Quirky. Quaint. Quality.

I’ve never read much classic mystery or crime, even though I indulged in the concepts via the Crichton, Cook, and Cussler novels I read in high school and college. Also, some of my favorite Star Trek episodes have a strong hint of mystery about them in the vein of whodunit problem-solving. However, I’ve never partaken of the true icons of the genre – Christie, Chandler, Hammett, and more. Something about hard-bitten noir has never interested me, but I can’t put a finger on it.

So, when I enjoyed reading Strange Houses by Uketsu earlier this year for the Brazos Book Club, I asked Keaton Patterson – the long-time book buyer there – for some recommendations in that style. He immediately recommended anything by Seishi Yokomizo: Not only is he on par with the more well-known American crime writers of the ‘40s and ‘50s, but Utesku has mentioned Yokomizo specifically as an influence. When I asked him for a specific book, Keaton said that anything reprinted by Pushkin Press would do the trick.

Which brings me to Murder at the Black Cat Café. Technically it’s the 7^th book in the Detective Kindaichi Mysteries, I was told you don’t need to read them in order. Each story stands on its own, even though you supposedly do learn a bit more about the personality and investigation style of Kosuke Kindaichi with each subsequent book. Which I like in theory, as our titular detective gives me huge Columbo-meets-Monk vibes in that he has wonderful observational skills, sly delivery, and understated style.

Because the story itself is a mystery, I don’t want to spoil any of the details, as anything and everything could be a clue. What I can say is that Yokomizo has magnificent skill with pacing and plotting, with an extra special flair for red herrings and diversions. He unfolds the signs, hints, and evidence with a level of subtlety and nuance that would fit right into a Cesar Aira novella or Lucia Berlin short story.

But while that should have been enough to have me rush to my local library for more books in this sprawling series, something about how he wrote support characters missed me completely. It’s one thing to see your average doofus cop react to the guys from Psych with a dumbfounded look on their face but reading that description on the page felt lacking. Maybe it’s just me – and it probably is – so I should probably read other installments to get a second opinion, as I did enjoy this one. Or maybe I’m just not a crime novel sort of person. And that’s OK, as not everything is for everyone.