For true believers, nothing is better than a new Alan Furst book. Once more, Europe is on the edge of World War II. Once more, someone who wasn't planning on it is drawn into the fight. And once more, you want to join him and enlist.
Fredric Stahl, hero of this one, is a little different from Furst's usual military men and cops. He's a celebrity, a Hollywood star, an Austrian-born leading man now in Paris to make a movie, loaned by Warner Brothers to Paramount in return for Gary Cooper. Stahl recalls the carefree Paris of the 1920s, where he first got into film, but now wonders how wise it is to visit the Paris of 1938.
Now there's foreboding of war: Hitler has demanded and got Czechoslovakia, and some, but not enough, see the Anglo-French appeasement will merely encourage a bully who feeds on fear. The French call up the reserves, then let them go, but the crisis puts everyone's nerves on edge.
Not everyone thinks war is inevitable. But the parties wanting to avoid it at any cost, the Franco-German friendship types, the war-is-too-terrible-and-we-must-never-fight-another types - are, rather than the usual left-wing pacifists, all directed and funded by Berlin. Publishers are being paid off to manipulate French public opinion. Pro-fascist French industrialists are in on it. And wouldn't this cabal love to have the movie star Stahl come out against war?
Stahl is first cultivated, then stalked by friends of the Reich. Then an American consul asks if Stahl can help his adopted homeland. Stahl wants nothing to do with the Nazis, but realizes it's time to make a stand, and the way he can help is by acting - going along with them, acting like he doesn't mind to carry out a secret mission. Meanwhile, though, his film friends wonder which side he's really on.
What's great here is how chilling Furst makes the Nazi approaches to Stahl - not the threats, but the inducements, offers of meals, parties and luxurious travel by loathsome people. Perhaps because they're fresher, perhaps because they're subtle and well-done, because we know where the history leads, these are somehow scarier than more familiar scenes of Nazi menace. And the bonhomie is only skin deep; the threats, the menace and the violence lurk just underneath.
Furst adroitly shows the Nazi propaganda paving the way for war. What's in their newspapers and films, their endless and false claims of the persecution of Germans in neighboring lands. And, most chillingly, their certitude that there will be a war, that they'll win it and that anyone who's smart, and knows what's good for them, will join them now.
Furst, who started getting into this in "The Spies of Warsaw", does a service laying out the twists and turns of the French situation leading up to the war, which most Americans know little about. Leon Blum, Edouard Daladier, the Popular Front, Paris newspapers of the right, left and center; tycoons like Taittinger, Michelin, Coty, and Hennessy: he shows how they all fit together, the growing rift among the French about whether to even resist the Nazis at all, and the fateful price the world will pay for their divide.
Germany conquered France easily, Furst suggests, because the French right saw the Nazis as allies and for years deliberately sapped their own nation's will and ability to fight against them. (Stalin's Communists were guilty of the same thing.)
The plot lets Furst write once more about Paris, his favorite setting. There's the obligatory scene at the Brasserie Heininger, where a single bullet hole in the mirror - ah, but real Furst fans don't need this sentence finished, because we've read it three or four times before. (But try the choucroute!)
A cameo appearance by Count Polanyi from "Kingdom of Shadows", whom Stahl suspects is not just a Hungarian diplomat. And of course, a tramp steamer out of Constanta . . . a lot of delicious meals and unusual Continental booze like strega and slivovitz . . . languidly smoked cigarettes . . a pistol in a suitcase . . . a garter belt slowly unhooked while outside, the rain clouds form over Europe. Admit it, you love it. I'm helpless before it.
P.S. Stahl's love interest, Renate Steiner, bears the name of the composer who wrote the score to "Casablanca" - Max Steiner. There's no better place for a Casablanca nod than an Alan Furst novel.