Review of Keigo Higashino’s Journey Under the Midnight Sun

I was deeply impressed by Higashino after reading The Devotion of Suspect X. When I discovered this novel — epic not only in page count but in scope, timeline, and emotional canvas — my expectations were high. The story spans decades and carries an unusual psychological weight. I’d classify my thoughts in three sections: What worked best, What I did not like, and Complete silence: unanswered questions.

What worked the best

Higashino succeeds in crafting a world that feels vast and deliberate. The novel stretches across years, yet retains a tight emotional core. It feels like his magnum opus.

A recurring theme throughout the book is fatherlessness — not merely the absence of a father, but the absence of a father figure. For both Yukiho and Ryo, the father is psychologically absent even when physically present. This emotional vacuum shapes their identities and decisions.

Higashino is particularly effective in portraying loneliness. One scene that stayed with me is when the detective observes Ryo’s room and notes the absence of the ordinary clutter of adolescence — no posters, no signs of casual desire, nothing that suggests a typical teenage boy. That emptiness speaks louder than dialogue.

The novel also explores the relationship between sex and loneliness. The brothel sequences are not erotic; they are deeply melancholic. They underline how intimacy can exist without connection, and how desire can coexist with emotional isolation.

The book hooked me from the beginning. I was rarely bored — a rare achievement for a novel of this length.

What I did not like

Characterisation: Like many of Higashino’s works, the characters function more as pieces in a grand design than as fully open psychological portraits. We meet many people, but rarely feel we’ve grasped their inner core. In contrast, in works like A Song of Ice and Fire, characters become so distinct that you instinctively imagine how they would react in any situation. Here, the characters remain partially opaque.

Loneliness that hurts: Nearly every character is wounded by loneliness. While thematically powerful, it becomes emotionally exhausting. The reading experience is painfully isolating — intentionally so, but still difficult.

The ending: The detective’s final deductions feel abrupt and unsatisfying. After such a sprawling emotional journey, the conclusion feels more mechanical than earned.

Complete silence: unanswered questions

Why did Ryo kill himself?
Were Ryo and Yukiho ever truly in a relationship?
Why is Ryo unable to ejaculate — and what does that imply about him?

These questions linger. Perhaps Higashino leaves them unresolved deliberately. Silence becomes part of the novel’s architecture. The gaps force the reader to confront ambiguity, much like the characters themselves live with emotional voids they cannot articulate.