As my scathing review of I’m Travelling Alone implied back in the middle of 2023, I’m not keen on the detective/crime/thriller genre — or at least that’s what I thought until I read Tokyo Express earlier this year. Then I realised it was less about the genre and more about the ability of the author.
Whenever I put these two books next to each other, some differences and similarities are apparent. Both are fast-paced reads about catching a killer, but the latter novel is clever and short, whereas the former is long-winded, contrived, and caught up in its own edginess and sense of genius.
Momentarily negating the matter of length and tone, or even the overall quality of the writing, I kept picking my mind for why I loved the Japanese novel so much more than the Norwegian one. It eventually dawned on me that the way in which the stories, detectives, and solving of their respective mysteries are handled is what resulted in my adoration for one and resentment of the other.
Samuel Bjork’s amateurish novel follows a reassembled homicide investigations team, with the main characters being detectives/investigators Holger Munch and Mia Krüger. If you want my summary of them as characters, Munch is an unfunny and boring git, whilst Krüger represents the unbearable stereotype of the cool and sexy woman who is also a tragic nutcase.
Seichō Matsumoto’s two detectives, the elderly Inspector Torigai and much younger Inspector Mihara, are not only more likeable, but laughably more human despite the minimal character building done for them. Neither has some grand motive for their involvement, they simply want to do their job and desire confirmation that the two corpses found in the novel’s opening really are a result of a lovers’ suicide. This is a clear point in their favour, but likeable characters cannot carry a badly written story, hence why I’m Travelling Alone falters so badly in comparison.
Bjork’s novel is full of too many eureka moments and idiotic lulls, meaning there are too many instances where characters somehow just see the answer in a heart beat, and then are completely aloof in the next instance. It is like a bipolar idiot’s plot — a plot where all characters have to be stupid and any sense of logic is thrown out to ensure the plot goes as planned, even when it fails to make sense or follow the rules of reality. In this case, Bjork utilises that, alongside making his characters spontaneous and all-knowing geniuses. One clue takes chapters to solve, and the next one is figured out in the matter of a few pages.
Matsumoto’s story bases itself on the evidence presented to us as a reader. We clearly see how both inspectors wonder to themselves about specific details (relevant or not), persevere through missteps, and only draw their conclusions with sound enough reason or evidence to suggest that they be right. Crucially, the story doesn’t solve itself halfway through, nor does it try to keep creating new things for the characters to chase; there’s a mystery, they spend months unravelling it, and the story concludes.
Bjork’s novel represents a horrible trope where detective characters suddenly align the stars after a couple of bits of evidence, yet take a century to actually capture the killer or whatever the plot is about. Tokyo Express shows the trial and error behind the process, makes red herrings believable, and doesn’t really allow us readers to see ahead of the characters. We ride on their shoulders and see events and breakthrough occur at the same time the characters do.
Bjork’s novel is too shallow, forcing it to throw in nonsense like Krüger’s depressive episodes, a schizophrenic woman, a religious cult, a personal agenda for the killer to target the homicide group and Munch’s family, and much more.
And, despite all that, the older and shorter novel — one with much less world building, characters, and stakes — carries more satisfying and believable characters. Likewise for its conclusion.
Books like Bjork’s are full of bad tropes, but best represent the two I listed in the title. Matsumoto’s novel, by comparison, keeps itself sensible and avoids these pitfalls. Mysteries have to be a little contrived so that we don’t find the answer immediately, and the Japanese author clearly knew how to create suspicion, conspiracy, and motive around each suspect in the story. Bjork’s… is just a mess, and has been The Steady Read’s punching bag ever since I reviewed it last year.
Avoid detective/thriller novels like his and give your time to those like Tokyo Express, which do a commendable job at avoiding these immersion-killing tropes and don’t insult your intelligence in the process. A mystery should be making you want to join for the ride. The characters have to be more competent than you, but not overly clever to the point where the whole investigation goes along at light speed and without much deliberation of evidence.
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