Every time I take a chance on a Christian novel, I journey, you might say, in hope. In most cases, that journey is in vain. Sadly, To Kill a Saint, by Michael Swiger, was no exception. The book was not without virtues, but it demonstrated a considerable lack of craftsmanship.

A prosecuting attorney in Cleveland is called out to a grisly murder in a church sanctuary. A young woman has been raped, tortured, and stabbed to death. The police immediately arrest the pastor, who is found on the floor of his office, scratched and covered in blood.

Hunter St. James is a young attorney working for a big, prestigious firm. He has high ambitions, which are threatened by public memories of the failure of his lawyer father, who was convicted of corruption and died by suicide. He has, however, a good friend in the firm who’s got his back. Hunter is surprised – and annoyed – to be selected as pro bono attorney for the accused pastor. Hunter is an atheist and not favorably disposed toward this man – though the things he says about God trouble his long-held assumptions. He’s also angry at his socialite girlfriend, who recently got pregnant, broke up with him, and aborted their baby.

Meanwhile, his work brings him into contact with a different woman, who offers everything he’s looking for in a partner. But as his career starts falling to pieces, he wonders whether he has anything to offer her.

I’d say that the strongest element in To Kill a Saint is the plotting. The story follows the proper story structure for a mystery/thriller, every beat delivered on cue.

But the book falls down in several areas. First of all, it reads like a Christian novel. There’s too much God-talk, and the Christians inevitably win the arguments (a common failure in Evangelical lit). Even as one character is contemplating suicide, he is still rehashing an argument about the existence of God. (As a long-time depressive, I can state that this isn’t how extreme depression works. In those circumstances, one doesn’t ponder whether God loves one. One just rails at Him.)

The writing was also weak. The author tries – I’ll give him that. But his prose is clumsy, and the harder he works for an effect, the clumsier it gets. Some selected lines go: “Her words stabbed his soul.” “The exquisite line of her lips summoned him.” And, “The smell of dead fish soured his face.”

He also commits the cardinal sin of using exclamation marks to inform us when we’re supposed to be excited.

The book involved a conspiracy by a secret society, a trope that has always annoyed me. No doubt it could be done well, but that’s not the case here.

It also annoyed me that jackboots (which play an important part in the story) are described as having laces. Jackboots do not have laces.

So, all in all, I can’t recommend To Kill a Saint. Cautions are also in order for some fairly disturbing descriptions of the occult and blood ceremonies.