After finishing Kanae Minato’s *Confessions* late at night, the rain outside suddenly grew sharp and intrusive. This novel, hailed as the \"harsh pinnacle of cruel everyday life mysteries,\" struck me far beyond expectations—it’s more than just a revenge thriller; it’s like a shattered mirror, each shard reflecting the deep afflictions of our era.
The story opens with a heartbreaking scene: middle school teacher Yuko Moriguchi’s four-year-old daughter Manami drowns in the school pool. The police rule it an accident, but the single mother’s own investigation reveals a darker truth—two classmates deliberately caused her death. What suffocates the breath is that due to the protections of the Juvenile Law, these underage perpetrators face almost no real punishment. So Moriguchi decides to enact her own brand of “justice”—during the last class of the term, she “confesses” the truth to the whole class and poisons the two culprits’ milk with HIV-positive blood from her late husband...
展开剩余80%Kanae Minato’s multi-perspective narration lets every key player take a turn “confessing.” This narrative structure cuts like a scalpel, exposing the multifaceted truth behind the event: confessions from the culprits, monologues from bystanders, and justifications from relatives. As viewpoints shift, readers piece together a cruel puzzle until the final piece falls into place, revealing a complex human labyrinth lurking beneath a seemingly straightforward revenge plot.
The deep dive into the motives behind juvenile crime is particularly striking. Student A (Shuya Watanabe) commits his crime out of a twisted desire for maternal approval; Student B (Naoki Shimomura) acts to prove he is “not a coward.” These motives may seem absurd, but they mirror the real psychological struggles of modern youth—where lack of family love, rampant school bullying, and confused social values have warped young minds. Minato resists demonizing the offenders, instead layering inner monologues to show how evil takes root in these fragile souls. This approach elevates the novel from mere crime fiction to a social parable about adolescent mental crises.
Moriguchi’s revenge is a sharp slap to the current legal system. When the law fails to adequately punish the offenders, she chooses to deliver “justice” herself. This “eye for an eye” approach sparks a terrifying chain reaction, culminating in a no-winner tragedy. Through this extreme case, Minato boldly confronts an uncomfortable question we all avoid: when law and morality collide, what truly defines justice?
As a reader, it’s easy to empathize with Moriguchi’s pain but hard not to question her methods. This moral dilemma is the novel’s brilliance—it offers no easy answers but forces every reader into self-judgment. Throughout, I kept asking myself: if I were Moriguchi, what would I do? If I were a student in that class, what choice would I make? These questions have no clear solutions but compel us to face the darkest corners of human nature.
What makes *Confessions* chilling is that it doesn’t portray some distant extreme scenario, but the kind of daily tragedies that can happen around us—school bullying, family discord, adolescent psychological issues—all too common in real life. Minato’s cold, precise prose reminds us: behind every “problem child” stands a group of negligent adults; the seeds of juvenile crime are often sown years earlier.
Particularly chilling is the novel’s portrayal of the “bystander effect.” The silence of other students, the school’s cover-up, and the media’s sensationalism create a fertile ground for evil to grow. This collective unconscious “accomplice structure” is far more terrifying than any single individual’s wrongdoing. It warns us that in the face of injustice, silence itself becomes a crime.
*Confessions* remains a top title on Douban’s mystery list not only because of its clever plot and unexpected twists but because it strikes a nerve in a time of emotional detachment amid information overload. Minato’s fictional crime case exposes real social illnesses: failed education, legal limitations, bloodthirsty media, and the complexity of human nature. These issues have no simple fixes, but demand ongoing reflection and discussion.
What stays with me most after finishing the book isn’t the thrilling revenge but Moriguchi’s chilling calm when she says at the very end, “This is your first step to becoming human again.” It’s a stark reminder that when social systems fail to deliver justice, the temptation of vigilante punishment takes root in victims’ hearts. A society relying on such private justice risks spiraling into endless cycles of revenge.
*Confessions* isn’t a comforting read, but it’s essential for every adult. In an era rife with school violence and growing youth mental health problems, Kanae Minato’s sharp pen sounds a warning bell. As we mourn Moriguchi’s ordeal, perhaps we should also ask ourselves: what can we do to stop the next tragedy?
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