Sunday book pick: Seven die in quest for a ‘perfect woman’ in crime novel ‘The Tokyo Zodiac Murders’

Japanese mystery writer Soji Shimada’s debut novel, The Tokyo Zodiac Murders, is a curious creature. It brought him immense fame in the country and the novel’s English translation made him well-known in the “Honkaku” genre – or “fair play” mystery – where the emphasis is on the clues, logic, and challenging one’s intellect instead of social commentary or psychological insights on the crime. It is interested in the what ifs and hows, but not necessarily in the whys.

The Tokyo Zodiac Murders constitutes several voices – the murdered artist who was planning several murders of his own, the police detectives on the case, the amateur detectives racing against time to solve the crime, the killer, and even the author himself. As Shimada writes in “Message from the Author”, these voices are clues for the reader to solve the mystery on their own. He assures the reader that the killer has been revealed but it is up to them to join the dots – in these interludes, the author is not smug but almost apologetic for being so careless with the story and offering clues so freely. He is convinced that the reader will crack the mystery before his detective characters do.

The ‘perfect woman’

The murders – a shockingly high number – begin with that of an eccentric artist. In 1930s Tokyo, Heikichi Umezawa makes a persuasive case for why he must create Azoth, the perfect woman. He lives in a house with seven female family members, whom he planned to murder in occult rituals. The idea was to take each woman’s perfect head, chest, abdomen, hips, thighs, and legs and join them together to conceive a woman of perfect beauty and intellect. The motive is purely sexual, for Umezawa believes that if someone should have the perfect woman, it is he. His artistic prowess and a fanatic belief in astrology aid his quest. He draws up complex plans of murder and an equally complex blueprint for disposing of the bodies.

The artist’s murder should have prevented these ghastly killings; however, the plan seems to have been carried out nevertheless, and the dismembered bodies of the victims are discovered in sites across Japan. The police are clueless, the public is in a frenzy, and the case has tickled the imagination of many a writer. It acquires the status of a legend, with sensationalism being the prime emotion associated with it.

On the killer’s trail

Cut to 1979. The crime remains unsolved but mystery-obsessed Kazumi Ishioka and his astrologist Kiyoshi Mitarai take up the challenge to solve it for once and all.

The friends are of entirely dissimilar nature and each employs their skills and instincts to track down the leads they believe will reveal the answer. 40 years on, evidence has begun to fade, key suspects have died or disappeared, and Umeweza’s identity begins to come under scrutiny. None of the clues makes sense, the dots do not reveal a pattern, and why kill one’s own daughters, stepdaughter, and nieces for something so vulgar?

The two friends reopen the case and somehow end up in possession of crucial letters and notes that until now had eluded the police. A brief trip to Kyoto expands the cast of characters, bringing in more suspects. The reader follows Kiyoshi through Kyoto while Kazumi takes off on his own, leaving his friend – and the readers – none the wiser about his method of investigation or indeed what he is getting up to.

The author claims that he has been generous with the clues – but it does not feel that way. Umezawa’s personal life is related at a breakneck speed and since he has a large family, the reader lets down their guard and lets the commentary wash over them. The names begin to sound confusing and so do their relationship to the artist. One tunes their focus to the artist’s intricate murder plans that involve astrology, alchemy, and occultism. Everything else on the page seems like a mindless disturbance. (It isn’t).

Kiyoshi and Kazumi appear in Shimada’s later novels too. In their debut appearance together, the pair argues about Holmes and Watson, with Kazumi pokes fun at Holmes’s apparent genius. This chemistry between the detective and his right-hand man is somewhat recreated in their own relationship – Kazumi reveals little while Kiyosho runs around like a headless chicken, much like the reader.

The mystery is intriguing enough – or as intriguing as it can be as an early Honkaku mystery – and the author plays the devil’s advocate really well. He withholds information while all the while convincing the reader that the solution is within reach. The trip to Kyoto gives a peek into Kiyoshi and Kazumi’s relationship – something which is useful for those who might want to read more of Shimada – establishing Kazumi as a Sherlockian detective even though he claims to despise him. The very real gruesomeness of the crimes is undercut by the frivolity of astrology and the short-sightedness of the male detectives, who do not seem to reconcile the artist’s wrath with extreme misogyny.

The Tokyo Zodiac Murders is a well-written entryway into the Honkaku genre of Japanese crime fiction. The reader’s blind spots are created both by complexity and confusion, making the novel the perfect launching pad for reading more in this genre or exploring Shimada’s other works. The revelation of the killer and their motives is entirely original too, as is the method to the crime, making it a rewarding experience after all, despite the false turns.

The Tokyo Zodia Murders, Soji Shimada, translated from the Japanese by Ross and Shika Mackenzie, Pushkin Vertigo.