Sometimes 15 bucks can buy a lot. Here in London we are staying at the Langham Hotel, which is close to Regent Street, Oxford, Piccadilly, and across the street from the BBC. But the real reason we stay here, I think, is that it is close to Daunt Books on Marylebone High Street, which might be my wife's favorite book store. We checked in on Monday and the very next day we found ourselves perusing the shelves at Daunt Books – that is, she was perusing the shelves. I was sitting in a chair reading the first chapter of a book that started with the sentence something like this: “When I was fifteen I decided what I wanted to be when I grew up: French.” It seemed like a good book but I wondered if I would really read it when there was so much else on my night table and thought about how fully packed we already were, so I let it be as we went for lunch next door. But then a poster caught my eye: on Wednesday night Philip Kerr was coming to Daunt Books!
Philip Kerr is a favorite author, one
of those for whom I don't think, I just get the latest book that
comes out and read it and follow his character, Bernie Gunther,
ex-Berlin policeman and eternally semi-compromised, hopefully not
totally so since he is trying to do good, Nazi
collaborator-underminer. I just buy every book, as I do with John Le
Carré
and Alan Furst, and probably like David McCullough, although I think
I've missed one or two of his – but not Furst, Le Carré,
or Kerr. With them it's every single one. They do spy stories, but
that seems insufficient a description to me. These are intelligent
and extremely literate narratives of imaginary people among real
situations in the WWII and the Cold War. One learns a lot and one
doesn't put the book down. If that “one” is me, anyway.
Ann
was tired so I went to the talk alone, only a 12 minutes walk. I
didn't know what to expect – book, yes; talk, no idea. But it
turned out that the man is a real mensch.
He doesn't waste sentences, he's full of thought and information,
but he is also warm, intimate, frank, and interesting. A smart guy.
Maybe he was especially warm because he felt at home here in London,
where he looked forward to going home to his own bed, instead of a
book tour hotel bed and up at 4 to leave for the plane at 5 and
another city. The only thing worse than an American book tour, he
said, would be not being asked to do an American book tour. Funny
thing, though; here he was on Marylebone High Street, waxing intimate
among friends and neighbors, but three of the questions came from
Americans. We're everywhere!
So,
since he is such a favorite author and this was such a newsy,
informative talk, I thought it was worth recapitulating. And, it
will come as no surprise to readers, adding in my own question to him
and comments to him afterwards.
Interesting
how he got into this line of work. He qualified as a lawyer, but
didn't look forward to being a barrister – you have to choose your
course pretty early in the UK. So he got an advanced degree in
German jurisprudence – I think he went to school in Germany for a
while when he didn't mesh exactly with English education, imagine
that – and then went into the advertising business. But while
others were taking the three hour advertising business lunch, he was
researching and writing. First it was the London library, and then
when he worked for Saatchi, he'd go to the British Museum Library in
the morning and order some books that would take a few hours to
arrive. So then he'd go to work – “work,” he said, with air
quotes, “looking out the window for a few hours, it was the
advertising business and that's the way it was then,” and then go
back to the library instead of going to lunch. What a wonderful
experience for him! The high ceilings, the desks, the heritage! And
of course, access to everything.
He
had also tried painting at one point. He taught himself, by going to
the masters – the modern masters, not the old ones, they were too
hard – and copying them. He said that if anyone came to visit him
now they would find a lot of Miro's and Picasso's on the wall and
think, “This fellow's doing pretty well.” It made me think about
his writing, and how it's inevitable that we read and copy, and I'm
sure that entered into his growth as an author.
What
he thought was that the British authors who bookended the century in
Germany were Isherwood – he loved
Cabaret, and the interesting fact that you couldn't do the Horst
Wessel song because that was forbidden in Germany, but the guy who
wrote the substitute for the film did such a good job that everyone
who listened thought it was authentic, and he was Jewish.
And then Le Carré.
Why hasn't Le Carré
gotten the Nobel Prize, he wondered. God, the plots! They click
together like a fine watch. Bob Dylan getting it, surely Le Carré
is more worthy (I differ with him here – I think the Dylan award
was great.) I think Kerr's admiration of the Le Carré
plots is a nod from a professional to the ultimate master, like Klay
Thompson admiring Steph Curry – you know the field very well, what
it takes, and you can understand better than non-practitioners what
mastery means, in detail. High praise indeed.
So
what Kerr wished for in his heart of hearts, was to be sandwiched in
between Isherwood and Le Carré.
And guess what, amazingly, a few years ago he was in France, I
think, or maybe Germany, not sure, and right there on a table in a
book display was Isherwood on the left, Le Carré
on the right, and there he was in the middle, Phillip Kerr. Dream
come true. He took a picture and sent it to his mother.
An
inevitable question came from the audience, Why write about that
time, the war years, and why about Germany? Kerr answered that this
was a time when you could easily tell the good guys from the bad
guys. Hell, the bad guys wore black and had a skull and crossbones
on their caps – how hard can it be? Which led him to remember a
cartoon of two Nazis standing together in their uniforms, and one
says to the other, “Is it possible we're the bad guys?” He said
that when he started there wasn't that much written about that time,
but now it's exploded. The last clear war with goodies and baddies.
Afterwards,
when I chatted with him as he signed my book – typically, I again
forgot to ask for the “For Budd” inscription and just got his
scrawl, I always forget – I offered my preferred explanation to
that question. My view is that WWII is the modern equivalent of the
Trojan War, and they were still writing and singing about that 500
and 800 years later. Total war – they don't say “world war”
for nothing. So, I told him, it's possible that he will be even more
famous than he imagines. Kind of took him aback, but I just left him
with that and left – although I did manage to say that I thought
his books were terrific, and that he was terrific, “Not to be over
the top,” I added.
He
reflected on book tours a lot. His itinerary calls for him often to
be met at the plane by “an escort.” Hmmm, said his wife, “An
escort?” “Not that kind of escort,” he had to reply, of
course. These escorts are usually ladies of a certain age, he said,
often retired with wealthy husbands and looking for things to do.
They pick you up. Remember, he said, you have to sit in the front in
the passenger seat, not the back. “Very democratic.”
One
of the things he does is ask escorts who they have escorted before,
and who was the worst one and why. The lady he had in mind said,
“Mitt Romney.”
“Really?
Why is that?”
Well,
first of all, he sat in the back. And then he said, “Do you have a
dog?”
“No,
why?”
“Well,
I see the leather is all scratched up and I wondered if you had a
dog.”
The
lady took great offense, putting down her car. I thought, So Mitt!
Awkward to the end. Gets in the back because he is a plutocrat. But
quite probably was trying to show he was as astute as Sherlock, and
also to find common cause with his hostess because we all remember
that Mitt likes dogs, and took Seamus to Canada on the roof of his
car, to the endless delight of Gail Collins in the NYT. And all he
comes off as, is an asshole. Poor Mitt. I guess.
But
the worst pick up was Oliver Sachs in Germany, who was very quiet in
the car until they came to a complete stop on the autobahn because of
traffic. All of a sudden he shrieked, opened the car door and ran
out onto the autobahn. Traffic picked up and his hosts tried to
chase him down so he wouldn't get killed in traffic and to lure him
back into the car. Which they did. He explained that he suffered
from claustrophobia and had had an attack. Then the hosts had to
rearrange the doors to his hotel room so he didn't feel constricted.
Well, he could write.
Kerr
talked about the talks he gives. Don't prepare, that's his advice.
It will come across as cold and boxed up; instead, just let it flow.
I think he's exactly right. This talk was that way, things came to
mind, he has a very active mind, free associates well, is very
fluent, and the enthusiasm is there as he discovers himself where
he's going next.
Sometimes
it leads to surprises. When he was in Lyon, he was asked if he would
pick a picture in the art museum and talk about it. Sure, he said –
always say yes, that's another thing he's found out. He figured that
he'd go to the museum and talk for 5 or 10 minutes into a recorder or
something like that. On the way there, he asked how long they would
like him to talk. “An hour would be good,” they said. And
there would be about 200 people there to listen.
He
had prepared exactly nothing. So what he included us in was his
facing the abyss and having to talk is way out. Which he did. He
gave us the particulars, how he built up a case in figuring out why
this picture interested him, and the one right next to it for that
matter, the details of which I pretty much forget now, but it was
memorable.
There
was a lot of talk about Brexit. Kerr averred that he had been a
Remain voter, but observed that this was not the first time England
divorced itself from the continent, the first being 400,000 years ago
as it floated away. I forget what he cited as the second time,
probably Napoleon's time. He observed that all the separation comes
from the hinterlands, which typically hate the central capital. As
Roger Cohen writes in the NYT, “The
fracture between globalized metropoles and depressed regions.”
Berlin is very different from the
rest of Germany, they have a mordant sense of humor similar to the
Brits, and the rest of Germany hates them. Same in France, same in
the US, although he cited Washington rather than New York. Brexit is
on everyone's mind, and at the time it wasn't clear what was going to
happen in France. Today as I write this, it seems pretty clear that
Macron and continuity will reign in the near future. Near term
crisis averted, long term crisis still very much in play.
He
also talked about the Germany-Greece nexus. Was it just after WWI
that Greece went in hock to the German bankers? So this isn't the
first time. And he cited the horror of Salonica that exported 98% of
its Jews to Germany for killing, when the concentration of the Jewish
population there was second only to Poland. Another overlooked
horror. He's almost done with his next book – that was fast! - and
it's about that.
Germany
tried several times to dominate Europe. The first was at the time of
Martin Luther – who, Kerr said, was a terrible man, a terrible
anti-Semite. The Reformation led to German domination of the
continent, in Kerr's view. More directly, they used their military
in 1870, 1914, and 1939. But they learned. What they learned is
that it's much easier to do it with finance. Germany calls the tune
in Europe. What is it about the Germans, we always wonder? Kerr
didn't go into it, but I remember a letter to the editor from a
psychiatrist who had lived in Germany, concerning reunification. His
observation was he would only start to trust the Germans when they
changed their child rearing practices – they are brutal and
unfeeling, just watch any German playground, and we know what that
leads to
He
was also asked about which Nazis he found most interesting. “Who's
my favorite Nazi?” he asked, observing that it was a common
question. “Who would I like to have dinner with?”
The
first name was Goering. People forget what a hero he was, dating
from from WWI, and he was very popular and charismatic. He would
walk around Berlin and people would give him beer and wurst and he'd
eat it – all the others would be afraid of being poisoned, but not
him. He had a way with people, which paid off when he convinced a
guard to smuggle him some poison at Nuremburg.
The
other had to be Goebbels. Joey, after all, was actually a novelist,
unpublished at first, but when he became Reich Minister of
Propaganda, he got published in a hurry. Kerr imagined what that
particular interview with the publisher was like. I actually was
surprised because Bernie Gunther's boss was Heydrich at one point,
and there's a lot of him in all the books. But I admit it's hard to
be fond of Heydrich, or any of them of course. Cute they were not.
It's
not well known, but Hitler was lazy as hell, never even walked
anywhere, got driven around the Eagle's Nest at Berchtesgadan, which
Bormann had set up for him because he was too vulnerable and
unpopular in Berlin, and he hated Berlin and Berliners. Confiscated
all the property around, sometimes at gunpoint and tank point, making
him locally unpopular.
And,
there was this, which Kerr was so emphatic about. There was a paper
in Munich, the Munich Post, which just prior to Hitler's taking power
had a Deep Throat source to the top Nazis. They were constantly
publishing scoops, although they only had about 60,000 readers, and
in those days news didn't travel the way it does now. They got a
real scoop in 1932 – they got wind of the Final Solution, and it
was pretty much everything that came out of the Wannsee Conference 10
years later. The thought that Hitler was a Zionist and wanted to
expatriate the Jews and only later came upon the Final Solution is
completely wrong, and there is the document to prove it, says Kerr,
convincingly. The editors debated whether or not to publish it, but
since Hitler was on the verge of power, they figured this was their
last shot to keep him out. Didn't work, and one of the first things
the Hitler government did was to clean out the Munich Post, brutally.
It's
true that Hitler met with Mohammed Amin al-Husseini, the Grand Mufti
of Jerusalem, a more than virulent anti-Semite. As I remember it,
and this might be wrong, the leader said that if Hitler sent the Jews
to Palestine he would want to kill them all, but then Hitler decided
to do it himself. Al-Husseini was a fascist ally, and Hitler needed
all he could get at that point. You could feel Kerr's choler rising
as he recounted this. This is a guy who knows intimately what
happened, and he's not letting it go. Good for him!!
It
will come as no surprise to my readers to hear that I ventured an
observation-question during question time. I said first how much I
appreciated his work and that his books were more than enjoyable,
that “enjoyable” might not be the right word, I guess. But then
I said, look, Hitler's guys were a bunch of thugs, clearly. Do you
remember Godfather II and Hyman Roth – Kerr nodded yes, he sure did
– “Michael, we are going to get what we've always wanted, a
partnership with a government. Now the observation-question: do you
think this describes the Putin government as well? Lots of reaction
from the crowd behind me – they didn't see this coming – kind of
amazed chortle-bemusement.
Kerr
also hadn't made the connection, and you could see he liked it. He
said, of course that's right, and made the obvious points. Putin was
KGB chief in Dresden and took over from Yeltsin in return for leaving
the Yeltsin family alone, and they thought they could control him,
which turned out to be a bad bet. Kerr said that he would be brave
in saying this, hoping that it wouldn't lead to a rendezvous with
thallium or radioactive rubidium. He remembered visiting with the
Chief of Police in St. Petersburg in the early 90's and wanting to
interview and get lots of data. The Chief was very cooperative, and
Kerr paid about ₤200
to rent a car from the KGB! He said that he was probably the only
Brit who paid the KBG for information instead of the other way round.
He asked the Chief why he was doing this, and the Chief said, to get
the truth out. He said glasnost, he said perestroika. Kerr said,
you sure don't hear those words anymore. I wondered if this was the
same Chief who was good friends with my friend Victor, who actually
saved his life by exiling him as a penalty for his samizdats on the
real health statistics of St. Petersburg, instead of having him sent
to the gulag.
In
other words, he took my point and supported it. Later, there was a
guy in front of me in the audience who asked the first question, and
we traded cards. He is a principal in the firm Grant & Gutsell –
Customs, Tax and Border Control Consulting in the UK. He brought
up Kaliningrad, né
Konigsberg, an old Prussian City now a hotbed of Russian military and
spy activity, an active and festering abscess on the Baltic between
Poland and Lithuania. He referred me to Martin Cruz Smith recent
book, Tanya. “It's all true,” he said, “It's not fiction!”
He
was amazed when I said I had read it, and indeed Bill Smith was a
friend of mine, and he had joined us at a baseball game a couple of
years ago, and that he was from Reading, PA. Actually, the friend I
have is Nelson Branco, his son-in-law, a fellow pediatrician. I
overplayed it a little, but it seemed too sweet to pass up. My
father would have said of me, “Bigshot!”
There
were a few other points. Kerr said that Churchill had gotten it
exactly right when he rallied the British and said they were looking
into the abyss. “Absolutely right!” That was Churchill's
genius. He said he was asked by Americans about “his process” of
writing his books. He pooh-pooed the question, saying, “Well, I
start working at 8 o'clock....” He was asked why Bernie moves to
different areas for the books – “I thought it would be boring if
he just stayed in one place.” I agree. Part of the reason we
stayed at Cap Ferrat for four days during this trip is that this is
Bernie's locale lately, at the Grand Hotel, which we walked around in
since our new friends Marty and Ellen stayed there. He also alluded
to Bernie's being a unreliable narrator, which as we know is a
literary allusion. I don't think I ever thought about that, myself.
He
finds it interesting and ironic that Hitler's bunker in Berlin is
located where there is now a car park. Likewise, it is interesting
and ironic that you can go to Berchtesgaden and have tea and biscuits
as you you look out at the beautiful view.
So,
that was my evening with Philip. Full of thought, full of action!
Just like the books. What an exciting time! Came home and told Ann
all about it. So, so sweet.
Budd
Shenkin