Here’s another Romanian book from my parents’ library and while I was happy to read something they have read as well, the book itself was really disappointing. Filled with flourishes of talking, the dialogue is stilted and the plot moves really slowly.

What’s it about you ask? A police lieutenant called Wolf investigates a case relating to stolen artwork in Bucharest. The plot thickens and somebody dies. It’s all about his solitary life, Romanians living under German occupation during the Nazis and the difficulties in still running an operative police force against all odds.

I was bored to tears. You can tell it’s written by a guy because all the women had no role other than be dumb and just occasionally seduce the men. They are either prostitutes sleeping with the Germans or grand ladies with no space in-between. The men themselves are either kiss-ups to the occupiers, trying to make a buck during war time, or stoic and reserved military, always on the lookout for the country’s best interests.

Written in 1985, the book has a strong whiff of propaganda and pro-nationalist movement, very prevalent in prose during the Ceausescu era.

Do not recommend.