The Shallows

Another strange murder, another dose of Minnesota nice, and–as always–a heaping helping of the subtle sadness that seems to have a way of following Nils Shapiro around.

The third Nils Shapiro novel follows a twisted path around something that starts as a simple murder, but Matt Goldman finds a way to show us that murder, like life, is never simple. There are always too many variables to consider, and too many angles to take when trying to solve something like this. Add into it the complexity of Nils's life, relationships, and acquaintances, and you're left with a very fulfilling adult mystery that both gives you hope and knocks you down a peg.

I like the Nils Shapiro books partly because of my relationship with the Mini-Apple: I have been there. I've driven a lot of those streets, had dinners in a lot of those suburbs, and I know people like the characters in those books. The Midwest has a way of shaping people. I like the Nils books partly because I've had the good fortune to meet the writer on a number of occasions, and I find him to be a likable, interesting, and well-spoken fellow–totally someone I'd get a beer with, especially if he was paying. Hell, if he's buying, I'll even drink Grain Belt or some horrible Minnesota micro-brew. But, the predominant reason I like the Shapiro books is because of how Shap walks a fine line between having a normal life and being stuck in shadow. There's a cloak of depression in the books, it's not overt, but it's constant. I identify with that quite heavily.

I can't recommend this series enough. It's not a rollicking, rolling, throwing-punches, and driving fast sort of detective novel. It has more in line with thinky PI novels like something Colin Dexter might put together than anything Hollywood would traditionally glom onto. For that, though, I think it makes the series all the better.