Midnight in Europe

NOTE 1

“I want to find whoever invented sex and ask them what they’re working on now.”  James Ellroy

NOTE 2

Tony Lane piece in The New Yorker, firewalled, about Dutch Leonard, the occasion being a new biography, Cooler Than Cool, published by Mariner, and a three-volume set from the Library of America.  Cheap at twice the price.

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2025/07/07/elmore-leonards-perfect-pitch

Cooler Than Cool: The Life and Work of Elmore Leonard

https://www.harpercollins.com/products/cooler-than-cool-c-m-kushins?variant=43113097527330

Library of America

https://www.loa.org/books/writer/206-elmore-leonard/

 

I’ve mentioned in a couple of past columns what an unexpected bonus it is to run across books by favorite writers that you haven’t yet read.  This happened to me recently with a Lehane, and a Leonard, and then I pulled an Alan Furst off the shelf, t’other day, Midnight in Europe, and realized I hadn’t read that one, either.  I’d obviously bought it, and let it slide off my radar.

I should remark that I thought Furst’s books fell off a little, in the middle, but then he came slamming back, the last couple.  I could be wrong, and it was me.  If you’re not familiar with his work, Night Soldiers came out in 1988, and Under Occupation, the fifteenth historical, and most recent, in 2019, so he’s maintained a consistent pace, across thirty years.  You want him to keep them coming. 

The novels are WWII espionage adventures, set in Europe - Occupied Paris more often than not - from the early 1930’s to the collapse of the Axis, in 1945.  They go down some odd and unexplored byways, with the big guns, Germany and Soviet Russia, casting a long shadow, but the characters in the foreground generally cautious about showing their true colors.  Sometimes, in fact, they’re not quite sure.  And neither are we, always.  But the stakes are life-and-death.  The business people are engaged in might seem like small potatoes, in one book, smuggling anti-Fascist newsletters into Italy, but Mussolini’s security police went after the Italian émigré community with ruthless terror tactics – surprisingly, to those later readers who’ve been schooled to think of il Duce as cartoonish.  He established the secret police in 1927, before the Nazis came to power in Germany, and Heinrich Himmler modeled the Gestapo after the Italian version. 

Midnight in Europe is about smuggling guns to the Republicans in Spain, in 1938.  It’s a doomed effort, but the people involved hope otherwise.  This points up two things about Alan Furst’s novels.  The first is dramatic irony.  We know that the Spanish Civil War ended in defeat for the Republicans, we know the Allies beat Hitler.  But at the time, these were unknowns, and unknowable.  The characters in a Furst book don’t know the outcome.  The second thing is that the books, over time, have narrowed their focus.  Night Soldiers covers a wide canvas, from 1934 Bulgaria, to Spain, to Occupied Paris, to a brief coda in postwar New York.  Later books, like Dark Voyage or Spies of the Balkans, are tight and contained, and sometimes too much so, confined, even.  But again, to the people living the immediate story, the events crowding them in are evil sufficient to the day. 

Like the Bernie Gunther novels that Philip Kerr wrote, over a comparable thirty years, the Alan Furst books, loosely connected internally, create a known world, in parallel to a past reality, that seems as authentic and recognizable to us as the world we inhabit. 

The One From the Other

My sis sent me a Philip Kerr book she spotted, The One From the Other, and although I thought I’d read all the Bernie Gunther novels, this turns out to be one I missed. Philip Kerr died in 2018, so the last book published in the Bernie series was Metropolis. There aren’t any more to come.

If you don’t know Bernie, here’s the short version.

He’s a former homicide bull in the Kriminalpolizei, who’s turned private. When we meet him in 1936 Berlin, Weimar has rolled over and died, and the Nazis are now in the saddle. The hook is that Bernie is trying to navigate a maze of opaque signals and ambiguous rivalries, a hierarchywithout any structural consistency or guiding principle except brute force. The world seems to have collapsed around a single dynamic, that the weak are prey, and you can’t protect yourself. The strong will take whatever they want, whenever they want, because they can.

The gangster ecology is familiar from noir convention, but it feels different, in this terrain. It’s not individual – or entrepreneurial – although that flourishes, too, in the contaminated, feverish atmosphere: the opportunities for random cruelty are everywhere. The menace, though, is institutional. It’s built-in, the mechanics of behavior part and parcel with the political climate. Terrorism is a tool of the state.

Some things worth noting.

The books aren’t chronological.

They slide around in time, from book to book, and sometimes within a single book. This has a counterintuitive effect, that when we zoom in, the immediate focus is even tighter. The idea of a larger context, or that historical distance might soften the moment, is rarely any comfort. Bernie the acerbic Berliner is always ready with some gallows humor, but the gallows itself is never far from his mind. Before whatever it is happens, he anticipates the worst, and it never fails to be more devious and infernal than he’s prepared for.

Which leads to a second observation, about historical or dramatic ironies.

We learn early on in the series that Bernie survives the Nazis, that he survives the war, but he can’t overcome memory. The similarities to Alan Furst’s spy novels, or Eric Ambler’s, of a generation before, are striking; a character, thrown into the deep end of the pool, keeps their head above water by grabbing anything that floats into reach. More to the point, it’s very much of the moment. We, the reader, know Hitler dies, and the Reich goes down in flames, but the people in the story don’t. Philip Kerr never lets Bernie, who’s narrating the books, use a device like Had-I-But-Known. He rarely, if ever, foreshadows. Bernie meets a sociopathic snake like Reinhard Heydrich, chief of security, and his main concern is hoping the Reichsprotektor forgets his name – not Heydrich’s looming date with destiny in Prague, although seven books later, Bernie will show up just in time to turn the final page, and survive to walk on Heydrich’s grave.

As to the matter of voice.

Bernie seems to be talking out of the corner of his mouth, with a lit smoke burning down in the other corner, the ashes ready to fall behind his teeth. He confides in us. And the vocabulary! Kerr was Edinburgh-born. He read for the law, like Scott and Buchan, and began a post-graduate fascination with things German. Here’s a trick, in the Bernie books. Bernie uses a lot of slang, and to my ear, it sounds like idiomatic Berliner Deutsch, rendered as an English equivalent. It isn’t, in fact. I’ve heard some of the real thing, and what Kerr is up to is creating a kind of parallel idiom. It sounds right, and it feels right, in the context, but it might as well be Klingon: he’s making it up, umlauts and all. Which isn’t to say it’s not convincing. And that’s the point.

Kerr wrote the first three Bernie books, the Berlin noir trilogy, and then Bernie dropped out of sight. The One From the Other came out fifteen years after A German Requiem, book three. Kerr just says stuff got in the way. There it is. I wish there were more books, of course. But the best thing about my sister happening on The One From the Other, is that as soon as I finished it, I went straight to the library and took out March Violets, the first of the books, and I’ve started the series again, from nose to tail. Trust me on this one.