The Foreign Correspondent (Night Soldiers, #9)

by Alan Furst

Nobody just reads the news these days, they decipher it, like a code.”

Maybe he could’ve left three years ago, but there was still hope, then, that somebody would see the light and get rid of the Nazis. From the beginning, in ’thirty-three, nobody here could believe what they were doing, that they could get away with it.

“It’s only the very best, now, who will do anything. Here, in this, monstrosity.”

The fascists, as she’d seen, were brutal men, and wicked. And wickedness had always to be overcome, otherwise the lovely things in the world, beauty, truth, and romance, would all be ruined, and nobody would want to live in it.

but it’s the same with journalists—journalists work for other people, for Capital, and that’s who gets to tell them what to write. Nations are run by oligarchies, by whoever’s powerful, and that’s where any service will commit its resources,