Prefecture’s best detective, is on his way to Tokyo with his assistant Yamane in order to investigate in collaboration with the metropolitan police department.

Since Kawasami is in competition with Amamiya for the role of police superintendent general, Amamiya sends Isshiki out to help him, hoping that Isshiki is incompetent enough to cause Kawasami to fail so she can steal the case from under his nose. Unfortunately for her, Isshiki has the assistance of puppeteer Kamomi Tekemono, an expert on all things hand-related — also known, of course, as Ron Kamonohashi…

Although it, like “The Case of the Benizome Hot Spring Murders”, is two chapters, this one is much simpler as a mystery than the previous story. Despite that, I actually like this one a fair bit! The identity of the true killer and the reason behind their death is a common cop-out in mystery stories, but it’s bolstered here by a particularly solid bit of misdirection that makes that conclusion seem distinctly impossible.

The core of this story reminds me of the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a really good Ace Attorney trial. Just like it’s very common to see in that series, the meat of the misdirection in “Hand Collector Killer” comes from the behavior of an innocent character (that is to say, someone who is neither the killer nor an accomplice) lying about the crime and/or tampering with the crime scene due to entirely petty, personal reasons, with the truth of the case hiding within their hastily-conceived lies as their story slowly breaks apart with each subsequent fib and contradiction.

While some of the clues are extremely tenuous and could’ve stood to be established more elegantly — especially not waiting for the very moment they’re relevant to be revealed! — this is still a perfectly entertaining case that does something unique and harks back to one of my favorite tropes from a series that’s special to me.

So, to round out volume 1 of Ron Kamonohashi is an entirely decent story!


Well, finishing volume 1 of Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective, I’d like to return to my question of “does the series justify its place as the third cornerstone detective manga?”. The answer to that is surprisingly complicated.

When I began reviewing Detective Conan, it took 4 volumes (or, 9 cases) to get to what I consider the first actually decent Detective Conan story. When I began reviewing The Kindaichi Case Files, it took a similarly long time to find the first volume in the series I unambiguously enjoyed.

By contrast, Ron Kamonohashi doesn’t start out in as low a place as those two series. I would hesitate to call any of the first four cases we’ve reviewed here flatly “bad”. In fact, the quality on display here is incredibly consistent, but it’s a consistency that hovers easily in the range of “decent” to “above average”. Nearly every story here is deeply flawed, but still showcases some intuition and sharpness of mystery-plotting that is promising, but only hesitantly so.

So all I can confidently say is that the opening volume of Ron Kamonohashi sets a good foundation that is promising for the future, but a refinement in quality is deeply needed before I can definitively claim it deserves being one of the forefront representatives of classical mysteries in modern pop culture.

As always, I leave you with a ranking of the stories…


  1. “Benizome Hot Spring Murder” (Case 003, V.1, Ch. 3-4)
  2. “Hand Collector Killer” (Case 004, V.1 Ch.5, V.2 Ch. 1)
  3. “Locked-Room Piggybank” (Case 002, V.1. Ch. 2)
  4. “Metropolitan Serial Drowning” (Case 001, V.1, Ch. 1)

The Poisoned Chocolates Case (1929) by Anthony Berkeley

Yeah, I decided I was done having integrity in the eyes of the mystery community…


Anthony Berkeley is one the most widely-sung maestros of the Golden Age of Detection, whose output is well known for its meta-reflexive, bordering on post-modern, discussions on the genre. The novel perennially touted as Berekely’s unrivaled masterpiece is the eternal The Poisoned Chocolates Case.

The Poisoned Chocolates Case deals with a small group of theoretical criminologists known as “The Crime Club”, a circle of people who love discussing, ruminating, and speculating on all things criminal, hosted by none other than Berkeley’s beloved bastard Roger Sheringham. The very same beloved bastard has on this day brought to the club a proposition:

They will endeavor to solve to the club’s satisfaction the case of the murder of Mrs. Bendix, who received poisoned chocolates from her husband, who received the chocolates from a friend named Mr. Eustace Pennefather, who received the chocolates at his gentleman’s club from an anonymous sender pretending to represent the Mason’s chocolate company.

Naturally, the police’s understanding of the case is that a demented opportunity killer wanted to kill Eustance for sick kicks, but upon running up against the problem that this means quite literally anyone in the world could be a viable suspect, realized they were entirely without a means to arrest a murderer.

Enter, the Crime Club.

Over the course of six days, the six members of the Crime Club will present the fruits of their investigations and theories pertaining to the truth of the Bendix case, with the understanding that if one of them manages to unearth the unsavory truth, the police will be immediately alerted.

With this, The Poisoned Chocolates Case has established its structure: broadly speaking, aside from a handful of “intermissions”, the entire novel is a protracted series of detective novel denouement scenes in which each of the amateur sleuths spend two chapters presenting their solutions, only for the following chapter or two to be dedicated to the other five members dismantling their cases piece-by-piece, often times pointing out fallacies and biases, sticking wedges into gaps in evidence, or revealing hitherto unknown, shocking information.

Until (hopefully?) the “truth” is revealed…

What can said in The Poisoned Chocolate Case’s favor is already on record from all the praise that gets heaped onto this landmark novel from all angles. The prose is, as is apparently par for the course of Anthony Berkeley, extraordinarily well-written. There’s a dry but nonetheless salient wit running through every other paragraph. Better yet, the characters are crisply written and deftly portrayed. Golden Age mystery novels often struggle with the unique characteristics of their cast being drowned out by the similarly affected voice of 20th century British aristocracy being shared generously between every actor in the story. The Poisoned Chocolates Case, however, does very well at giving every character fully-realized personalities, presented so clearly through body language and voice that I feel like, were I more artistically inclined, if I drew a scene from the book in memory, one could easily pick out each character from nothing less than the ways they’re sitting in the chairs! The rivalry between the melodramatic thespian Mabel Fielder-Flemming and persnickety defense attorney Sir Charles Wildman, the affected, effeminate rapture of Mr. Morton Harrogate Bradley at his clubmates’ theories, the detached intellectualism of Alicia Dammers, and the self-effacing, pity-inducing humbleness of Ambrose Chitterwick shine through the dialogue as clear and as authentically as if I were watching a group of six real people bicker about murders and crimes and other such entertaining insignificances.

The structure, it can also be said, is conceptually quite fascinating. The idea of the entire novel essentially being one long, segmented denouement scene is quite unique, and an idea I’ve only seen explored again in the blog’s omnipresent Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney series. Every central member of the cast has their moment to be in the spotlight, which enhances the already solid characterization. Furthermore, Anthony Berkeley does a very good pacing the plot within the confines of this structure, expertly making sure there are no anticlimaxes by arranging all of the false solutions in order of least ingenious to most ingenious. In a way, the members are constantly one-upping each other, with the explanations slowly expanding in complexity as new information is brought to light, and this assures that the plot never has moments where it feels, perhaps, a bit deflated after a heavy moment — you know a heavier one is coming soon!

Yes, indeed, in every sense from character to structure to prose, The Poisoned Chocolates Case is an engrossing and expertly composed novel..






Were that I could end the review on that unambiguously positive note and avoid the condemnation that is sure to follow the publication of this post…







The Poisoned Chocolates Case, for all that can be said of it as a wonderfully contrived novel, unfortunately falls flat on its face in one critical — in my mind, the absolutely most critical — element: the novel’s themes on truth in detective fiction, the nature of the “artistic proof”, the ability of a person to assemble enough convincing evidence to satisfy an audience of even the most outrageously incorrect claims imaginable. In what “truth” can we believe if even these seemingly airtight cases are dismantled, disassembled, and their entrails proudly presented for all to see? If even the final, “correct”, solution is merely an implication in afterthought, a thick but entirely unconfirmed coat of suspicion and nothing more?

A possibly intriguing question to tackle if it wasn’t answered with the same biases against which Berkeley charges his characters.

The most essential aspect upon which its themes of the transience of truth are erected is the premise that every single one of the false solutions should be thoroughly convincing bordering on the apparently airtight to the satisfaction of the mystery-reading public, only to be revealed to be riddled with fallacy, confusion, misapprehension, bias, oversight… That, Berkeley indirectly posits, would discredit the infallibility of the solutions brought forth by his fellow mystery writers’ favorite detectives.

In other words, the operative bit of information here is that the theories must be convincing, else the argument that “seemingly airtight cases can still be false” isn’t well-substantiated. Right?

…Oh, dear, well… this certainly is awkward, now isn’t it..?

They really aren’t all that convincing.

The book’s themes on the fallibility of seemingly airtight solutions are themselves an ostensibly convincing argument with holes large enough to drive a Navy legion through them, and the holes nearly all come in the form of the book’s many false theories neither being convincing, nor approaching the level of logical that often goes into the better of mystery novels.

Whether or not I agree with the premise is immaterial: this book does not make the case well.

It was immediately apparent that Berkeley himself was not being fair to his contemporaries. While the solutions start with the so-mundane-it’s-impossible-to-be-the-truth and slowly ramp up to the level of complexity that you’d believe in a relatively skilled second-stringer’s detective novel, the nature of the solutions are not the issue. From theory 1 to theory 6 — the supposedly correct one — no matter how convincing the nature of the solution was, the clues and reasoning were never convincingly airtight. Not a single one of the theories is erected on greater evidence with more conclusiveness than you’d expect to find from the unsubstantiated suspicions of the witness official policeman in any other mystery novel.

Following, I will break down the issues with the six theories in as general, un-spoiling terms as I can mustered, but if you wish to avoid reading these specific criticisms, feel free to skip ahead to the section marked SPOILERS OVER.

The first and second theories’ faults should be plainly apparent to anyone engaging with the novel. Both solutions suffer from the very plainly obvious issue that the two amateurs don’t even pretend to have any evidence beyond parallels with an old case and very vague notions of possible motives and slightly suspicious behavior. It is immediately and flatly obvious that not a single ounce of logical rigor went into the detection or summation of these crimes, and in fact the book immediately acknowledges this issue. However, the fact it’s nearly impossible to miss for even the most cursory of readings does render the first two theories inert in terms of the novel’s critique of the mystery genre. In fact, I’d say it goes doubly for the fact that neither solution even approaches the level of rigor you’d expect from a proper mystery novel solution, so unless you’re reading awful mystery novels I don’t find these two theories very accurate, damning caricatures of the type of reasoning you’re liable to find therein.

The third and third-and-a-half theory suffers from what I often refer to as “generalized psychological clues”. Such arguments as “a public-schooler would never do this because they demand more direct confrontation”, “all men would discriminate between men and women when selecting murder methods”, so on and so forth. It isn’t just a single instance of it, however, and in fact features incredibly prominently in both the solutions presented here.

The natural issue with these clues, as is brought up by one character, is that they’re impossible to substantiate, and for that matter pretty short-sighted. Not a single group of people on the planet is a monolith. There’s no such thing as a definitively “Anglo-Saxon method to stab someone” or a “feminine manner of theft”; Anglo-Saxons and women are, believe it or not, deeply varied, complex, individual groups of people. To present any clue in the language of “All X would Y” or “No X would Y” is obnoxious, on top of unconvincing.

I’ve criticized this style of cluing multiple times on the blog, once in my post detailing my personal 10 rules for writing detective fiction and quite frequently in my reviews of James Yaffe’s Mom short stories, so I am aware this sort of thing occurs quite often. Unlike the first two theories, I am unable to claim this is an unfair criticism to bring up against a certain class of mystery novels.

Only, however, the irony here is that the idea of “psychological impossibilities” is NOT being criticized as unsubstantiated, speculating nonsense. One character expresses disdain, and is immediately shot down by the rest of the Crime Club. In fact, quite a few characters are vindicated in their “general psychology” being absolutely, 100% correct!

The hole that is poked in this man’s theories isn’t that the “All X would Y” psychology is wildly speculating on baseless grounds, but rather that he simply made the wrong over-arching, generalized, unsubstantiated conclusions, and the characters who follow actually made the correct over-arching, generalized, unsubstantiated conclusions.

So, ironically, the one point in the novel I felt could’ve been a worthwhile criticism of Berkeley’s contemporaries, he fails to follow-up on meaningfully.

The fourth theory is the closest approaching convincing. While the character still induces quite a lot of details from, again, overly generalized psychology, they do substantiate quite a lot of their conclusions by focusing on the specific psychology of the characters and finding seemingly credible eyewitness testimony. However, the information discrediting the theory is a bit of a cheat, but nonetheless a very funny one that criticizes amateur detection in a very human, natural way.

The fifth theory is quite complex and ingenious (but also, I feel, obvious for the seasoned armchair sleuth) compared to the previous ones, but has quite a lot of the same obvious issues as the earlier theories. The circumstantial evidence and the logic that follows have very major, easily-seen alternative explanations. The logical rigor displayed here feels like the sort of thing you’d see in the early pages of a detective novel, when the official police officers give their almost-barely-convincing cases that the detective can quite easily explain away.

The final theory is nearly the worst of the lot. The amateur claims to have assembled the “correct” pieces of everyone’s theories into one , ultimate, “true” solution, but the methodology by which he achieved this is invisible to the reader, and quite a lot of what he selected as “given truths” and “conclusively proven facts” I certainly disagree with being particularly convincing explanations… Quite a few of the elements he selected fall into the very same holes I’ve already outlined, and therefore make his chimeric solution come off as arbitrary.

SPOILERS OVER

The recurrent throughline here, though, is not only are the solutions not convincing– an essential point for the novel to establish for its themes of “even seemingly conclusive arguments can be easily disproven” — the solutions aren’t even convincing recreations of Golden Age mystery denouements — also an essential point on which the novel needs to succeed to complete its critique of the genre.

These solutions are not just unconvincing, they’re so artificially and transparently unconvincing that it wraps around into reflecting poorly on Berkeley’s fairness towards the works he critiques. Whatever case you want to make about mystery novels and their solutions and the nature of the puzzle and the infallibility or otherwise of the truth, the fact remains that the best of the works do hold themselves to a certain standard of at least attempted logical rigor. Mere circumstantial evidence is rarely enough to Christie or Queen or Carr; counter-theories, possible alternative explanations, are considered, explored, and to a certain level of satisfaction discredited on usually solid-enough grounds, even if not to the degree of 100% certain conclusiveness. The novels attempt to bring forth evidence — actual evidence — and flagrant guesswork is often, ideally, avoided.

In order to make a critique of the genre, Berkeley, just like his characters, cheated. He twisted tropes to fit his case, and presented flaws that don’t truly exist, and to a major degree avoided acknowledging a lot of the work authors go to in order to avoid just the very same pitfalls outlined in The Poisoned Chocolates Case. I will not comment on whether or not I agree with the premise of the novel, but merely that the method by which it goes about establishing it is slanted, skewed, and biased in the extreme, often requiring outright unflattering, dishonest depictions of the work done by authors of the genre.

In short? I do not agree with the popular view that The Poisoned Chocolates Case is either a brilliant or even a damning critique of the genre at large. While it is a brilliantly written novel, the (anti-)mystery plot at the heart of it fails on the grounds of being so preoccupied depicting the perceived negatives in the genre that it winds up dragging down the rest of the work with it. The false solutions are unconvincing, and ultimately, unfortunately, fail to bring its themes on the transience of truth to fruition. As much as I enjoyed the reading of this novel, I did not walk away holding it in very high esteem as a post-modern take on the genre. It is a seemingly-convincing argument, filled with holes and bias — just like the ones it wished to write for its characters.

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney (Manga, 2006) by Kuroda Kenji – Part 1 / 2

It would be unfair to call the video game franchise Ace Attorney a “titan” of Japanese mystery pop-culture, but a persistent and noteworthy influence, it certainly is. Often paired with the manga (comic book) series Detective Conan and fellow mystery video game Danganronpa, it isn’t uncommon to find leaders of Japanese detective writing who are fans of at least one of these series, or to name them influences on their career. Not the least that there are multiple examples of mystery novels that clearly aim to emulate Ace Attorney‘s plotting style, along with no small number of inspired Ace Attorney-esque video games as well, but also that many youths find their first exposure to classical fairplay detection through these thrilling courtroom adventure video games.

I also happen to be one such youth.

It’s been an open secret on this blog that Ace Attorney is the series that propelled me into the world of Golden Age mystery fiction and continues to be, to this day, my favorite mystery series of all time in any medium. I first covered the franchise on an under-performing review of the first game of the series, lamented about the lack of attention it gets in my post about animated mysteries in Japan, mentioned the series yet again in my review of Masahiro Imamura’s Death Among the Undead, and then one case got represented on my list of my 15 favorite impossible crimes and 6 cases on my list of 30 more favorite mysteries of all time, before finally my, as friend and fellow blogger Nick Fuller of The Grandest Game in the World lightly put it, enthusiasm for Ace Attorney culminated in The Comprehensive Guide to Ace Attorney for Video Game-Averse Mystery-Reading Persons (+ other mystery games to try!), a post in which I try to make the series as accessible as possible for people who enjoy mysteries but are wary of video games, as well as breaking down the creator’s inspiration from famous classical mystery writers, everyone from Perry Mason to Ellery Queen.

With that, I thought I’d be able to wash my hands of Ace Attorney as far as this blog is concerned. Writing what is literally the comprehensive overview and retrospective on the series seemed to be a fitting cap on my insistence for this random mystery video game. I’ve talked about every case of every game, broken down what the series is, why you should play it, how you can play it, and basically done everything short of buying every reader of this blog a copy of the game. As far as mystery fans care, I’ve touched upon every meaningful part of the official Ace Attorney franchise.

…Or so I had believed…

Recently I’ve begun to hear from certain trustworthy sources, knowledgeable fans of both Golden Age mysteries and Ace Attorney, that quite a bit of untapped, genuine mystery media exists in the franchise of which I was somehow terribly unaware. And not only does it exist, it’s also apparently… quite good!

As the resident Ace Attorney superfan, I felt embarrassed at how negligent I was in covering all of the bases of this series I claim to love so much. Not only were there two novels called Turnabout Airline and Turnabout Idol, translations of which I didn’t even know existed, but there were also two promotional manga series, simply titled Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney and Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth (after their respective game entries), released and officially localized into English. The novels are themselves one full case each, and then the Phoenix Wright manga contains seven, while the Miles Edgeworth manga contains eight. In other words, there are 17 further official cases of Ace Attorney mystery writing which I simply totally missed while writing my “comprehensive” guide — that’s almost as good as missing four of the games themselves! Knowing that most of them are supposed to be quite good, too, I decided I had to rectify this oversight immediately, starting with the Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney manga series…


When Ace Attorney was first created, the series started as a trilogy of games for the Nintendo GameBoy Advance, and released exclusively in Japan! The series was thought to be finished at that point, but with the announcement of a fourth game — Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney — and the remakes of the original three games for the Nintendo DS, all of which would be released in English for American audiences as well, Capcom decided to do a spontaneous promotional campaign in order to drum up excitement for Ace Attorney both in Japan and overseas. Kuroda Kenji was commissioned to write the scenarios for 7 all-new, totally original mysteries for Ace Attorney, which would be compiled into a short 5-book run of comics, in order to give a new audience a taste of Ace Attorney’s mystery plotting prior to its proper release in the interest of enticing fans to buy the four upcoming games.

Although the comics are based on the characters and premise of the video games, the serialized stories would require absolutely zero foreknowledge of the original material to understand, making them suitable both for newcomers and veterans alike. Nothing needs to be known about Ace Attorney besides the context that it stars Phoenix Wright, a somewhat hapless rookie defense attorney who uses on-the-spot bluffing to point out logical flaws in witness testimony that falsely implicates his (innocent) client of a murder! By unraveling the seemingly airtight case presented by the prosecutor through Ellery Queen-esque chains of deductions, Phoenix Wright not only proves his clients innocent of wrongdoing, but always manages to find the true perpetrator in the process.

The manga series features characters from the first three games of the series, but otherwise stoutly avoids revealing any information that would meaningfully spoil the gameplay or mystery-solving experience of the games. In fact, the comics exist in something of a floating timeline, meaning that their location in the canon of Ace Attorney is particularly ambiguous.

In other words, you readers who never played Ace Attorney, have no fear! You are free to jump into this series as you please! Furthermore, this manga, like most of the mystery genre, is majorly episodic. You could dip in and out into any of the self-contained mysteries as you please and miss out on very little and run the risk of being spoiled on nothing.

Each case is an attempt to compress into short story form the Ace Attorney formula of having a single person be accused of a crime in which the circumstances make it so only they could be guilty, finding contradictions in the testimony of witnesses hell-bent on seeing your client go to jail, and through Ellery Queen-esque chains of deductions finally proving their innocence and discovering the true killer, all while arguing against a prosecutor who believes with all their heart that your client is guilty.

How successful the comics are at adapting the formula is variable between stories, however. A few of the cases really struggle with a plot that doesn’t quite suit the format being pigeon-holed into a structure they don’t really fit. Case 2, titled “Turnabout Gallows”, epitomizes this entirely, with a trial segment that barely involves physical evidence and instead involves arguing about dubious psychology (something the games never do). Add to this a murder involving a “Man-Spider” who crawls on ceilings and plays Saw-like games with his victim, and you get a plot befitting Detective Conan or The Kindaichi Case Files much before Ace Attorney.

But then some cases truly do feel like what an Ace Attorney short story would and should feel like. Capturing not only the essence of the games’ style, but also perfectly mimicking very small, but nonetheless important, nuances of their approach to plotting and cluing. Clues recontextualizing themselves as they’re brought back to mean different things two, three, four times, killers being caught on very natural slips of the tongue, and even Phoenix being cocky, bluffing with a seemingly airtight piece of evidence that appears to prove the client’s innocence, only for the prosecutor to point out that there’s a very natural explanation that Phoenix merely overlooked which destroys his entire argument in one fell swoop. This strength of cluing, in which one minor piece of information never means exactly what it appears, and in fact represents three totally different facts altogether, clues and evidence are twisted and turned on their head, and every hint is doing double-time at all times is in the best of these stories very impressively carried over from the games to the manga, not the least impressive because the manga was written by a different person and, even more so, the cases are probably about 1/10 the length of an average case from the game.

But where consistency is lacking in the manga’s success at adapting the Ace Attorney formula, it more than makes up for it with the consistency of the mystery plots. Of the five cases I’ll be discussing today, there is only one which is not all of clever, entirely unique, and entirely fairly clued. These stories are, in fact, so well-clued and plotted, that one might find them on the whole a little easy to figure out — scrupulously fairplay to a fault, in fact. But for that fault, they’re not obvious for a lack of creativity or cleverness, because those are qualities these mysteries have in spades. Amusing and unique settings — a murder in a Mansion of Spiders, or a girl possessed by a Death God to commit murder in a locked-room, or “the world’s smallest locked-room mystery” — lend themselves to equally amusing and unique explanations. The quality of mystery writing here really shows off the strength of short-form mystery plotting, and rivals in places even some of the best of the more eminent Detective Conan, Kindaichi Case Files, and Detective School Q manga series.

I really do feel comfortable calling Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney something of a hidden masterpiece of shin-honkaku mysteries and mystery manga, managing to not only imitate the strengths of Takumi Shuu’s plotting style and twisty evidence-placement, but also to infuse into it Kuroda Kenji’s own highly imaginative settings and solutions. Add to all this being perhaps the most truly scrupulously fairplay mystery I’ve seen in the manga-sphere, and, in short, any mystery fan should be pleased to read this exceptional little piece of Japanese mysteries.


A break-down of the individual cases would be essential, but it’s worth noting that as of the time of writing this, I only have access to five of the seven stories available in the Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney manga. Therefore, this review will only be part 1 of 2, and the remaining two stories will be reviewed once they’re available to me…

Case 1 – Turnabout of the Wind sees Phoenix’s hapless childhood friend Larry Butz be accused of murdering Bright Bonds, the ex-boyfriend of Belle Windsor, his new girlfriend. The two had been dating for a long time, but Belle soon found out Bright was married and dumped him on the spot. Since then, Bright had continued to harass Belle, begging her to come back to him. Angered by this, Larry leaves Bright a threatening voice mail… a fact which, when combined with his fingerprints being found on the murder weapon, makes him a prime suspect for the prosecution. Just as he’s done a few times before, Phoenix defends Larry of these false accusations!

Every game in the series has a bit of a formula with how they handle their first cases. Each first case takes place over only a single day, doesn’t feature an investigation, and usually features only one witness who is, usually, the true killer. The manga stays true to this formula, and so is a bit simplistic compared to the rest of the series, but none the worse for it! It isn’t hard to figure out the killer, or how they committed the crime, but as always Ace Attorney is as much about the “how does Phoenix figure it out?” as anything else, and this aspect of the case is wonderful. Just like Ace Attorney proper, there’s this aspect of clues and hints coming back over and over again, being used in different contexts and taking on different meanings. Quite a few of the clues and reasoning here are brilliant, besides! Ace Attorney trial segments are essentially protracted denouement scenes, so the mystery writing is very engaging, as you’re asked to walk through the reasoning with Phoenix as he does it in court, step-by-step — there’s even a challenge to the reader!

That all being said, the way the formula is changed for the manga is a bit hard to get used to, since it doesn’t involve finding contradictions in testimony so much as the testimony is just a source of information as Phoenix and the prosecutor argue with each other directly. The main issue with this case is that the two begin arguing before the case is even fully established so it’s not even fully clear why the prosecutor thinks Larry is guilty until the case is more than half over, and then by that point Phoenix is already confronting the real killer, making it a bit of an awkwardly paced case. That’s a minor gripe, though, because this is still a wonderful little mystery story that recalls, like the best of Ace Attorney, “Ellery Queen but in court”, and it’s a promising sampler of the future cases!

Case 2 – Turnabout Gallows sees Phoenix Wright summoned by Robin Wolfe, the CEO of a prominent tech company. An employee of Wolfe’s, Eddie Johnson, has recently taken his own life by leaping from the top of a wall, but Wolfe is irrationally paranoid that he’ll be accused of somehow murdering Johnson. In anticipation of that, the CEO decided to enlist the aid of defense attorney Phoenix Wright to clear him of any suspicion of wrongdoing.

Unfortunately for Wolfe, though, Phoenix and his assistant Maya Fey discover that Robin Wolfe has a mentally disturbed younger brother named Bobby, towards whom he is deeply abusive. Bobby is a reclusive spider fanatic who is condemned to a windowless building on the Wolfe property called “The Spider Manor”. When Phoenix then finds that the building is not only filled to the roof with books on spiders and cages containing the very same arachnids, but also equipped with a remote controlled torture-chair that holds a captive person’s entire body, he begins to believe their prospective client really did murder his employee. The arachnophobic Eddie Johnson could be bound and held captive in the Spider Manor, until he’s so emotionally disturbed he accidentally kills himself trying to escape…

But before Phoenix and Maya can reject Robin Wolfe’s requests for defense, the man suddenly vanishes… Before long, the man’s entire family is summoned together in front of an intercom to talk to him. He says that he’s being held captive in the Spider Manor, and that he’s being harassed by a Man-Spider who can walk on the ceilings! Just as everyone decides to go save Robin, however, the Spider Manor bursts into flames…

And in the charred rubble of the building, Robin Wolfe is found, murdered, having been beat over the head! And when the murder occurred, everyone was together and in clear sight of each other… Everyone, that is, except for Bobby Wolfe, Robin’s abused younger brother. Can Phoenix solve this bizarre case of a man walking on the ceiling and airtight alibis in order to prove Robin Wolfe’s innocence of the murder!?

This case is by far and large the least faithful adaptation of the Ace Attorney style in the manga. Psychological torture chambers, mental disability, apparent spider-demons who challenges his victim a Saw-like game for survival… The overall darker tone and supernatural overtones (besides the Ghost-summoning that exists in Ace Attorney) recall Detective Conan and Kindaichi Case Files long before it even begins to recall Ace Attorney. Add to that the fact that the first half of the trial is concerned with debates on psychology and motive (something Ace Attorney rarely focuses so much on, with a preference for rigorous physical cluing), and you’ve got yourself a mystery story that really does not recall the source material even in the slightest.

…But it’s none the worse off for it, because “Turnabout Gallows” really is spectacular! The trick behind the alibi is perhaps a little easy to piece together, because the story audaciously shows you a little too much of the murder occurring in real time, but it’s still very original, ambitious, and massive-in-scale, not unlike something that might be dreamt up by the mind of Soji Shimada.

And where the story misses the Ace Attorney stylization, it more than makes up for it with the standard of cluing and the tendency to wrap clues and off-handed remarks back around multiple times to take on different meanings. As you can tell from the titles, “Turnabout” is a theme of Ace Attorney; the defense turning around a seemingly hopeless case, evidence being turned around and taking on new meanings… and the trick of “Turnabout Gallows” applies the theme of “turnabout” in a very, very literal way, the first of three cases that take the concept of “turnabout” and apply it, entirely literally and entirely at face value, to their mystery plots. There’s one particular clue that is emblematic of “turnabout” in this way, too, that really is brilliant; it turns on entirely specialistic knowledge, but Kuroda’s crafty plotting allows the reader to see its significance without ever once directly providing the reader with the specialistic knowledge in one of the most utterly ingenious and daring visual clues of the mystery genre!

“Turnabout Gallows” falters in being a little too ambitious in showing the commission of the murder to the audience in such a way that almost entirely spoils the trick, and not being a very faithful take on Ace Attorney as a mystery series. But to its benefit it has a daring and original alibi trick that makes great use of its congruous elements brilliantly, some phenomenal cluing, and one of the series’ best takes on the theme of “turnabout”. A smidge weaker than stories to come, but nonetheless great little mystery, this!

In Case 3 – Turnabout Showtime, Phoenix treats Maya to a day out at SparkleLand so they can watch the amusement park’s mascot-themed stage show! However, during the show, an actor stumbles onto stage and collapses, blood flowing from within his costume!

Phoenix, Maya, the fellow actors, and the announcer — a young girl named Julie Henson — drag the actor, still in his costume, back stage, and undress him… only to find him stabbed through the chest! However, due to the circumstances in which he was stabbed, his death is soon revealed to be “the world’s smallest locked-room mystery”…

When he was stabbed, the victim, Flip Chambers, was inside of a full-body costume. The costume wasn’t damaged, meaning Flip had to be removed from the costume before being stabbed and returned to the costume! The only way to remove someone from the costume is through a zipper on the back, which can only be reached by a second person; the costumes cannot be removed by the person wearing them! However, the only person at the crime scene who is capable of removing costumes was Julie Henson, the only member of the cast who wasn’t also wearing a costume that severely restricted her dexterity!

In order to prove Julie innocent of this murder, Phoenix Wright must contend with the world’s smallest locked-room mystery… a “locked-costume mystery”!

The best case in the manga, and it isn’t even close! Not only is “Turnabout Showtime” just a great, original, little locked-room mystery (the smallest in the world!), it’s also pure, vintage Ace Attorney. Ace Attorney cases are on average four to six hours long, whereas this story is a single less-than-100-page manga chapter, and yet despite that this case manages to represent everything that makes Ace Attorney what it is. It is, plain and simple, everything an Ace Attorney short story would and should be.

Many of the defining elements of Ace Attorney‘s plotting and cluing are on full-display in this fantastic story. Just like in the games, the logical rigidity of the courtrooms is weaponized against Phoenix as he finds evidence he believes effortlessly proves Julie’s innocence, only for the prosecutor, Miles Edgeworth, to point out a simple, entirely reasonable oversight that totally flips Phoenix’s argument on its head. Evidence seems to be one thing and is later flipped around to mean something else entirely, at one moment seeming to prove someone’s guilt and at the next proving them innocent, at one moment being critical to Phoenix’s case and at the next being disastrous to it! Off-handed remarks that appear to mean nothing in reality mean everything. The battle of wits between two equal forces trying to prove diametrically opposite cases and the way this causes evidence to be twisted, manipulated, misshaped, rearranged, and recontextualized. It’s all here, crammed tightly but elegantly into this short but crafty mystery tale.

Add to all that a very clever and original locked-room mystery set-up with an equally clever and original explanation — the second impossibility in which the theme of “turnabout” is taken entirely at face value — and you have a charming mystery short story you can take little fault with.

“Turnabout Showtime” is the only case in the manga I failed to figure out before the ending, and the surprise was more than earned by this well-plotted little gem of Japanese murder mysteries. The whole manga itself is an overlooked masterpiece of Japanese mystery plotting, but this is the story that really elevates it to that level, as it stands as one of my favorite short-form mysteries of all time.

If you read only one case from this manga, I recommend this one! It is emblematic of everything Ace Attorney (albeit in abridged form), and manages to stand on its own two feet as a great and unique impossible crime at that!

Case 4 – “Turnabout Prophecy” takes Phoenix and Maya to a fortune-teller’s court — a group of fortune tellers set up in the top floor of a department store — where a young girl named Russi Clover is told she’ll be possessed by a demon God from Venus and commit murder. So, when a murder happens in the locked-and-sealed audience chamber of Oracle Hecate, and Russi is the only one in the room with the victim, she immediately breaks down and confesses to the crime, saying she was taken over by the Venutian God to commit murder!

Phoenix, however, doesn’t believe that Russi could commit this crime; and if you rule out demonic possession, that means she can only be innocent! But, as always, Phoenix is forced to compete with a situation in which his client is the only possible culprit in order to prove their innocence…

Like “Turnabout Storyteller”, “Turnabout Prophecy” is a perfect exemplar of what an Ace Attorney short story really should be — perhaps an even more perfect one than the previous case! Everything is there, including Phoenix being overly-cocky over an ace up his sleeve only to find out a perfectly reasonable explanation exists to destroy his argument, the solution being built up from a long-series of small contradictions in Ellery Queen Chain of Deduction fashion, brilliantly re-purposed clues, and a great back-and-forth logical tug-o-war between the prosecution and defense — all of it. Add to that a more elegant explanation for why the defendant is the suspect, and you’re given the most perfectly executed abridging of the Ace Attorney formula the manga has to offer.

However, where this case fails is in its pretty trivially easy locked-room mystery. The seasoned armchair sleuth should be able to figure out the solution to the locked-room mystery very easily. However, for how easy the story is to figure out, it isn’t a result of the story being uninspired; no, the story really is quite clever and original, only it suffers for over-tipping its hand much like the earlier “Turnabout Gallows”, thanks to the Christianna Brand-ian touch of the solution being based on a half-correct explanation that’s written off over the course of the story.

However, just like the first case, “Turnabout of the Wind”, it’s worth keeping in mind that Ace Attorney is just as much about the process of how the culprit is discovered in a courtroom battle as it is about who- and howdunit. The trial segment is brilliantly plotted, with many great contradictions, surprising reversals, and spectacular clues; even if you’ve seen the solution coming from a mile away, no other case in the manga makes the process of arriving at the truth as engaging as this case anyways.

And, yet again, “turnabout”, in the literal sense, is utilized wonderfully here…

It loses points for being easy to figure out, but the courtroom battle on display here is the best of the manga so far. This is another perfect adaptation of Ace Attorney with all of the same logical rigidity and transient clues-of-a-million-shapes you’ve come to expect! Fantastic, fun, and clever!

Case 5 – Turnabout from Heaven involves a young woman with contradictory memories about the ghost of her mother appearing to her and promising to kill her abusive father. Naturally, the girl is brought to court and accused of the crime, and although the court flatly rejects the possibility of her mother’s ghost being the culprit, the young woman has proof! When she was a child, her mom promised to give her her necklace on her eighteenth birthday, and the day after the murder… the promised necklace was left on her pillow!

Phoenix doesn’t believe the gentle young girl would commit the murder, and so, as always, he gets to work proving her innocence in impossible circumstances.

While all the other cases in the manga are whodunits and impossible crimes, this minimalist case is interesting in that the culprit confesses nearly immediately, but argues that the crime was an accident, turning this into a whydunit in which the goal is to prove motive. It’s not hard to spot the answer, since it’s very typical kidnapping mystery fare, but there’s a contradiction and line of reasoning in this case that’s super brilliant and the Ace Attorney format is actually used really well here despite the story being very different from anything you’d see in the games, with Edgeworth constantly trying to prove that the killer’s confession is false in order to secure a guilty verdict for the defendant. The clues and reasoning here are quite good! However, you can fault the story for being a little simplistic, and the happy ending being very forcibly engineered (even if still quite clever from a mystery-plotting perspective…)

A more pressing criticism to levy against this case, though, is the fact the court flatly rejects the existence of ghosts, even though all of these characters have seen actual, honest-to-God ghosts in the courtroom on multiple occasions. This is an inconsistency the series refuses to acknowledge, but ghosts empirically exist in the Ace Attorney universe and have appeared in court through spirit mediums’ bodies on more than one instance. In the sixth game in the series, you discover a country exists where the memories of the murder are manifested through the victim’s spirit as a basis for its entire judicial system; it is very silly that the games still insist on making skeptics of people who have seen undeniable supernatural phenomena with their own two eyes.

….You’re saying that that’s not THAT pressing an issue, are you? Well, it’s annoying to me….


Ace Attorney is already my favorite mystery series of all time, but I’ll admit I came into this spin-off series with more than just slightly low expectations. I expected to be greeted with lazy, half-baked regurgitations of series tropes, lame and uninspired mystery plots, and generally be annoyed with misunderstandings and mistakes here, there, and everywhere.

Instead, I was met with a surprising gem, not only of Ace Attorney-onia but also of mystery plotting in general. Nearly all of the cases perfectly capture the essence, style, plotting, cluing, and structure of Ace Attorney — the turnabout of evidence at multiple critical junctures of the trial to mean different things at different points, the contradictions and chains of deductions, the logically rigorous battles of wits — while also just producing consistently clever, and entirely original mystery plots. While many of the stories can be faulted for being easy to solve, their originality and creativity aren’t hindered by this; not the least because the process of discovering the truth is always littered with brilliant clues, reasoning, and reversals through the series’s chronically engaging courtroom battles.

Ace Attorney the manga is an undeservedly overlooked gem of the series and mystery plotting at large. Fans of mysteries who are unacquainted with Ace Attorney will still find plenty to love in this fabulous little collection of mystery shorts. In short, wow!

The last two cases of the manga are currently unavailable to me but if this is the standard one can expect, I eagerly look forward to finishing the series and reviewing them for your pleasure!

To wrap things up, a ranking of the cases….


  1. Case 3 – Turnabout Showtime
  2. Case 4 – Turnabout Prophesy
  3. Case 2 – Turnabout Gallows
  4. Case 1 – Turnabout of the Wind
  5. Case 5 – Turnabout from Heaven

FIVE TO TRY: Japanese Thrillers Even Mystery Lovers Can Enjoy

Mysteries and thrillers have had such a wedge driven between them that for the two to overlap is often a spectacle worth noting as rare exceptions, such as the spectacular “puzzle boxes” of film director Christopher Nolan (Inception, Interstellar). While the western incarnations of these exceptions are often highly well-documented in our little blogging niche of the internet, those crossovers between purified detective stories and thriller from Japan are significantly less publicized than their straightforward honkaku (“authentic”) detective story counterparts.

And so, cribbing the title of this post from Jim Noy’s “FIVE TO TRY” posts over at his spectacular blog, The Invisible Event, I intend to offer to western fans of Golden Age mysteries and detection five Japanese thrillers which appeal even to our specific sensibilities! These aren’t just any old “mystery-thrillers” or “thriller-mysteries” or whatever other permutation of genre names you want to think of; these are thrillers which contain a style and nature of plotting which I believe should specifically appeal to fans of the Golden Age standard and method of mystery plotting!

So, below are my five picks for Japanese thrillers which I believe even those in our little nook of the internet can enjoy!


Death Note

The quintessential Japanese mystery-thriller, Death Note is predominantly a manga series about Light Yagami, a high-school student who discovers a supernatural notebook called “The Death Note”, writing in which allows Light Yagami to kill any person as long as he knows both the real name and face of that person. Now going by the alias of “Kira” (Killer) ascribed to him by the media, Light Yagami is tracked down by a master detective who goes by the enigmatic name of “L”.

Death Note is the very first entry that came to my mind when I decided to compile a list of thrillers which I believe even English-speaking authentic mystery fans could read and enjoy. The series is possibly the most well-known “cat-and-mouse” thriller from Japan to English-speakers, with the story following both the perspectives of the criminal Light and the detective L in equal measure.

Despite its supernatural premise, the eponymous Death Note is guided by a set of strict, unbendable rules which dictate how it can and cannot be used, making it a verifiable example of the hybrid mystery. Furthermore, while L can sometimes resort to “moon logic” (wildly convoluted or counterintuitive reasoning), typically his reasoning is based on information the audience is also privy to. And since Light/Kira’s responses are equally guided by reasoning based on information known to the audience, it can be said that despite being labeled a “supernatural thriller”, Death Note is as much a fairplay detective story as any other inverted mystery, in which we’re equally capable of reasoning along with both sides of the crime: commission and detection.

I recommend this most to people who: like inverted mysteries and capers; don’t mind supernatural elements in their mysteries; enjoy following the psychology of the villain.

LIAR GAME

Billed by Wikipedia as a “psychological thriller”, LIAR GAME is a multi-media franchise which began with a manga (Japanese comic book) about Nao Kanzaki, a naive college student who is suddenly sent 100 million yen (roughly $760,000 USD) and instructed that she is now a competitor in the Liar Game Tournament, a multi-stage competition in which participants are encouraged to cheat, betray each other, and lie in order to get their hands on each other’s money!

…A problem, indeed, for the “foolishly honest” Nao Kanzaki.

In this tournament, the competition is split into various stages in which contestants play games of wits to overcome their opponents and win their money. For instance, the very first game is a game called “Minority Rule”, in which contestants are asked to answer yes/no questions. If your answer is the minority, you move on to the next round of the game, but if your answer is the majority you are immediately disqualified… Of course, however, as players are permitted to lie, there are three questions you must ask yourself every round: (1.) how many of my competitors does this question apply to, (2.) how many of my competitors know the answer to question 1, and therefore (3.) how likely are the competitors to lie, and is it beneficial to me to answer correctly or lie?

As Nao Kanzaki moves through the various stages of this tournament, instead of keeping the money for herself, she begins to use the earnings to buy her contestants out of their debt and, hopefully, slowly dismantle the Liar Game Tournament Organization from within the game itself…

LIAR GAME is almost certainly the closest thing you’re going to get to “fairplay mystery plotting” in something which is, frankly, not even a “mystery” at all. Rather than dealing with murders or thefts, in LIAR GAME the puzzle is always “how can Nao mathematically maximize or even guarantee her chances at winning each game?” Information is never hidden from the audience, and with a close enough understanding of the rules, the player is constantly in possession of all the details they need to see Nao’s path to likely or certain victory! In every game, outcomes can be forced, rules can be cleverly exploited, and nothing is ever left entirely up to chance or victory. A stage for many complex math puzzles and logic problems, LIAR GAME is almost like a mystery story in which you follow a protagonist who has to solve, not crimes, but purified riddles! Something like The Hunger Games, but with competitive puzzle solving.

This genre of story is not uncommon in manga, often called “gambling” or “game” stories, but very few few manage to be as good as LIAR GAME, which is as complex, satisfying, and fair as any crime story!

I recommend this most to people who: like riddles, logic problems, and math puzzles; are interested in game philosophy, game theory, and logic theory, especially as it applies to gambling; enjoy heavily rule-dictated conflicts.

Raging Loop

“Werewolf” is a social deduction board game in which players are randomly assigned roles like “Townsperson” or “Werewolf”. Every round of the game is separated into two stages: nighttime, in which the players assigned the role “Werewolf” secretly select one person to kill (remove from the game), and daytime, during which players debate about who they believe the Werewolves are, vote them out, and then kill them.

However, imagine if instead of a board game, these rules dictated the real murders and deaths of real people in a cursed mountain village out in rural Japan. Then, you’d have Raging Loop.

In the “visual novel” (a video game with lots of text that mostly only exists to tell a story) Raging Loop, Haruaki Fusaishi bikes into the mountains with no idea of a destination. However, during his trip he gets stranded in a remote mountain village which, he discovers, has been the battlegrounds for a war between the God of the Mountain and the demons of Yomi (Hell)…

In order to keep the battle fair, rules have been established: at the start of the “war”, a random number of villagers are killed and replaced with Werewolves who take on all of the traits of the person they’re replacing! Every night these Werewolves are allowed to kill one person of their choosing, and every day the survivors debate amongst themselves who they believe are the Werewolves. And, if they believe they’ve found an impostor, they vote, and the accused person is hung by the cliffside… If all the Werewolves are exorcised, the Mountain wins, but if the Werewolves ever outnumber the surviving humans, the survivors are murdered and the mountain is overcome by the Yomibito…

While competing in this bizarre murder game, Haruaki is murdered and discovers he has the ability to go back in time and make difference decisions by dying. Using this ability, Haruaki tries to stop the deaths. But, as he continues to change things in the village, the “game” begins to take on different, progressively complicated permutations, putting Haruaki more and more at risk of being unable to overcome this bizarre curse…

Raging Loop‘s first three chapters are very interesting exercises in mystery-writing in which you, the player, read about the characters participating in a murder game following specific rules. While early on the characters are comically awful at Werewolf, which might be frustrating to real-life veterans of the game, it helps ease newcomers into understanding the concept, and as the games progress and more and more characters compete in the game, the games begin to get more creative and more deceptive!

Because the murders are based on the real rules of a real-life “mystery game” which are easy and intuitive to understand and we have access to all the same information as the characters, despite being easy to sum the game up as a psychological horror game, it also means we have the ability to reason along with the players as they play the game. It’s easy to intuit what the characters will do (to the same degree as it’s possible to do it in the real-life party game), and it’s possible to reason about who is and isn’t the Werewolf on the same level as the characters within the narrative. Using a heavily rules-dictated conflict makes this a fantastic thriller game for fans of mystery fiction, as it hits a lot of the same notes, focusing on tight strategizing and clever logic required for the characters to survive!

While the chapters following the multiple “games” aren’t nearly as interesting, the first 20 or so hours of the game are fantastically fun mystery-thriller fare! Check out my friend “Bad Player”‘s review here.

I recommend this to people who: like social deduction party games; are interested in psychological horror; enjoy conflicts in which the players are forced to apply creative strategic thinking in order to survive/come out on top.

Paranormasight: The Seven Mysteries of Honjo

Paranormasight: The Seven Mysteries of Honjo is a game best experienced knowing as little as possible, but what I can say is that it’s a supernatural horror-mystery puzzle game in which the player is tasked with investigating the truth behind seven curses befalling seven groups of people…

The game’s narrative is incredibly dense and complex, and while it’s the furthest thing from a traditional detective story on this list, it is still a satisfyingly complicated mystery tale involving the interplay between a giant collection of brain-teasing plot threads and puzzles which mystery fans should enjoy if they’re comfortable with a more heavily video game-ish experience.

I recommend this most to people who: like J-horror; enjoy ghost stories; are comfortable playing video games

The Empty Box and the Zeroth Maria

 Kazuki Hoshino is an average student at an average high-school trying to live an average high-school student life without anything getting in the way of his very peaceful, un-compromised existence. Hoshino’s ardent commitment to maintaining as unspectacular an existence as humanly possible has attracted the amusement of a being named “O”, who wishes to give Hoshino a “Box” — a wish-granting implement that will give him anything he asks for. When Hoshino rejects the wish, insisting he doesn’t want anything he doesn’t already have, “O” decides to make it his mission to subject Hoshino to as gruesome conditions as he can until the high-schooler relents and accepts the “Box” to wish for his everyday life back…. in an experiment to test the furthest possible limits of human homeostasis.

During this experiment to push Kazuki into accepting a wish, more and more of the people in his life are given “Boxes”, and these “Boxes” take the wisher’s deepest desires and externalizes them into supernatural phenomena… all entirely centralized around disrupting Kazuki Hoshino’s average, everyday life!

In order to restore balance to his existence without wishing the “Boxes” away, Kazuki Hoshino, along with Maria Otonashi, must continue to (1.) discover what the nature of the supernatural phenomenon targeting them is, (2.) figure out what manner of which produced the phenomenon, and (3.) figure out who would make such a wish and convince them to unhand their “Box”…

The Empty Box and the Zeroth Maria is, strictly speaking, a “supernatural psychological thriller” novel series told in the form of semi-episodic mystery stories. There are seven volumes in the series, each one focusing on a different incident with a different wish produced by a different “Box”, and in each case the protagonists are required to deduce details about the wish and wisher, making this another honest-to-God example of the hybrid mystery plotting style. While it isn’t strictly-speaking always fairplay, and the first book is more of a straight-forward supernatural drama, some of the books like Volume 2 really get close to purified detective fiction, including genuinely fair clues, clever logic, and format-breaking storytelling that make this a super interesting and enthralling supernatural detective series.

I recommend this most to people who: are comfortable with high-school drama; are interested in supernatural mysteries; want a series that gets progressively more surreal over time; are interested in psychological drama.


While their shin-honkaku brethren are more publicized in our nook of the internet, these five and more represent how varied and intelligent the world of Japanese thrillers can be, and just how amenable they can be to the sensibilities of lovers of puzzle plots and Golden Age mysteries. Oftentimes they can be found not far from the hallowed grounds of authentic mystery we love so much, so if you choose to pursue any of these stories, happy sleuthing, and good reading!

The Innocence of Father Brown (1911) by G. K. Chesterton

G. K. Chesterton’s mystery writings featuring the crime-solving parish priest Father Brown stand today as some of the most influential in the entire history of genre. To refer to a plot-point as “Chestertonian” is a term so ubiquitous that even someone who has never read his works understands the paradox of hiding something without really hiding it at all — clues snuggled neatly in the boundary between information which isn’t explicitly made known and information which certainly must exist. With G. K. Chesterton’s writing inspiring crime writers all the world over, from slivers of Chestertonian plotting in Agatha Christie’s Death in the Clouds to entire series inspired by Father Brown’s exploits in Japan’s A Aiichirou, he’s an author who almost needs no introduction.

As one of the founding members of the Detection Club, as well as its first president, G. K. Chesterton was one of the first authors whose stories started to show the seeds of the style of plotting the Golden Age of Crime Fiction came to be known for. Tricky plots and multi-layered misdirection started to replace basic criminal precaution, foreshadowing became more salient, and the “impossible crimes” began to mature past their pre-Golden Age crudeness — it is thanks to G. K. Chesterton that the purely naturalistic, rational mysteries of the 19th century would slowly become replaced with imaginative plotters and clever criminals.

However, though The Innocence of Father Brown can be seen flirting with a kind of plotting that would go on to dominate the puzzle plots of the 1920s to 40s, it cannot be said that the notion of “fairplay” has actually yet fully formed. Often times, Father Brown solves the crimes through information hitherto unbeknownst to the reader, thought processes that sometimes don’t even begin to approach rational or concrete (in one story, Brown argues that a man is innocent of a theft merely because he is a Socialist!), or simply divining the answer from mid-air. Nonetheless, the seeds for the Golden Age are clearly here, and it’s easy to see how Chesterton preempted (or even created) many of the elements of what would become the “fairplay” detective novel half a decade before its formal existence. Many famous Golden Age mysteries, such as Ronald Knox’s “Solved by Inspection”, Agatha Christie’s Death in the Clouds, and John Dickson Carr’s The Four False Weapons have borrowed, adapted, reworked, inverted, subverted, reimagined, and reconstructed tricks from Chesterton’s tales, so much so that it can be said Chesterton invented many of the forms of misdirection for which the genre would go on to be known.

As a weaver of yarns of crime, Chesterton was forward-thinking. Many gimmicks appear in these stories which represent Chesterton and Chesterton alone and, in that way, create so many stories that even 110 years later can be seen as original. Occasionally, a story few of the stories may show their age in such ways as a unique concept clearly mimicked ad nauseum from Chesteron’s oeuvre.

The famous highlights of the stories, however, are not merely the tricky plots, but also the prose, which is defined by its whimsy, humor, and most prominently those “paradoxes” for which Chesterton is so famous. Sometimes these “paradoxes” are more like “dichotomies”, but regardless of how you classify them they stand out in Chesterton’s writing as the most straightforwardly evocative, often relying on contrast or irony to convey a lot of information in very little space. Lines like “bad clothes which were too good for them” are often quotable.

These paradoxes also inform the most unique aspect of Chesterton’s mystery plots: those “intuitive reasoning” stories where the exact form the mystery takes isn’t quite apparent until the denouement. These tales differ from most detective stories in that they don’t focus on a well-defined criminal problem, instead dealing with Father Brown’s investigation into apparent paradoxes of character, nature, or behavior, and offering a decidedly reasonable explanation from his intuition. Such examples include the pre-eminent “The Queer Feet”, in which Father Brown must figure out the mystery behind “feet which run in order to walk” and “walk in order to run”, and “The Honour of Israel Gow” , in which Father Brown is called upon to explain the bizarre behavior of a man who may or may not have lived and may or may not have died. These stories stand out as the most unequivocally “Chestertonian” in the Father Brown canon.

But the series is not perfect and without flaw. A major percentage of the charm in these stories can be found in their religious preoccupations. The stories concern themselves intimately with themes of religious proselytizing, with practically every murderous culprit being an atheist who simply needs to see the graces of God and Christianity, with humanity often explored through the lens of Roman Catholicism. Those who find this charming will be sure to enjoy the stories, but those who aren’t religious may find themselves forced to reckon with the fact that the author clearly thought that people like themselves were statistically guaranteed to be murderers. The series’ perspective on religion and humanity can be argued to occasionally be naïve in that uniquely religious way. For stories wherein the large portion of the appeal is in those musings, those who find themselves at the butt-end of Chesterton’s theocentric moralizing may feel somewhat alienated.

But, putting taste aside, I can’t help but respect Chesterton for his typical brilliance. The man was clearly imaginative in the extreme, and even the social commentary can be alienating, when I manage to look at the heart of his best tales I can see why Chesterton’s name has lived on in respect to detective fiction, and not just for his theology…


The Blue Cross” has “The Greatest Detective in the World”, Frenchman Aristide Valentin on the trail of the world’s greatest thief Flambeau. Flambeau is a man who, although notably over six feet tall, was a master of disguise and a thief of great (and often humorous) exploits, such as picking up two policeman and running down the street with them under his arms. Detective Valentin has tracked Flambeau to London, and suddenly starts to find various bizarre occurrences like a priest throwing soup at a wall, smashing a window and then immediately paying for the damages, swapping the signs for the nuts and the oranges in a storefront and the containers for the salt and sugar in a restaurant… all of which he suspects will lead him to Flambeau.

Originally published as “Valentin Follows a Curious Trail”, this clearly relies on the subversion of you believing that this is a Valentin story, with Valentin standing in as “the Great Detective” like Auguste Dupin or Sherlock Holmes, when it is in fact a Father Brown story… a pretty open secret in a collection of short stories with “Father Brown” plastered all over the cover.

This is the first story with the very Chestertonian problem of “mysteries with an unclear form that don’t make sense until the end”, though the solution doesn’t work as well with the foreknowledge that this is a Father Brown story. A good introduction to the principle cast of Father Brown, but as a mystery story it only functions as intended if you read it when published and absolutely no later. Still, there is quite a bit of cleverness here establishing Chesterton’s fondness for paradox in the mechanics of the crime.

“The Secret Garden”, then, is the cleaning up of “The Blue Cross”‘s subversion to make room for Father Brown to formally take over the series as feature sleuth. The Great Detective Aristide Valentin is hosting a dinner party where the guest of honor is Julius K. Brayne, a man who seems to belong to all religions, an indecisive agnostic who donates moneys to all movements of all churches. However, the festivities are interrupted when a corpse is located in the garden by another dinner guest, decapitated with the head is nearby. The man is unrecognizable to everyone, which creates something of an impossible problem: the front door of the house was guarded by a servant, the garden is entirely enclosed and can only be accessed from within the house, therefore… how did this murder victim get into the garden without being seen by anyone? Julius K. Brayne goes on to vanish from the house under similarly impossible circumstances, conspicuously establishing his own guilt…

It’s a very atmospheric and Carrian decapitation plot, but when you boil it down to its central trick, the decapitation trick is basically the two classic decapitation tricks put together into one story, making it pretty predictable (I’d be shocked to hear that the seasoned reader was fooled by this story for even a second). However, to the story’s benefit, I’ve never seen these tricks be utilized to create an impossible problem in quite this way, so even today it still stands a pretty clever variation on the idea in principle, even if none the less obvious for it.

The killer is the subversive element of the story, though I found the religious motive to be pretty random for what role the character was supposed to be playing in this series… It’s also pretty ludicrous, based on the idea that atheists are as religious about their atheism as theists are in their faith. No real human would ever commit murder for the reason provided in this story…

Gripes aside, it really is an inspired idea for an impossible crime. The mechanics of the decapitation themselves are old hat and predictable, but to see it employed not just for identity obfuscation but to create a genuine impossible crime is a really smart idea on Chesterton’s part. Sits firmly in the “obvious but clever” category.

I wonder, actually, if this is the first appearance of this particular decapitation trick…

“The Queer Feet” has Father Brown at a hotel that is exclusive for the sake of being exclusive, taking the unknown confessions of an employee who has fallen ill… While locked into the room he’s been provided to do his writing, he’s harassed by the sounds of footsteps out in the hallway which seem “to run in order to walk” and “to walk in order to run”…

This is another of that uniquely Chestertonian problem of “the exact nature of the mystery isn’t quite clear until the end”, and the explanation really is brilliant. This is the first appearance of Chesterton’s favorite gimmick of “congruous invisibility”, and I think this one works better than other, more famous examples of this trick in the Father Brown canon. The congruity is explicitly established early in the story by the palpable social satire, and requires active effort on the culprit’s part to perform (as opposed to simply relying on an unreliable quirk of language).

If there’s a gripe to be had with this brilliantly clever story, Father Brown’s detection of the crime would’ve been more impactful had he revealed it before the crime was made known to the audience — having Father Brown solve a crime which we, the readers, didn’t even know had occurred until he explicitly explained his reasoning? Would have been something else entirely!

Still, great story with a perplexing riddle, and Father Brown’s final line is great…

The Flying Stars” sees Father Brown as a guest at a Boxing Day dinner where the family puts on a masquerade play to entertain themselves. Only, of course, crime follows, as The Flying Stars, jewels as well as the patriarch’s gift to his daughter, are stolen from a man’s pocket during the proceedings! Father Brown immediately divines the solution.

A pretty standard theft elevated by the thief’s clever use of the improvisational play makes this a fun comedy-cum-detective story. However, though the thief’s “trap” is brilliant, it’s also perfectly unnecessary and clearly done for no better reason than the thief wanted to do some kind of flashy trick. The narrative admits that he easily could’ve stolen the gems with equal efficacy and gotten away scot free while doing half as much work, and that the thief knew this, and was simply having fun with it. So much so that the impact it had on his plan continues to elude me entirely…

Well, the idea for the trap is nonetheless brilliant, so it gets a pass. Kind of an inversion of “congruous invisibility” — making an incongruous person perfectly congruous by sheer nature of all the incongruity surrounding him. Decent story.

“The Invisible Man” is G. K. Chesterton’s most famous story. A woman rejects two “ugly” “freaks”, telling them that if they wish to marry her they must make something of their lives on principle. While the first of these “freaks” — a borderline-dwarf — succeeds in making autonomous servants, the second seems to merely be stalking the woman, promising in threatening notes to murder the dwarf if she marries him… all while appearing to be invisible! Naturally, this comes to a head as the invisible man truly does commit the murder he promised to commit… in front of four witnesses who swear that nobody walked into the victim’s house, despite the fact footprints show otherwise.

As I’ve hinted at above, I simply do not enjoy this story or consider it even remotely possible — not merely implausible, but I believe this story would never work out the way as described in real life. It utilizes Chesterton’s well-worn trick, but in this case brought to the point of absurdity so to not even be conceivable. It ultimately relies on a false premise that Chesterton tries to explain away as a quirk of language, but all I know is that the way Father Brown claims people answer questions is not the way I answer questions, that’s for certain! The solution could’ve involved the killer paying off everyone in the city to lie on his behalf, and I’d find it more believable and more enjoyable than the solution Chesterton gives us here. Hokey and overrated.

“The Honour of Israel Gow” sees Father Brown at a Scottish castle, investigating the life of a man who may or may not have lived, and the death of the very same man who may or may not have died. Brown’s newly reformed friend, former thief and current genius amateur detective, is up the wall with oddities surrounding the life and death and person of the Earl of Glengyle. He left out snuff with no snuffbox, had candles with no candlesticks… and from just this, and a conversation with the late Earl’s groundskeeper Israel Gow, Father Brown can expound on the mysteries of the house of the Earl of Glengyle.

Another of those intuitive reasoning stories with no apparent criminal element, same as “The Blue Cross” and “The Queer Feet”, “The Honour of Israel Gow”‘s solution is perfectly natural given the provided information, so long as you can find the missing link; it is, perhaps a less inspired, but more credible deduction than the one seen in “The Queer Feet”! There is a long series of false solutions at the beginning which are very pleasantly clever.

Sometimes Chesterton likes to do soft style parodies, with “The Honour of Israel Gow” clearly and evidently having fun at the expense of the stories written and inspired by Wilkie Collins. The characters in the story themselves lampshade this by calling their conundrum a melodrama straight from the mind of Collins himself. Much to be enjoyed here; these intuitive reasoning stories tend to be highlights.

The Wrong Shape” has Flambeau and Father Brown appearing at the summons of a writer of oriental romantic poems. The odd artist has a fascination with all things Asian, with his furniture being a complex hodgepodge of various Asian crafts, and the man even having an odd Indian visitor in his home. And so, when he winds up dead in his locked and sealed atrium with a note nearby reading “I die by my own hand, yet I die murdered”, it’s wondered if maybe this odd Indian visitor used hypnotism to compel the author to kill himself…

I am going to choose my words tactfully, because this topic seems to cause questionable debates in certain circles where pointing out racism in classic mysteries gets you labeled a “revisionist woke liberal”. No, I do not think this story should be censored, yes I think this story deserves to exist (as all art does), no I do not think that it should be rewritten in any way. That being said, it is still flagrantly racist. “The Indian” is referred to in exactly those terms throughout the entire story; he is not given any other name, unless you want to count “n****r” as a name. The presentation of the impossibility relies on multiple people who are otherwise rational and supposedly kind-spirited (why is Father Brown calling people “n****rs”?) to not only be incredibly racist, but so cruelly mean-spirited it overwrites all of their rational human beliefs to even for a moment believe that Indian people have access to mind-warping voodoo powers. As someone who reads these stories for enjoyment, and does not enjoy racism, I think it’s fair to say that the racism impeded my ability to derive the maximum amount of enjoyment from this story. It is free to exist as it does, but I am also free to not enjoy that it does so. On this one point, I do not care if you disagree; do not tell me.

Anyway, as concerns the investigation; I didn’t like this story when I first read it, because the mechanisms of the impossible crime are ostensibly quite crude for someone as forward thinking as Chesterton. But on closer inspection, I realized that the misdirection deflecting away from the solution was actually quite crafty, with a typically Chestertonian “congruity” clue hiding it all the while. The presentation of a paradox to mull over was a smart red herring and distraction, the sort I don’t think I’ve seen very often; I almost feel like this clue would’ve functioned even better in a visual medium, like a television show or a comic. As an impossible crime story, this is fairly well-told and quite good, but not a favorite.

In “The Sins of Prince Saradine”, Flambeau is summoned by an Italian prince for a meeting on the condition that Flambeau is only allowed to come once he is fully reformed. In this dreamy, fairyland-like islet, nothing is quite as it appears to be as Father Brown is assaulted by senses of foreboding and impending Doom…

The fourth intuitive reasoning story in the collection, this one is solid but only just. Despite being an intuitive reasoning story, the explanation relies on principles often seen before in criminal mystery stories, dulling the charm of these stories, which comes from the very fact that the explanation is so brilliantly far-removed from typical mystery fare. They’re ideas that already weren’t very new when this story was written either, making it a little more predictable and less knee-slappingly brilliant than its kin.

In fact, this repurposing of a criminal trick in an intuitive reasoning story was very much the point, as a trick utilized earlier in a criminal Father Brown story was explicitly the inspiration for the culprit in this case, a really smart clue that is established early on. Overall, this story is charmingly well-written and somewhat clever, but aside from its beautifully magical imagery unremarkable in this collection of generally much more inspired stories.

In “The Hammer of God”, after declaring his intentions to go and sleep with the wife of the local blacksmith, Norman Bohun is soon found dead under puzzling circumstances. His skull was destroyed with a massive blow, but next to him was a murder weapon: a tiny hammer… No woman could’ve delivered such a blow with such a weapon, and no man would ever consciously choose to use such a weapon, creating a seemingly inexplicable crime…

The explanations for why the paradox is a problem to begin with aren’t entirely convincing, and the solution is one of those solutions where it’s only a problem if you uncritically accept conditions laid out for you by the story without challenging them. An ounce of common sense without any extraneous mystery reading nonsense should allow any reader to easily pick out the killer and the murder method without much suspense or difficulty; neither are particularly clever. Perhaps the most well-known Father Brown this side of “The Invisible Man”, but certainly overrated.

One of the few instances in which the Father Brown culprit isn’t an atheist.

A typewriter saleswoman named Pauline falls to her death in an empty elevator shaft in “The Eye of Apollo”. However, her death is decidedly impossible. Her sister Joan, towards whom the victim Pauline was abusive, was in another office at the time of death; and Kalon, the patron of a sun-worshiping religion, was proselytizing from his balcony at the time Pauline fell. With suicide additionally off the table, Father Brown must solve the seemingly impossible circumstances of Pauline’s murder…

A phenomenally clever little story and the second best in the collection so far. While it isn’t so hard to figure out, relying on a principle people are likely familiar with, the specific application of the principle, combined with the neatly laid religious elements, make this a pretty smartly realized alibi problem. This is apparently the predecessor to Knox’s “Solved by Inspection”, but by all accounts I think this is the superior variation.

“The Sign of the Broken Sword” sees Father Brown and Flambeau haunting the tombs of famous English general St. Clair, searching for clues into his mysterious historical death. General St. Clair led a small force of his soldiers against a much larger Brazilian battalion, whereupon St. Clair was taken prisoner by Brazilian general Olivier and subsequently hung, with his broken sword dangling from his neck… However, Father Brown disagrees that this version of events is true; St. Clair was too clever to wage this suicide mission for no reason, and Olivier was too altruistic to hang a prisoner… so surely there must be a more profound spirit of evil running under this bizarre moment in English history…

I was spoiled on this short story’s connection to a certain Agatha Christie novel by one of my fellow bloggers, and I’m very sad for that because it let me clue into the true solution much sooner than I would’ve liked. This is actually a spectacular “historical cold case” story. The explanation behind St. Clair’s bizarre behavior is a brilliant way to take advantage of a wartime setting for classical misdirection in a murder mystery, and the explanation behind St. Clair’s subsequent death is genuinely creepy, both taking advantage of the large scale of war for their impact. Brilliant story, this, new second best in the collection.

“The Three Tools of Death” see Father Brown investigate a bizarre crime, in which a man died by being thrown out of the window onto the bank of a traintrack below, and yet there still seem to be three weapons responsible for his death: a rope tied around his legs; a gun fired in his bedroom; and, a knife with fresh blood on it!

The set-up doesn’t super intuitively make sense because there isn’t any ambiguity surrounding the nature or cause of his death (that being defenestration). The idea of three false weapons being present at the crime scene is one John Dickson Carr would revisit in his own The Four False Weapons, and it’s a worthwhile prospect but it isn’t a premise G. K. Chesterton established very well, and this bizarre half-set-up does dull the story’s impact. The anti-solution has all of Father Brown’s characteristic cleverness, but part of me wonders if maybe this story was written on a tight deadline with its rather short length (~30% shorter than the average Father Brown story) and messy set-up.


The Innocence of Father Brown might not be the beacon of perfection it’s often heralded as, but what can be said about it is that it’s a fascination and illuminating look into what the genre would become. The clever, imaginative, tricky plots of the Golden Age essentially owe their existence to G. K. Chesterton and Father Brown, a purifying force that elevated detective stories from their crude and rational forms into something a little more artistic and crafty. Quite a few classics of the genre make their appearance here, and while I don’t think I’ve walked away thinking of Chesterton himself as a favorite author, I can say that some highlights like “The Queer Feet” will stick with me as some some of my favorite individual mystery short stories of all time!

I will absolutely return to this formative author’s mystery stories in the near future, as it is interesting to see the DNA of so many beloved novels and stories first form in these pages… As it is, The Innocence of Father Brown is a solid collection from one of the most important detective fiction authors of all time!

As is standard, I’ll wrap this all up with a ranking of the Father Brown stories…


  1. “The Queer Feet”
  2. “The Sign of the Broken Sword”
  3. “The Eye of Apollo”
  4. “The Secret Garden”
  5. “The Honour of Israel Gow”
  6. The Wrong Shape”
  7. “The Three Tools of Death”
  8. “The Blue Cross”
  9. “The Flying Stars”
  10. “The Sins of Prince Saradine”
  11. “The Hammer of God”
  12. “The Invisible Man”

Death Among the Undead (2017) by Masahiro Imamura, trans. Ho-Ling Wong (2021)

This is not a review of Death Among the Undead by Masahiro Imamura.

When I first discovered Golden Age mysteries I was 15 years old, a freshman in high-school whose only experience with mystery fiction was my fondness for the the still eminently wonderful Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney video game franchise, a few odd parodies in cartoons, the odd Sherlock Holmes story, and occasionally catching my aunt watching Criminal Minds or crime documentaries in the living room while she folded clothes. I heard the name Agatha Christie thrown around a few times, I knew she was the most famous mystery author (no, the most well-sold author of any genre in any language!), but it never occurred to me there was any link between this silly lawyer video game I enjoyed and the types of mysteries this Agatha Christie lady wrote… Her works were old and Ace Attorney was new, so surely I’d have no interest with these dusty old “classics”?

But then I stumbled across a recently-translated interview with Takumi Shu, the creator of Ace Attorney, who began listing his inspirations for the series. Agatha Christie’s name didn’t come up specifically, but a lot of authors whose names I’ve heard in relation to hers were mentioned — John Dickson Carr, Ellery Queen, Anthony Berkeley. I realized that Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney wasn’t a style of plotting unto itself, but a modern reinvigoration of a whole sub-genre of similarly-written mystery stories I simply had no idea existed!

So, finally, after going back and forth on whether or not it was worth it to read her novels, I decided to ask my high school librarian and go home with a borrowed copy of The Mysterious Affair of Styles under my arm. I read it on the school bus, even though the bullies tried to rip it from my hands. I read it at my house, even when the sun began to set and I was supposed to be in bed. I read it over breakfast instead of eating, even though I knew I was supposed to be hungry. By the time I even made it back to the library, I’d devoured the book whole and was already ready to ask my librarian for a copy of Murder on the Links.

The book was exactly what I thought it wouldn’t be! It was just like that collection of puzzles, riddles, and clues in Ace Attorney, and just the kind of mystery writing I’d fallen in love with and thought didn’t exist anywhere else! A whole genre of exactly the kind of story I’ve always wanted to read existed, against my knowledge, and I didn’t know about it!? No, no, no, that just wouldn’t do! I was already struck by the possibilities of plot and theme and setting, inspired by the potential of tricks and misdirection, keen on picking apart clues and breaking down alibis. This was a whole new world that felt like it was built just for me, and I was ready to explore!

…Fast forward seven years.

I am a third year in university. I still love Golden Age mysteries, but the room left for genuine surprise felt… narrower. Yes, I still stumbled upon brilliant and unprecedented gems of the genre, but after obsessively feasting into every corner of the Golden Age mystery I could find, it became less and less often I felt like the explorer I did as a freshman in high school. I was enjoying the mysteries I read, but so many felt like I was just amusing myself with variations and remixes of ideas I’ve seen dozens, hundreds of times before. I am not an explorer anymore; I am a hiker, traveling up and down the paths I’ve become comfortable and complacent in. Yes, sometimes you find that the odd traveler has come by and left a large stone carving or dug a lake near the path, but outside of these diversions, it is the same path. I found myself walking the path a little less frequently, and doing it for shorter periods at a time. I was no longer staying out until the crack of dawn, instead using the first sign of darkness as an excuse to return home…

It almost feels silly to say I’ve reached this point so quickly…

But then one day I noticed a change in the path that really stole me away. Most changes in the path are minute at worst, like someone shifting the pebbles in the road, and one-off diversions at best, like a fireworks show that comes suddenly, amazes you with its spectacle and explosive ambition, and then dies away again. But this was more than just a negligible modification to the road I’ve been walking for seven years; it was a whole other walkway, branching sharply off to the east. Equal parts eager and hesitant, I curiously followed the path and found at the end of it a copy of Death Among the Undead by Masahiro Imamura, sitting in the middle of a grassy grove.

What the Hell?, I thought. Death Among the Undead? Undead, as in… zombies? But the world’s tired of zombies already! I’m tired of them, dammit! and I gracelessly put the book down, weaved my way back through the three-lined path and continued along the well-worn hiking path I’ve become accustomed to.

Every time I revisit the road, walking through the growing depressions of my own feet in the pebbles, I see that path branching off towards the east and I feel my own hypocrisy. I was complaining about the monotony of the hiking path. I was complaining that I didn’t feel like an explorer anymore! Well, there you go! A murder mystery with zombies. That’s as different as you can get, idiot! I kept waiting for the next fireworks show or for the next traveler to come by and drop a new artwork along the path, because I realized I wanted something different, but I didn’t want something different, did I?

Confronted with my own absurd hypocrisy, I stomped into the wooded path to the east, angrily snatched the book up off the grass, planted my ass there and told myself I would not move until I’ve given Death Among he Undead its fair shot and read the whole damn thing from beginning to end.

And I did. I read the whole book in two sittings, and just like with Mysterious Affair at Styles I read late into the night until the bags forming under my eyes began to ache and throb, and even then I didn’t stop until I knew I wasn’t getting the most out of the book reading it like that. I went to sleep right there in the grove, woke up, and immediately dove right back into the book until I had entirely finished it.

And then I stood up and returned to my hiking path… only, it wasn’t quite the same anymore. The road beneath my feet phased transiently from pebble to cobblestone to wood to asphalt, the curves in the path began to shift up and down, and left and right like waves. The trees weren’t only green anymore, now taking on hues of blue and purple and orange, and only sometimes were the trees even trees, as sometimes they took on the forms of stone towers and steel-paneled, probing lights. Every step along this well-worn path suddenly felt like I was diving into a brand new world, a shifting world at once always recognizable as the one I love as well as a scary, alien world totally beyond my expectation of what could even be.

But I didn’t hesitate. I dove headlong into this same-different world.

I was an explorer anew.


Death Among the Undead by Masahiro Imamura is a work that awoken me to new possibilities in the mystery story. Hybrid mysteries… Those puzzlers in the tradition of Agatha Christie and Ellery Queen and John Dickson Carr were running their course, some would say. There’s only so much you can do in our world to commit murder and get away with it!

Long ago I’d have agreed with them. It’s only reasonable that the puzzle mystery genre would die; our world is defined by too many limitations. I felt disheartened that such limitations could only be overcome in inimitable, bombastic fashion, and even those options were dwindling day by day. It wasn’t until Masahiro Imamura that I realized that the natural answer… is simply to go beyond our own world.

Masahiro Imamura’s debut is a fantastic locked-room mystery with three impossible crimes in them, all of which use zombies as a murder method. Three impossible crimes which simultaneously could not be committed by humans, for the corpses have been eaten, and yet could not be committed by zombies, as they are incapable of entering the locked and sealed rooms and then escaping. It is a brilliant and wildly imaginative mystery novel that can only exist due to its fantastical and supernatural elements.

But it’s also personally important to me because it is the novel that turned me onto new possibilities in detective stories. The ability to take Agatha Christie and put that kind of writing into fantasy worlds, or science-fiction worlds, or zombie apocalypses… No, I’m not talking about occult detective fiction like The Dresden Files, but 100% authentic Golden Age-inspired puzzle plots inspired by the worlds beyond our own.

It’s a potential I have become passionate about exploring. It’s the whole reason I study Japanese, to explore all of those fantastical mysteries that have followed Death Among the Undead. Nothing fascinates me more in the genre at this very moment than the possibilities those wildly creative authors in Japan have unlocked by tapping into this unexplored frontier of murder and mystery. My mind is flurried with thoughts, feelings, ideas, theories, daydreaming, all of the brand new stories that can come from a little dip into the surreal and fantastical. Reading Death Among the Undead makes me feel lost in the very same lovely way that I felt when I first walked into my library and asked for one copy of The Mysterious Affair at Styles — suddenly I don’t have expectations or ideas, I’m not endlessly savvy in tropes and tricks anymore, and I’m struck head over heels with the infinite potentiality of mysteries from worlds beyond.

This is not a review of Death Among the Undead by Masahiro Imamura. I am not qualified to write a review, because I love the book way too much to be truly impartial. All I can say is that this novel was so fantastically superb, imaginative, creatively ambitious, and awe-inspiring it motivated me to learn a whole other language. I couldn’t go another day without acknowledging this book on my blog beyond its inclusion on my list of my favorite impossible crimes… It’s brilliant, and has tapped into a new level of passion and interest in the genre I never knew I could have.

This is not a review of Death Among the Undead. This is a love letter, and a thank you.