Chez Max

 

Provoked by the events of 9/11 and the US reaction, Jakob Arjouni wrote a clever and satiric novel focusing on a state intelligence officer and the workings of mass hysteria.

2064 - Securely fenced off from the rest of the world, life in Euroasia, except for a handful of suicide bombings and border disputes, is constantly improving. On the other side of the fence, countries are being exploited and wracked by regression, dictatorship, and religious fanaticism. People live in poverty and misery.

Max Schwartzwald is the owner of Chez Max, a smart Parisian restaurant, but he is also an Ashcroft agent, a member of a secret government organisation whose mission is to promptly identify and weed out anything that may threaten the political status quo.

Schwartzwald's biggest problem is his Ashcroft partner, Chen Wu, a self-righteous loudmouth, who leaves no taboo unbroken, attacks every human weakness and takes liberties at will - all because of the spectacular successes he has achieved within the organisation.

But is Chen a double agent who is bringing illegal immigrants into the Euroasian world and is this the opportunity for Max to get rid of his partner once and for all?

 

Jakob Arjouni 1964 - 2013

No Exit Press grew up along with Jakob Arjouni - they a mere 8 years old and Jakob just turned 30, when they published his debut Kemal Kayankaya novel, Happy Birthday, Turk in 1995 - the start of a publishing collaboration and personal friendship lasting almost 20 years.

His untimely death from pancreatic cancer at just 48 years old in Berlin is a huge shock and we will miss him as a writer and as a friend. Our thoughts are with his wife, Miranda and his three children, Elsa, Emil and Lucy.

No Exit Press will be publishing his fifth Kayankaya novel, 
Brother Kemal
, this summer along with new editions of the other titles in the series that also includes 
More Beer
; 
One Man, One Murder
 and 
Kismet
 - and then we will have one hell of a party to celebrate the life and work of Jakob Arjouni.

 

 
Books by Jakob Arjouni

Happy Birthday Turk!
 (A Kayankaya mystery)
More Beer
 (A Kayankaya mystery)
One Man, One Murder
 (A Kayankaya mystery)
Magic Hoffmann
Kismet
 (A Kayankaya mystery)
Chez Max
Brother Kemal
 (A Kayankaya mystery)
 

Praise for
 
Chez Max

‘This remarkable novella, translated from the German, is set in 2064 when Eurasia is safely fenced off from the rest of the world. Outside, dictators and religious fanatics are left to do their worst. But in Eurasia there is politicalparalysis, maintained by means of secret police and a secret government organisation that exists to maintain the artificial stability of an oppressive, bigoted society. Its methods involve identifying and then eliminating anyone who might rock the boat. Max Schwartzwald, who runs a smart Parisian restaurant is an agent of the secret organisation. He knows that it ‘disappears' dissidents but still doesn't hesitate to turn in his friends. His partner Chen is less conformist. Is he a double agent bringing illegal immigrants into the Euroasian world, and if so, what should Max do about it? This is a fable, apparently inspired by the world's reaction to 9/11, and designed to show where mass hysteria can lead. A timely oddity' – 
Literary Review

Praise for Jakob Arjouni

‘It takes an outsider to be a great detective, and Kemal Kayankaya is just that' – 
Independent

‘A worthy grandson of Marlowe and Spade' – 
Stern

‘Jakob Arjouni writes the best urban thrillers since Raymond Chandler' – 
Tempo

‘There is hardly another German-speaking writer who is as sure of his milieu as Arjouni is. He draws incredibly vivid pictures of people and their fates in just a few words. He is a master of the sketch – and the caricature – who operates with the most economic of means'
– 
Die Welt, Berlin

‘Kemal Kayankaya is the ultimate outsider among hard-boiled private eyes'
– 
Marilyn Stasio, New York Times

‘Arjouni is a master of authentic background descriptions and an original story teller'
– 
Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung

‘Arjouni tells real-life stories, and they virtually never have a happy ending. He tells them so well, with such flexible dialogue and cleverly maintained tension, that it is impossible to put his books down' – 
El País, Madrid

‘His virtuosity, humour and feeling for tension are a ray of hope in literature on the other side of the Rhine' – 
Actuel, Paris

‘Jakob Arjouni is good at virtually everything: gripping stories, situational comedy, loving character sketches and apparently coincidental polemic commentary' – 
Süddeutsche Zeitung, Munich

‘A genuine storyteller who beguiles his readers without the need of tricks' – 
L'Unità, Milan

‘If you like your investigators tough and sassy, Kayankaya is your guide' – 
Sunday Times

‘This is true hardboiled detective fiction, realistic, violent and occasionally funny, with a hero who lives up to the best traditions of the genre' – 
Telegraph

‘A gripping caper and a haunting indictment of the madness of nationalism, illuminated by brilliant use of language: magnificent'
– 
Guardian
 

Translated from the
German by Anthea Bell

noexit.co.uk

 

 
 

In the Year 2064
 

1

 

I was standing outside my restaurant – Chez Max,
cuisine allemande
– in the eleventh arrondissement of Paris, looking down the street to the building where Leon lived. Outside its sand-coloured façade, and looking like a gigantic tropical beetle, stood a shiny orange TEF. Such was the abbreviated English name of the Three Elements Fighter, the latest Eurosecurity task-force vehicle. It could drive on land, navigate in water and fly through the air, hence also its German name of BoWaLu, combining the first syllables in that language of
Boden
, land,
Wasser,
water, and
Luft
, air. As for the French, they called it an
Aireauterre
, the Italian name was something ending in –
oso
, I forget exactly what, but the rest of Europe just used the English term anyway.

The TEF had only been in use for six months, and the press, TV and government departments concerned were forever describing it as a technological miracle. Personally, knowing what life was like inside a TEF, I considered it a vehicle straight from hell. Its equipment consisted of several voice-operated machine guns; a mist-thrower; a flame-thrower; five explosive rockets (which also functioned under water as torpedoes); a laser beam that would cut through anything, even concrete; a super-sensitive directional microphone with a built-in translation computer capable of handling all known languages – including or perhaps particularly those now banned – radar devices for locating human beings, chemicals, radioactivity and gases; as well as a TV, a dry shower, and a sandwich-vending machine offering a choice of three flavours: Parma ham, roasted vegetables with cheese, and kangaroo with pesto.

I knew all this so well because I and colleagues of mine from the Ashcroft agency had been sent on a TEF training course two months before. None of us knew exactly why, since our own activities never involved any direct contact with criminal or terrorist elements. But orders had come from Eurosecurity HQ: all security departments had to familiarise themselves with the operation and functions of the TEF. After four days of this training programme I was able to drive the TEF a few kilometres, use the directional microphone to listen in on the conversation of two Finnish colleagues in the espresso lounge admiring our well-stacked female presenter, unintentionally fill the training hall with mist, and take a kangaroo sandwich out of the vending machine although I'd wanted Parma ham.

‘You don't have to learn every little thing about operating the TEF,' the woman running our course explained. ‘That would take several weeks of training. But if you happen to be near an incident during a TEF operation carried out by your colleagues from the Reality departments, it's in your own interests to know about the various weapons systems and what they can do. And of course you're duty bound to come to the aid of colleagues in an emergency. If the crew is in difficulties, and you can get inside the TEF, then you have to be capable of moving it out of the action zone.'

The training course leader spoke Serbo-Croat in a husky and to my mind very sexy voice, and I kept taking the simultaneous translation button out of my ear to listen to the original. Not that I knew a word of Serbo-Croat, so I missed the drift of half her lecture, but anyway I was certain that I would never try doing anything whatsoever with a TEF, let alone ‘moving it out of the action zone'. Whatever that might mean.

I wasn't a Reality man, after all. I was an Ashcroft man. My sphere was crime prevention, not ongoing emergencies or dangerous situations.

But at that moment, as I stood outside my restaurant and looked down the street, I wasn't thinking of the rockets and machine guns hidden behind the orange bodywork; I was wondering, in some dismay, why they hadn't brought a normal police car to arrest a potential small-time drugs dealer. What would the neighbours think? The TEF made it look as if Leon were a serious offender or a terrorist. And I'd specially asked for discretion!

I felt my face going hot. This was wrong. And I hated it when things went wrong. On this occasion I was to some extent responsible, so I hated myself too. Because while it had been my job and my duty to inform on Leon, and I considered my job and my duty as an Ashcroft agent necessary to society and usually honourable, this time I'd rather have known as little as possible of the consequences of my actions. After all, I'd been acquainted with Leon for years; I had frequently welcomed him to Chez Max as a guest, I'd ended many evenings'
tête-à-tête
with him over one of those squat bottles of Franconian wine, talking about women, life and love, and I'd often come close to regarding him as a friend.