Last week, I wrote about Malice by Keigo Higashino, a novel that kept putting me on the back foot. Just when I thought I had worked out what was going on, another twist would force me to rethink everything.

This week, I stayed in the world of Japanese crime fiction with Confessions by Kanae Minato. The original Japanese title is 告白 Kokuhaku, which simply means "confession." In Japanese, though, the word often brings to mind a heartfelt admission or even a romantic declaration. Having lived in Japan for years, I couldn't help but think of all the dramas and stories where kokuhaku is the moment someone finally reveals their feelings.

There is nothing romantic about the confessions in this novel. Instead, each confession peels back another layer of grief, resentment, and revenge, revealing just how far people will go when consumed by their own sense of justice.

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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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I've always found it slightly funny that one of my favorite ways to unwind is reading detective novels.

Most people relax by shutting their brains off. I relax by trying to solve fictional murders.

I just finished Tokyo Express by Seichō Matsumoto, a Japanese detective novel that was originally published in 1958. When I looked up the publication date afterwards, I honestly couldn't believe it. Apart from the absence of smartphones and email, it didn't feel dated at all.

The story starts with what appears to be a lovers' suicide, but two detectives become suspicious and start pulling on loose threads. Before long they're analyzing train schedules, station stops, travel times, and alibis in painstaking detail.

And somehow it's absolutely gripping.

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I've been listening to the audiobook of My Grandfather, the Master Detective by Masatera Konishi, and it has turned out to be one of those rare books that is both comforting and genuinely thought-provoking.

Part of the enjoyment comes from the narration by Hanako Footman, whom I've written about before. She has an incredible ability to bring characters to life, and her performance adds warmth and nuance to every chapter.

The story centers on Kaede and her grandfather, a former mystery enthusiast whose life is complicated by dementia. What struck me most is the care with which the condition is portrayed.

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