Being pleasantly outsmarted by a Japanese mystery novel

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about how I relax with detective novels.

Most people probably don't hear "murder mystery" and think "self-care," but I've long since accepted that my brain is wired a little differently. Give me a quiet afternoon, a cup of tea, and a fictional homicide to solve, and I'm perfectly happy.

After recently enjoying Tokyo Express by Seichō Matsumoto, I decided to stay with Japanese detective fiction and listen to Malice by Keigo Higashino.

I thought I knew what I was getting into.

I was wrong.

And somehow it's absolutely gripping.

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