Let’s raise an aperitif to a seemingly more civilized conflict: World War II. If you’ve grown weary of suicide bombers and the war on terror, there’s no better escape than a book where the bad guys might kill you, but at least they won’t cut your head off on live TV. Carlo Weisz is the titular hack who also helps write an underground anti-Mussolini newspaper. When its editor is assassinated, Weisz must take his place. The Foreign Correspondent by Alan Furst is all rainy Parisian streets and low-key espionage with nary a sense of real danger or anything nearly as ingenious as the backward-rotating windmills in the Hitchcock movie of the same name. Like a wire-service dispatch, it gets the job done and little more.