1994
SMALL French Embassy
SMALL Ex-communist East European Country
BIG Bordelle...
Farce and moral ambiguity in a pre-digital French embassy in 1994 war-buffeted Eastern Europe.
"Gwynne is deliriously funny. His sensibility, however disturbing, is always expressed with wit. Mr. Gwynne can write." — THE NEW YORK TIMES
“P. N. Gwynne has a sharp ear for accents and a quick eye for the ridiculous.” — THE SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE
“Gwynne packs his novels with a very funny assortment of types who speak in accurate , ingeniously spelled dialogue.” — PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
“Few connoisseurs of failed diplomacy can hold a candle to P.N. Gwynne, whose latest hero, Michel-Ange de la Fassederad, finds himself unworthily promoted to Chargé d’Affaires at the French Embassy in Gryaznia, which sounds like an over-the-counter remedy but is actually a disremembered capital somewhere in the Balkans. Almost immediately, Michel is fighting for self and country in a bureaucratic riot that unfolds in three languages. This is where Gwynne sprinkles his original English/French/Russian mix through the narrative as few writers can, a welcome and truly shameless salute to international affairs.”
A. J. PANOS, Chargé d’Affaires, U.S. Embassy, Bangui, Central African Republic
P. N. Gwynne, above, in New York City in 2020
P. 11
“Mon colonel, may I only inquire – why Gryaznia?”
“Ah, well – because... well,” and here the colonel leaned back and decided to become expansive, “because those 'powers that be' seem to feel it necessary to beef up our présence there, which currently only consists of the Ambassador and a type who is both the Consul and also what is rather euphemistically, which is not to say laughably, described as the 'Commercial Attaché' – and I'm not so sure about the propriety of that set-up – sounds like a hell of a potential pétard to me, but so far nobody's asked me.... More reassuringly, there are also a couple of Légionnaires by way of security – des brave types. As well as a receptionist/secretary lady who is a Gryaznian, as per the local law, and some other local hired help. And that, as far as I am aware, is it. And we, euh, they, euh, 'officially' feel that the Americains are exercising increasingly excessive influence there. And so you are to be the added 'beef'.”
Some “beef'” thought the colonel as he squinted at Michel-Ange….
P. 152
“Now you listen to me, petit, and listen well, so that we have no misunderstanding: I am a Sergent-Chef of the Légion Etrangère, verstehen? And when not sleeping, drinking, fucking or shitting, I kill people. That is my boulot, that is what I do.
"You, on the other hand, are sensé to be a diplomat, however half-arsed, and as such, and to the extent that you have any purpose in this life at all, it is to make precisely the kind of call I am hereby ordering you to make, right now. Compris? Have I made myself clear?” Michel-Ange’s face was blank – whether from shock or bemusement was unclear and, in any case, moot. “Bon. Execution. Et qu'ça saute. Hop it, my boy.”
The author as diplomat, 1983
P. N. Gwynne in Paris in 2018