DIARY OF A HERETIC

In Stein’s debut historical fantasy novel, a French libertine lives to regret a Faustian bargain.

One winter evening in 1925, a young man bursts through the back door of a Philadelphia watchmaker’s shop and immediately falls unconscious on the floor. The German-born proprietor, Al Valentine, thinks that he recognizes the unconscious man from a long time ago—at least, he knows the man’s distinctive pocket watch. However, if he’s the person whom Al thinks he is, he hasn’t aged a day in decades. Al begins to read the book that he finds in the man’s overcoat; it turns out to be the diary of one Etienne Allard, a hedonist of belle epoque Paris. Etienne’s appetite for gambling, sex, and corrupting the chaste is so great that it earns him the sobriquet l’Hérétique. After his Sade-an ways finally leave him friendless and nearly destitute, Etienne loses his remaining funds on a high-stakes card game with a wealthy Russian named Kazakov. As Etienne begins plotting his impossible revenge, he receives an unexpected visitor: a bird who bursts into flames and then turns into a man—a demon who makes Etienne an infernal offer. Etienne can enjoy 70 additional years of youth and health and all the money he could ever want, but only if he delivers seven sinful souls to the demon. There, the diary ends, and by the time Al has finished reading it, the unconscious Etienne has woken up and vanished. When tragedy later strikes Al’s life and the young man reappears, the two form an alliance to help the latter escape his sinister agreement.

Over the course of this novel, Stein employs an ornate prose style that manages to replicate the tone and atmosphere of 19th-century gothic novels, even during the sections that are set in the 20th century: “A tortured cry, like the bawl of a dying animal, rang out. Al…hurried back to the foyer, following the wails of lament like a trail of audible breadcrumbs.” It’s a fun read, overall, with a leisurely pace that nevertheless locks the reader in with a slowly building sense of anticipation. The novel is a true pastiche, crafting an impressively detailed Faustian tale for its readers: “The terms, like the agreement, are simplicity itself,” claims the demon as he lays out his devilish terms. “Seven sins, seventy years. A décennie for each sin, no less.” However, it does so without ever commenting on the form in any meaningful way or updating it for the 20th century, let alone the 21st. Even its sense of morality and immorality will strike many readers as strikingly staid and traditional. As a result, many contemporary readers may find themselves bored by its old-fashioned manner, particularly given the work’s considerable length (more than 400 pages) and anodyne resolution. Readers who enjoy fiction of this particular European vintage, though, are sure to find much to delight them in this tale of depravity, exile, and redemption.

An often fun and sometimes frightful story, although its retro ways feel rather simplistic.