None of the reviews I’ve seen attempt to judge Oath on its merits as a thriller—only as a Christian thriller. I find this insulting and sad. The implication is that it is unfair or irrelevant to weigh Christian cultural/artistic efforts on the same scale as secular culture. This is akin to saying that it is unfair to judge art produced by women by the same standards as art produced by men; it’s patronizing and wrong. Bach wrote sacred music of enduring power and beauty—suck on that, Jars of Clay. The devotional poems of John Donne or Saint John of the Cross resonate with visceral passion and energy. Hieronymus Bosch’s paintings radiate the terror and fascination of sin. Their genius isn’t just Christian genius, though; it’s genius, period. Their work stands as tall on its artistic merits as its spiritual ones. In fact, I’d argue that their artistic value increases their spiritual worth, because one doesn’t have to be a believer to appreciate them. The Hallelujah Chorus can fill an inveterate atheist with religious awe. My guess is that Frank Peretti converts about as many non-Christians as Ann Coulter converts Democrats.
So, judged on its merits as a thriller, Oath is dreck. The prose is abysmal—plodding, repetitive amateur hour, drained of suspense. Oath is full of clunky passages like “Tracy Ellis didn’t want to answer that question. ‘I’m not going to answer that,’ she said.” As the spooky story it attempts to be, this book is a cheap house of horrors with the lights on. You see all the mechanical devices that are supposed to pop out and startle you from a mile away. Peretti’s description of the protagonist falling for his lady-friend is particularly excruciating. Peretti seems incapable of displaying attraction as anything but sleazy. No wonder so many of his Christian readers are disturbed by his descriptions of sin! His supposedly decent character’s “impure thoughts” are creepy and gross.
For those that still cry foul, who argue that Oath is still somehow worth my while despite being objectively awful, I must add that theologically, Oath is also, sadly, dreck. One doesn’t have to read past the introduction to find this out. In that introduction, the author reveals his inspiration and purpose for writing this book. He was judging some friends of his for their sinfulness, but alas, he did not judge them loudly enough, and they sinned even more. Peretti wrote Oath so neither he nor his readers would ever again tragically miss an opportunity to judge their friends and neighbors. It’s just like Christ said: “Judge not, lest ye become a New York Times bestselling author.”
Of course, the insular, self-righteous un-charitablity extends beyond the introduction. I could write a thesis on the many ways in which this book gives Christianity a bad name. Stereotype one: religion reinforces misogyny: check. In this book, women separated from their husbands lose sanity and personhood. They are frantic, irrational agents of unfocused destruction who must be controlled through marriage to a strong-willed man. I wonder how single gals Mary and Martha or their best pal (Jesus) would feel about that. Stereotype two: religion cannot co-exist with rational thought: check. Are we not all sick of this yet? The titular oath is a pact to make Reason a small town’s only God. Cue the hysterical fears about godless scientists and public schoolteachers now, folks. Fortunately, Peretti had the spiritual integrity not expose himself to any of that dangerous Reason in his research for this novel. He mentions it, but he and his characters seem blissfully innocent of what it actually is. Stereotype three: Christians are judgmental hypocrites: check. For a man that professes to worship a loving God, Peretti evinces great relish as he dooms sinner after sinner to a horrific terrestrial death followed, one assumes, by eternal suffering in hell. Is a lake of fire that burns but never consumes not enough for this guy? Why must his sinners also be punished, horribly, all out of proportion to their actions, here on Earth? That doesn’t sound like Christianity to me—it sounds like fascism. Peretti is genuinely unwilling to engage with ideas that oppose his own. He can’t conceive of a charitable humanist, even though charity is the cornerstone of humanism. He doesn’t deserve to be taken seriously because he doesn’t take non-Christians seriously. How can he persuasive if he doesn’t understand that against which he argues? Like his own protagonists, he can’t really see the monster he’s trying to fight.
In Romans, the apostle Paul writes that God gives each of his children different gifts. It is not my job to judge the state of Peretti’s soul. In judging the state of his art, however, I have to hope that his spiritual gifts lie elsewhere. And to any Christians out there whose consciences don’t allow them to consume secular art, and whose tastes don’t run to seventeenth century devotional poetry, may I recommend Steven King’s The Stand? It’s a Christian thriller, I swear—about the end of times, no less. And it’s, you know…good.