Eve of the catastrophe
Two historical novels have been published so far in the literary series about Thomas More by François Sureau: the first volume Les enfants perdus Set in 1870 after the Battle of Sedan, this detective story lies at the intersection of crime fiction and historical reflection. Following the defeat at Sedan, More is held as a prisoner of war when the Prussian king involves him in a mysterious murder case within his own circle, thus drawing him into a complex criminal investigation. Beyond solving this crime, the novel subsequently explores questions about the nature of evil and crime itself, while More investigates other cases, such as the series of fires targeting churches in eastern France.
The second novel Loin de Salonique François Sureau's novel (Gallimard, 2026) begins in Monastir and Thessaloniki in the spring of 1913, in the politically charged Balkans shortly before the First World War. These two cities in southeastern Europe, a region in turmoil, had only recently slipped from the grasp of the crumbling Ottoman Empire. The historical Monastir is modern-day Bitola, while Salonique refers to Thessaloniki, still bearing the marks of its Ottoman heritage. The setting is therefore not a peripheral location, but a politically overheated Balkan region where the imperial multi-ethnic order and the reorganization of nation-states overlapped – a liminal landscape on the eve of European catastrophe.
The plot is triggered by the discovery of the body of French law professor André Charlot in the burial vault of a Jewish family in Thessaloniki. The enigmatic Thomas More, a Frenchman experienced in diplomatic and intelligence missions, takes on the unofficial investigation together with the businessman Paul Seligmann. Their inquiries lead them through consulates, police stations, trading houses, and private residences, uncovering a web of political tensions, economic interests, and historical loyalties. The murder case thus becomes the focal point of an era of transition, in which the Ottoman legacy, Greek state formation, Jewish diaspora identity, and European power politics intersect.
Thomas More
The name is an allusion to Thomas More. The author of Utopia In European intellectual history, he stands for humanistic universalism, for the idea of a rational order, and at the same time for the tragedy of political loyalty. He combined practical statecraft with philosophical reflection – and paid for his conscientious decision in favor of Henry VIII with his life. This tension between political reality and normative ideal also shapes the character of Thomas More in the novel.
The literary Thomas More, a discreet investigator and political observer, moves through a space on the brink of historical catastrophe. Like his early modern namesake, he embodies an awareness of order, measure, and justice in a world of increasing complexity. He is not merely a detective, but a figure of sound judgment. His education, his profound historical insight, and his skepticism toward ideological oversimplifications are reminiscent of the humanist spirit of the Renaissance.
At the same time, the allusion has an ironic, understated quality. While More with Utopia While the novel's protagonist, Thomas More, envisioned an ideal state, inhabits a decidedly non-utopian reality: a Balkan region torn apart by nationalism, secret diplomacy, and shifts in power. His presence, in a sense, marks the gap between humanist ideals of order and the political modernity of the pre-1914 era. Utopia remains unattainable here; at best, it exists only as a faint echo chamber.
Furthermore, the name evokes a continuity of European history. The novel links the end of the Ottoman Empire with a longer tradition of European self-interpretation. From this perspective, Thomas More becomes a kind of wandering memory of Europe: a figure who carries the consciousness of earlier eras to the threshold of catastrophe.
The allusion is therefore doubly coded: it ennobles the figure with humanistic authority while simultaneously underscoring the tragedy of his historical moment. In a world losing its utopian horizons, More remains a representative of the idea – but without the power to halt this development.
Jewish city
The exploration of Jewishness forms a central structural element of the novel. Thessaloniki appears as a predominantly Jewish city with a Sephardic character, yet simultaneously as a site of internal Jewish tensions: religious tradition, secular civic-mindedness, Zionist aspirations, and pragmatic adaptation coexist. Paul Seligmann embodies a form of cosmopolitan, economically grounded Jewishness that cannot be defined solely in religious or national terms. His family has a presence in France, Vienna, and the Ottoman Empire; identity here arises from migration, trade, education, and loyalty. It is precisely this multifaceted nature that makes them vulnerable to political upheavals. The murder of Charlot carries the risk of antisemitic instrumentalization—and thus points to the latent precarity of Jewish existence in a space where power relations are currently being redefined.
The novel avoids any essentialist definition. The question of the "essence" of Jewishness is repeatedly alluded to, but not answered. Instead, Jewishness is presented as a historically developed, relational entity: a network of languages (French, Ladino, German, Greek), trade relations, and cultural references. It is not a homogeneous block, but a polyphonic, diasporic form of belonging. This openness contrasts with the hardening national ideologies of the time. While nation-states strive for unambiguous definitions, the Jewish community thrives on ambiguity—and is thus caught in the crossfire.
In terms of genre, the novel occupies a hybrid space. Outwardly, it follows the structure of a detective novel: a mysterious murder, an exceptional investigator, clues, interrogations, suspicions. But the criminal puzzle is never an end in itself. The question of the perpetrator recedes behind a more comprehensive historical diagnosis. The text combines elements of the historical novel, the political essay, and the metaphysical parable. Thomas More acts less as a classic detective in the sense of rational deduction than as a figure of memory, revealing deep historical layers. The investigative work becomes a method for uncovering the hidden tensions of an entire continent.
Multiethnic region and France
At its core, the novel depicts a multi-ethnic space in decline. Monastir and Thessaloniki appear as hubs of an Ottoman-European cosmos, where Greeks, Turks, Jews, Slavs, and Western European diplomats interact. This coexistence is fraught with tension, yet functional. Markets, ports, consulates, and workshops form a network of pragmatic cooperation. The novel portrays this space with a subtle melancholy: the characters move within a world that still seems intact, yet whose disintegration is already foreseeable. The national movements, secret societies, and diplomatic intrigues act like tectonic shifts beneath a seemingly stable surface.
France occupies a special position within this framework. It appears as a cultural reference power, a diplomatic actor, and the bearer of a universalist understanding of law. The Seligmanns look to France as a land of emancipation and the republican ideal; Charlot embodies French administrative rationality; More represents a form of political acumen that operates beyond national borders. At the same time, France is not innocent: its interests discreetly permeate the Balkans, and its representatives are involved in the power struggle. France thus stands for a dual movement—for an ideal of European Enlightenment and for real power politics.
Thomas More encapsulates this ambivalence. His character seems detached from time, almost ahistorical, as if carrying within him the memory of past conflicts and revolutions. He moves with linguistic and cultural ease between communities. A universalist aspiration, opposed to particular nationalisms, is concentrated within him. Yet his ability to recognize and interpret does not mean he can prevent the impending catastrophe. He remains an observer and temporary organizer, not a savior.
New Diaspora
The novel's ending is correspondingly restrained. The criminal investigation doesn't bring about a triumphant restoration of order. Rather, a feeling of latent threat lingers. Crucial is the inner turmoil of the characters, especially Seligmann's. His desire to leave the city points to an impending historical dynamic: the diaspora will reorganize, the multicultural space will disintegrate. This individual decision exemplifies a collective shift in living spaces.
In its overall context, the novel can be read as a meditation on the end of an era. The murder appears as a symptom of a larger process of disintegration. Jewishness emerges as a seismograph of historical tensions, France as an ambivalent point of reference between ideal and power, and the Balkans as the stage for an impending European self-destruction. The quiet, melancholic ending underscores that history does not end abruptly, but rather announces itself in barely perceptible shifts. The book captures the moment when a world still exists—and is simultaneously already in the process of disappearing.
This article is written in German and can be found at https://rentree.de. Automatic translations into English and French are available. English, French.
