Novels No. 115

 

Nicholas Shakespeare. Frame 37. Canada: Viking/Penguin Canada, 2026.

John Dyer, Brit, and Argentinian Miguel de Belew met in Michigan for a graduate program in journalism; both are now retired from their separate global adventures: the former an investigative journalist and the latter a topnotch photojournalist. During that post-grad program, Miguel invited Dyer and several friends to spend time in Buenos Aires and at his own wealthy estancia. Michigan sisters Lia and Nova were part of that group forty years ago. Now Miguel reacts to a frantic call from Nova to say that Lia has been killed, by calling on Dyer – “the best man to piece together a story” – to join him. Miguel and Nova believe they know who the perpetrator is; the subject is a very powerful man. After her phone call, Nova can’t be reached. Dyer arrives at Miguel’s home to find him dead. Can Dyer find the murderer and the proof to expose him?

Frame 37 is densely packed with back stories, mostly in the student days of the six friends. So many stories within stories, it’s as if the author had enough material for half a dozen books. One shocking incident is at its core, for Dyer to follow through. Argentina’s warring politics play a recurring role; cynical American politics loom larger. Everyone seems to have an alias. Digressions into obsolete newspaper production, connecting distant native cultures, pages of how to rid your back yard of moles—at times I felt overwhelmed by such tangents or mired in wordiness (encyclopedic descriptions of locales, exclusive restaurants, and old-white-man power centres). What does a sentence like this even mean? —

► The ex-president was emblematic of an unprincipled Dark Age shallowness, a reductive placard to which only an optical illusion could lend dimension. (173)

So, a mixed reaction on my part—admiration for the plot intricacies and for spinning out a love affair that never was, and impatience with barely relevant distractions. The global chaos caused by ex-president Ockloss finds Talcy Malcy, our villain, presented as a saviour candidate with an impeccably curated biography. Certain parallels with today’s world are hard to ignore.

Glimpses

▪ “This is a big, big, big story, John – maybe the biggest story that you write in your life. But it’s not something I can tell you on Skype.” (15)

▪ Miguel and Talcy Malcy were not one and the same. But the men in these two images somehow were. (68)

▪ Who was that mystery caller who hung up? And the landline going down for half an hour, what was that about? (78)

▪ He is clearly drunk or high on something, with his fingers gathered together beneath her, prying. A frightful smile uncovers his blood-framed teeth. (124)

▪ Dyer kept asking himself if the outcome might have been different had he found the courage to act, to behave other than he did. To inhale. He hated his congestion, the English reserve that had paralysed him. (135)

▪ “Would you recognize James Donald Bowman – who then became James David Hamel – as J.D. Vance?” (170)

▪ He’s not certain if the lens captured what he saw. He knows he clicked, but he’d taken the pictures in a weird reflex mode, without looking in the viewfinder. (269)

Christoffer Carlsson. The Living and the Dead. 2023. USA: Hogarth/Random House, 2025.

Siri Bengtsson is a policewoman new to the village of Skavböke, joining veteran cop Gerd Pettersson to investigate a murder, rare for Sweden. Eighteen-year-old Mikael is found beaten to death in the back of a stolen Volvo; the steering wheel is covered with blood and the driver is missing. Interspersed with progress on the case are moments a few years later when Siri launches a search party for Hampus Olsson—a missing young man she thinks she spotted in the forest. After speaking to a farmer as a potential witness, Siri abruptly quits the police force with no explanation to anyone. Meanwhile, Mikael’s peers who had partied with him the night before, are being interviewed, including best friends Killian and Sander. Beneath the surface of teenage banter we get hints of simmering violence. More people will die.

Next, we are twenty years on when Sander, now a teacher in another town, returns to Skavböke for the funeral of Sten, father of his buddy Killian. The man had generally been blamed, without any evidence, for a spectacular explosion that changed the entire village. Felicia, Jakob and Filip are Sander’s only old schoolmates still around. That night, Filip is found beaten to death just as his brother Mikael was so long ago. Policeman Vidar must review the old, unsolved case. Keeping track of numerous names and families means referring to a cast list provided up front; also helpful is a map of the unfamiliar places. The plot moves like molasses with Sander representing years of inarticulate, repressed feelings.

Yes, it’s a murder mystery, but beyond the well-drawn atmosphere of village life and gossip, one asks what is the point? It was difficult to find resonance with the characters. Most of them seem to exist half-depressed with regret or guilt over things past and lost opportunities.

Peeks

▪ “But if you’re stupid enough to withdraw your savings, hide it carelessly in your home, and let your son go to a party where he blabs about it, you have only yourself to blame.” (97)

▪ “Don’t bother,” Karl-Henrik thundered. “It’s too late. You missed. He’s gone.” And he slapped Mikael on the back of the head with an open palm. (114)

▪ “Why does he want you two to haul a crate of dynamite through the whole village, though? It’s so dangerous!” (134)

▪ “We’re all human, even us cops, we realize maybe you don’t want to ... Well, anyway, we believe you know more than you’re letting on.” (150)

▪ “Someone is trying to kill the boys of Skavböke.” (172)

▪ Until now he had persisted in using the present tense, as though language were a tool with which he could force reality to conform. As long as he spoke about Killian as though he were alive, it was possible to imagine that he really was. (194)

▪ Sander entered adult life all on his own, and slowly he sank through the darkness toward the bottom. (279)