I'll start off by saying I am not a very critical reader at all; I always try to find something I enjoy or appreciate about the books I read and try to learn from them. Goodnight Tokyo, however, is so badly written and has so little going for it that it baffles me it even got published at all. How this has become the international bestseller it is, with mostly positive reviews on here, is simply beyond me.
I just couldn't buy the story because I kept being distracted by the awful writing. Therefore: one star, and to justify the rare brutality of this rating, here's a possibly disproportionate list of gripes plus examples.
On a sentence-level, the pages are riddled with sloppy formulations such as:
All of a sudden, the temperature had suddenly plunged a full two degrees.
This man might have what it takes to be a better detective than he himself did, Shuro thought with a grin.
Being night-blind since birth, dark places looked to her completely black.
There is a lot of repetition between the narrator, interior monologue and dialogue, not only giving everything the same voice, but also clumsily exposing that it all springs from the same (the author's) mind. Often one character starts talking precisely about what another character happened to be thinking:
Was the man a detective? He didn't look the part, but even so...
"Have you ever heard of detective Shuro?" the man asked.
Then there's the inconsistencies. The four ladies are "racked with indecision" about what to name their new diner, yet decide on the first suggestion after ten short lines of dialogue.
More examples:
"That's an earthquake," he said calmly. [...] Like an animal whose wild instincts had been awakened, Medea ducked low to the ground.
Moriizumi, halfway to her feet, returned to her seat.
Mitsuki wasn't a strong drinker. Half a beer was usually enough to leave her red-faced and tipsy [...] [...] By the end of it, her face would turn deathly pale, and she would end up gasping for air. [...] As such, she had to be incredibly careful around alcohol. Not a strong drinker seems a bit of a euphemism here, I would think.
One of the biggest issues for me is that the author spells everything out for the reader. There is not a single connection, conclusion or reference, no matter how simple (and they're all simple) left to our own intelligence or memory. Everything is made explicit and over-explained. The most extreme example:
Next to her private number was another belonging to the Tokyo No. 3 Consultation Room.
And then, one sentence later: The number, of course, was the main line at the Tokyo No. 3 Consultation Room.
The dialogue is wooden and forced. The vast cast of characters all seem interchangeable and there is a ludicrous amount of "Um", "Huh?" and "Well" going on. A lot of non-sensical interactions such as:
"What about you, Ayano? How's everything on your end?"
"Me? With work, you mean?"
"When is it not work with you?"
"What do you mean?"
[...]
"Hey. Are you okay?" Ichiko asked, speaking more loudly in response to Ayano's long silence.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking."
"About what?"
"About what I must have been thinking."
"So you did have something else in mind?"
"Probably, yes."
And then there's the stuff that just doesn't make sense. The detective deducts someone is forty-eight years old and must have married late because he clearly had a five-year-old daughter, as there is a piece of paper [...] taped to the corner of the dashboard, emblazoned with freshly learned, clumsy handwriting. That's quite the conclusion given that he has no idea how long the paper has been there for.
So here we go, my first one-star-review in years.