"Yuri Felsen's Deceit offers the reader that rarest of gifts: a glimpse into consciousness as it was constructed nearly a hundred years ago; a portrait not only of how one Russian émigré lived in Paris in the first half of the Twentieth Century but of what and how he thought. This is an improbably modern novel in which, to my own surprise, I seemed, again and again, to encounter and recognize myself.
—Miranda Popkey, author of Topics of Conversation
"As astute as it is disturbed, as callow as it is wise, and as brilliant as it is idiosyncratic,
Deceit reads like the twisted love child of Proust and Dostoevsky, but with a genius all its own.”
—Antoine Wilson, author of Mouth to Mouth and Panorama City
“The miracle of Yuri Felsen is how his apparently Nabokovian rhythms lull you into a false sense of security, before a sudden and chilling exposure to the weather of a walk where the whole elegantly interwoven conceit of the narrator is ripped apart. And the pain of someone like Walser glints through a decadent surface of exiled life in Paris, to hint at darker shadows to come.”
—Iain Sinclair, filmmaker and author of The Last London
"Timely, relatable, and thoroughly absorbing, if Deceit proves anything, it is how little both our interior and exterior lives have changed over the span of a tumultuous century."
—Sarah Gear, Los Angeles Review of Books
"The prose is electrifying, irascible and melodic, a potentially unruly mixture brought harmoniously together by the translator Bryan Karetnyk."
—Matthew Janney, The Spectator
"We are trapped in the narrator’s head as we’re trapped in our own consciousness; this is Felsen’s power."
—The Irish Times
"So far, so very Proust, of whom Felsen was an acolyte. Witness his long, elastic sentences, and some of their favourite tricks, such as the centrifugal spin from a transient feeling to a pronouncement on humanity...Felsen's name deserves to be conjured with, just as it was before Paris fell."
"This translation is a formidable achievement...reading these pages as the narrator minutely examines his own judgments has a hypnotic effect. Layer after layer is stripped from the narrator's mind until we are left with the core: amor vincit omnia."
"For reasons that are evident from the first page, Felsen achieved with the publication of Deceit the reputation of a Russian Proust, an accolade reinforced by Karetnyk’s splendid, lucent translation."
—Hong Kong Review of Books