I have tender feelings for this little orange book of fiction about a Finnish-American family of eleven rooted in a deep, evangelical Lutheran faith called Laestadianism. I consider myself a hearty reader of religion and spirituality, familiar with the Amish, the Mennonites and the Mormons. But before reading We Sinners, penned by a young author who grew up in this fundamentalist upbringing, I knew nothing of this faith. The story follows all nine children, three of whom leave the church, in modern-day Michigan. The Rovaniemis appear to be just like any other American family. They just don’t watch television, drink alcohol, dance, listen to music, or engage in any of the joys of the modern world.
There is no doubt that Hanna Pylvainen is a gifted writer. She writes with a Hemingway-like simplicity and a Woolf-like gravity. Something about the string of narratives in this book, each chapter showing the point of view of a different member of the family, reminds me of Virginia Woolf’s experimental novel, The Waves. In that book, each of the six characters has a direct voice, speaking in the first person. Though We Sinners is written in the third person, the author manages to make each family member appear to be speaking in the first person.
Surprisingly, the family doesn’t seem dysfunctional, even though Brita, the oldest and seemingly most devout child, shuns another, Julia, the middle child, for not believing. She tells her she doesn’t want her holding her baby anymore. Also, the parents don’t come to the funeral of their son’s partner. Their son Simon is gay, and has left the faith too. In each and every page, the reader feels the love that remains within the family. This makes the conflict brutal for the children who are disconnected from the faith. Julia, the most relatable character, has one of the most compelling points of views as depicted in the chapter “Total Loss.” Plyvainen writes, “She wanted to prove that she could leave the church and not become a disaster, that she could still be a good sister, a good aunt, find a good husband—she could still be loved, just the same.” Julia, together with her other two siblings who leave the faith, are given little compassion by their parents and devout siblings for their choices.
As for the remaining faithful children, life doesn’t seem to be any more settled. In “Rupture,” Brita is on the precipice of having her seventh C-section. Her doctor is petrified that her uterus will rupture due to her history. She suffers a massive hemorrhage during the surgery, but miraculously survives. Even with that miracle, she remains shrouded in hopelessness: “She realized she had run out of fantasies—out of husbands to imagine, homes to build, pianos—there was nothing, only life itself, only long and hard and always more of it, always more.” As positive adherents of religion, we think of faith as pulling us above the doldrums of life to the endless possibilities. Yet here faith is as limiting as it can get. A belief against birth control leads to Brita’s seventh C-section. The reader is left to wonder, would she survive the eighth?
Though the narratives are beautifully woven together, the book longs for a strong sense of place. There is little description of their town or city. I also didn’t get a palpable sense of their Finnish culture. I am left with many questions about their faith and family history. When did the parents come to the United States? Were they first generation? If so, what was life growing up in Finland like for the parents? What is it like to be Finnish-American?
The last chapter named “Whiskey Dragon, 1847” was completely disconnected from the rest of the story. Here we are given a completely impartial narrative including Laestadius, the founder and leader of their church. But giving us a whole new story about a woman and her alcoholic husband in the Scandinavian tundra of the nineteenth century, whereby the drinking leads to devastating consequences, didn’t shed much light on the faith or culture of the early Laestadians.
Still, We Sinners is one of those rare books that stays with you long after you’ve read the last chapter. It disturbs, it moves, it gnaws. At times the author’s words were so moving and penetrating that I saw chills running up my arms. I haven’t had that reaction in some time.