clock … watching time, the only true currency

Alan Furst is a find. Since the paperback of The Foreign Correspondent touts “New York Times Bestseller,” I’m slow in that revelation.

Start with the eventful lead-up to World War II, add Italian emigrés in Paris in 1938, when travel throughout Europe is still allowed (if dangerous to some), throw in the security services of four different countries, and add a surprising love affair. Furst delivers a compact, literary “small” thriller.

One note: Furst’s website is awful. I couldn’t find a link to The Foreign Correspondent page on the site itself, resorting to repeated Googling to arrive at the exact destination cited above.