Sam is a Collector. Long ago damned for committing a heinous sin, Sam is doomed to walk the Earth as a disembodied spirit that can collect the souls of men and women. Essentially immortal, Sam can slip in and out of human bodies (dead or alive) almost entirely at will (although he prefers to inhabit corpses, since the living tend to cause a mental racket when you take over their flesh). When Sam is ordered to collect the soul of a girl that Sam is convinced is pure, he disobeys orders and takes her on the run. Now Sam must find out who would frame an innocent girl for damnation, an act that could very well expose Earth to a final battle between the forces of Heaven and Hell.
The story is actually pretty standard for books of this ilk. It is essentially a detective novel combined with elements of the supernatural (or spiritual), and never does the author really try anything new or creative in this regard. Having a very religious upbringing, I've read more than my share of books about angels and demons, and although the concept of a Collector is new (and not even really explained very well), the rest of the book is not.
Furthermore, the author does not seem to have found his voice yet. Most of the novel sounds like it was cobbled together from phrases and passages that I have read in other books, with every cliched phrase present and accounted for, some of them more than once (eyes are black as night, demons barrel like freight trains, hearts are constantly pounding in chests, at least a dozen times muscles, woods, and metals "scream in protest" as they are bent). These old, worn-out descriptions are interspersed with only a few, fleeting moments where the author manages to write or describe something with a simple, poetic beauty.
The rest of the book is either over- or underwritten. At any rate, it's all inconsistent. "I remembered the eyes of the false WaiSun, their blackness so absolute it reduced all thought of light to the fleeing recollection of a half-remembered dream," announces the same character who will later describe a Jacuzzi as "ginormous." All of the characters, in fact, from the powerful warrior angels to random motorists, talk with the same irregular syntax and characterization, and no one seems to have an interesting or unique personality.
The book tries to make Sam a sympathetic figure; he is constantly whining about putting innocent souls at risk, or coming up with ridiculous reasons why he shouldn't jump into a body that isn't in the process of bleeding out (he spends most of the book horribly injured, but that never seems to slow him down). The book is peppered with ill-placed flashbacks that show the (mundane) reason why Sam became a Collector in the first place, but it doesn't change the fact that he is an unremarkable leading man.
The story has helicopter crashes, giant explosions, and more than a handful of chases and close calls, and yet the pacing of the book is utterly without tension. The characters spend far more time bickering about what they're going to do than they actually spend time doing it. Every single choice turns into a debate, with characters very thoroughly explaining their motivations and thought-processes to each other. In one scene, seconds away from being flattened by a speeding subway car, two characters on the tracks make a critical and (obviously) time-sensitive decision. Then they actually spend time explaining to each other why they made those decisions. "Why aren't they now diving out of the way of the train?" I wondered. "Oh, yes. Because the author wants to make sure all of this makes sense, at the expense of making the reader feel like anything here is even at risk."
This isn't even done consistently. Without giving away too much, I will just say that, at one point, Sam (very very very) conveniently discovers a magical ceramic cat that pretty much saves his skin. This cat's origins, power, and effects are never explained at all, but it plays a central role in the entire story. This is what I'm talking about. The periphery of the world is gone over ad nauseum, while key elements are given the deus ex machina treatment.
The author wants to round out his world -- including its murky rules on angel and demon behavior -- but for some reason he chooses to do this almost completely with dialogue instead of narration. Characters who have just seconds ago escaped a horrible death sit calmly down and chit-chat about some of the rules of demonic possession, or what angels look like, or any number of other things that end up not affecting the plot at all. Adding to this, on at least half a dozen occasions, characters remind each other of basic plot points like they are actors from first season CSI ("We should check for GSR." "You mean gunshot residue?" "Yes, thank you for defining out loud an abbreviation that we both already know."). I stopped counting the number of times Sam reminded himself, someone else, or the reader that everything he was doing was to "stop a war of literally Biblical proportions." It, again, neuters the story of any tension or intrigue it would otherwise have.
I really wanted to like the story. The last book I read was good, but ponderous and cerebral, and I was in the mood for something high-speed, high-stakes, and maybe even low-brow. This book, however, is slow, predictable, and not particularly engaging. Sam is immortal, so his death is never really a concern. Kate makes no sense as a character, so neither is hers. If she is collected, it could start a war between angels and demons, but since all of these beings seem slow, easily defeated, and not particularly bright, that also doesn't fill the story with much tension. The whole thing reads like a loud, incomprehensible action sequence, punctuated by forced ennui. The book lacks heart, muscle, brains, and guts, and for a novel about people collecting souls, that's the final death knell.