Friday, August 26, 2005

He knows damn well he has been cheated

I finally got back to reading the past few nights and luckily it was the newish Alan Furst book, Dark Voyage. Furst is shelved in mystery, but one day they will move him over to the fiction section. His writing is the equal of a number of purely literary writers, but his subject matter pushes him over in the genre ghetto. Because his novels are set in cities and countries under or soon to under the Nazi heel and his characters try to fight the fascists and survive, he is labeled a thriller writer. He is really not a thriller writer at all. Plot development is fairly weak and will be put aside to spend more time describing a setting. Resolution is rarely complete and the good guys, if there are any, don't necessarily win.

Instead he concentrates on the things that readers of literary fiction enjoy. He evokes feelings of warmth and claustrophobia quite well. Among the most exciting parts of his books focus on the emotions of those facing long or impossible odds, like a Resistance radio operator in occupied Paris. Because his characters are usually non-professionals forced into dangerous situations, they are often far more interesting than those found in more heroic thriller fiction.

As it happens, I like Dark Voyage, but I would not recommend starting Furst here. It is his only sea story and has more more violent action than his other books. Instead you should read World at Night and its sequel Red Gold, which focus on a French film director reluctantly entangled with British and Russian intelligence operatives.

2 comments:

Brack said...

Social and cultural versimilitude seem to play as important a role in Furst's development of his characters as does historical accuracy in his plots. Of course, Furst ceates both the stage and the players, but he seems to show how individual emotions, decisions and actions - driven by personal experience and colored by national heritage, ethnicity and social standing - are intertwined with, derive from, or ultimately comprise (think Leibniz's monads) a sort of national character.

In other words, his French characters seem, well, French. Ditto for the Bulgarians, Russians, Hungarians and Turks.

Tripp said...

Well stated Brack.