If You Kept a Record of Sins
This is a beautiful book. And not just because it’s physically beautiful with its compact (about 5”x6”) size and stunning cover photography by Stephen Gill. Written by Italian novelist Andrea Bajani and translated from the Italian by Elizabeth Harris, If You Kept a Record of Sins is narrator Lorenzo’s lament for and ode to his mother – addressed to her directly upon her death – as he travels from Italy to Romania for her funeral. Left behind as a child while his mother (the omnipresent “you” in the book) seeks new personal and professional opportunities in “Wild West” Bucharest, Lorenzo attempts to reconcile his memories with who his mother became. The idea of proper names and titles – or lack of them – looms large, yet it seems as if the name that we read the most is that of Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceauşescu.
If You Kept a Record of Sins is maybe a story of transformation…or perhaps more accurately, a story about surface makeovers. “To see Bucharest, I had to open the window, as though I had to let my reflected image out first. And I saw it wasn’t true—that the lights don’t go off all at once [at Ceausescu Palace], at night. So maybe I was wrong. Outside was Bucharest, and only half the lights were off, a weakened city, some rows of streetlights still on and the rest turned off. Like planes taking off at night with only their courtesy lights on, until they reached their proper place in the sky.” Bajani allows Lorenzo his memories, but then – as if he’s watching his and his mother’s life from a movie director’s perch – Lorenzo sees that even shiny and new things aren’t always as they appear.
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