'The Spies of the Balkans' by Alan Furst

If you are interested in the history of the Balkans, as I am, the best thing you can say about ‘Spies of the Balkans’ is that it shines a light on a part of the world during WW II as it was being overrun by the Germans in 1941. Most readers will appreciate the map at the very beginning, to which you will refer more than once. I often confuse Budapest and Bucharest, had no idea where Sofia, Bulgaria is, and had never heard of Salonika, a port city of Greece, where the Vardar River empties into the Aegean. Salonika is where most of the action in ‘Spies of the Balkans’ takes place and where its protagonist, Costa Zannis, heads up a special department of detectives that investigates sensitive cases involving politicians, bankers and the elite of Salonika. During the final months of 1940 and first half of 1941, as Germany gains a stranglehold on the Balkans, Costa is drawn into a scheme to smuggle Jews out of Germany. At the urging of Emilia Krebs, a German Jew from Berlin and mastermind of the plan, he and a network of like minded agents sign on to smuggle refugees from Berlin through Prague, Hungary, Yugoslavia, Romania, to Bulgaria and, occasionally, Salonika and over the border to Turkey or via ship to Alexandria. It turns out that Frau Krebs is married to a high-ranking German officer who “serves on the General Staff of the Wehrmacht, a manager of logistics.” This shields here from excessive scrutiny – the ‘J’ for Juden (Jew) is missing from her passport – “Oh no, not mine; they wouldn’t dare,” she says, when asked about the missing ‘J’ by Costa.

You can divide this book into two parts, 1) an historical novel that narrates in satisfactory detail the harrowing escape of Jews from Europe (at least those with friends and money) and 2) a novel of Costa’s various sexual conquests. Once you’ve divided it up, you can pretty much discard the latter, or, short of defacing your copy, discount it as a clumsy, not very convincing – I hate to use the word – ‘literary’ device in support of a history that is worth knowing. (Of course, some of you will want to do it the other way around.) However, since it is unlikely that I would have read a book about a Balkan WW II escape route, I forgive Alan Furst for spicing up the book with his cast of lovers; woman he uses more often to prop up the narrative, and Costa Zannis’ love life, than to add substance to it. His various English agents, among them Roxanne, his lover in the opening scenes, and Francis Escovil, Roxannes male replacement (but not Zannis’ lover) seem contrived and stereotypically predictable. Then there’s Tasia of the “very sultry perfume’ – you can guess where that chapter is headed – a former lover who conveniently declared she had no interest in marriage. There will be no complications here, just good clean fun. Tasia sole function seems to be filler – a bed warmer, so to speak – between Roxanne and Demetria, with whom he falls madly in love solely based on the stunning beauty of her blond visage, as she peers out from among packages stacked in the back seat of her husband’s Rolls, and later, as she coyly presses her bottom against a couch at a gathering of the dignitaries of Salonika. Was there a message there, Costa wonders? Wait! I thought he was mad about Roxanne. Oh never mind – Demetria, it turns out, fell in love with Costa years ago in school when she was just 13 and he 17; an infatuation of which he had no knowledge but, never mind… he can’t quite get that couch out of his mind. So he rides out the remaining chapters risking all for Demetria, the beautiful, sad-eyed trophy-wife of Nikolas Vasilou, a shipping tycoon (what else!) who is strong-armed or sweet-talked by Costa’s boss and chief of police, “St. Vangelis,” to donate a very generous private bank account to Costa in support of his refugee project, and who “was said to buy and sell ships, particularly oil tankers, like penny candy.” (Blame it on the translator… oh, wait, this was written in English.) And did I mention the wife with two kids in Paris, who didn’t want to leave her native France ten years earlier? Or, that Emilia Krebs, “…lipstick, dark red, a color that emphasized her black hair and pale skin. Stunning, Zannis thought, was the word for her. And seductive, future delights suggested in the depths of her glance….” Oi, what a schlemiel. No shame, Costa! It turns out Emmi was strictly business, with the assistance of a rich grandfather, a wad of cash (U.S. dollars), and a single-mind determination of opening an escape corridor for German Jews. No time for hanky-panky.

For the sake of intrigue, I thought at least one of these woman, or Gabi Saltiel, Costa’s assistant, or Spiraki (the head of port security), or Sibylla (office assistant), or Celebi, the Turkish envoy, or Elias the Poet, or Nikolas Vasilou, whose wife, Demetria, he is intent on stealing away, or any other one of the long list of characters, could have added an element of intrigue by being a snitch in the employ of the enemy or a wee bit upset by Costa’s romantic obsessions, but, no, they’re all exactly who they say the are or conveniently indifferent to Costa’s peccadilloes, distracted by the naughty maid.

Alan Furst specializes in historical novels and for this he earns my respect. After all, he has to make a living, and researching and writing novels is hard work. I enjoy peering into the past from a new vantage point and he’s done a reasonably good job bringing to life the bones of history; it’s just the connective tissue that could use some tweaking. ‘Spies of the Balkans.’ I’m glad to have read it. I just wish it were a better book.