I thought the concept of this book was excellent. Set in Japan and translated into English by Jim Rion, it follows a writer investigating the strange floor plans of an unusual Tokyo house and discovering they are part of a design created for murder. I found it fascinating to see architecture play such a central role in a mystery novel. The story revolves around these “murder houses” and how one family used them to conceal their crimes, which gave the book a unique and chilling angle.
One of the things I really enjoyed was how the writer didn’t work alone. He brought in a friend who was an architect, and later, a local woman—who believed she might have personal ties to the murder houses after reading his article—joined their investigation. I thought the trio worked really well together, and their different perspectives kept the mystery engaging as they pieced things together.
I also really liked the format. The conversations were written in such an engaging way, and the inclusion of actual floor plan drawings made the experience interactive, helping me visualize what the author described. The solved mystery itself was intriguing, and I loved how the author tied it back to the concept of the murder houses.
I gave this book 4 out of 5 stars. At times, the discussions about architectural theory were a bit confusing—I found myself rereading certain passages—but overall, the flow of the novel was strong. The ending leaves a few questions open for readers to reflect on, but I didn’t feel it was unsatisfying. Instead, it added to the lingering sense of mystery.
The perfect food pairing for this novel is a matcha latte. This earthy, comforting drink mirrors the moments when the characters gather at cafés to exchange ideas and unravel the mystery. In a story built on interviews, conversations, and the slow piecing together of architectural puzzles, the café becomes a natural meeting point—a neutral, almost ordinary space where unsettling details begin to surface. Drinking a matcha latte while reading draws you into both the comfort of the café setting and the underlying unease of the story, making it a fitting companion to Uketsu’s haunting narrative.
Honestly, depending on how haunted the house was, maybe! With the way housing prices are these days, I would seriously consider it. If we’re talking about a few creaky floors, strange noises, or the occasional ghostly sighting, I could probably make it work. I’d just spend my time trying to “de-haunt” the house every step of the way—burning sage, hanging protective charms, calling in paranormal experts, and doing whatever else it took to make the place feel a little less spooky. Worst case, I’d end up with a great story to tell my friends!