Paul Perry kindly responded to an email I'd sent him the other day, in which I recommended the work of Leo Perutz. Perutz is an astonishing storyteller - one who deftly plays with genre and narrative devices that some more openly "experimental" writers seem to ignore. I'd written a bit about both Perry and Perutz here.
Now for the embarrassing part. I must set the record straight.
In his reply, Paul mentioned that he'd written about Perutz on his site, Alamut, in April. I went to the link, and laughed. Here's my reply:
Dear Paul,
Thanks for your reply and your posting. I've been sharing my enthusiasm for Perutz with friends and anyone who will listen since learning about him several months ago. The Arcade press has been doing a fine job with his work - I thought the translation of the Marquis was superb. The same translator also did The Swedish Cavalier - another fascinating tale with a character of such powers of stealth that he can get into any locked room, or out of any prison, with ease. There are peculiar moments in the narrative when he is speaking, but people are not hearing him - as if his nature were somehow occluding him even when he's trying to be heard. It's also a tale of one man "assuming" another man's life. The uncanny is alive and well in this work.
This is all by way of telling you how I laughed aloud when I went to your posting about Perutz. I had been trying in vain to recall where I'd first heard of him. Your link brought the realization - I was recommending this amazing author to the very fellow who had brought him to my attention. I think I must have gone straight from your post to Amazon, read more about him, and ordered Bolibar. As soon as I began reading it, I ordered three more (Leonardo's Judas - his last - is also superb) and look forward to obtaining everything else I can find.
So it is I who owe you thanks - forgive me for being so daft. If you don't mind, I'll clarify the debt on my site.
Best,
Tom
To all others than Paul, I warmly commend Paul's site with its intriguing web of preoccupations. From the locked room where my memory used to be...
