1.5⭐️
Listen, no one is more surprised than me that I ended up not liking Saints & Sinners. I’ve loved all of Rina’s previous work, so I was genuinely excited for this one. I went in expecting to fall in love with the world, the characters, the romance—but instead, I found myself confused, frustrated, and honestly kind of shocked by how rough the execution was. I found out later that this was actually the first book she ever wrote, and sadly, it really shows.
The writing itself feels incredibly unpolished. It’s repetitive and awkward, with moments of cringey dialogue that completely pulled me out of the story—like that bizarre tampon scene, which felt so out of place and served no real purpose. Like what even was that? It had no relevance to the plot or characters and felt shoehorned in for shock value or maybe humor, but it completely missed the mark.
The repetition in the dialogue stood out a lot too. I lost count of how many times Hunter called Silas and Brandon “idiots.” It didn’t come across as endearing or funny, just lazy. There’s a general lack of depth in the way things are written—it feels like the characters are just going through the motions of the plot without any emotional grounding or personality. We never get a real sense of who any of them are as people. Grace, the protagonist, is clearly meant to be the heart of the story, but she has no clear motivation, no distinct voice, and we’re never really shown how she feels beyond surface-level reactions. Same goes for her romance with Hunter—it’s presented as this intense, forbidden connection, but there’s no buildup, no real chemistry, and no emotional payoff. Their relationship just sort of happens, and we’re expected to be invested in it without understanding why they even like each other.
But what really dragged this book down for me was the worldbuilding. It is, frankly, a mess. None of the mechanics of this universe are clearly explained, and what little information we are given is vague, inconsistent, or just doesn’t make sense. We’re told that Ascendants are born with a piece of a celestial soul, but what does that actually mean? How do they differ from regular humans? Are they chosen, or born to specific bloodlines? Are they spiritually marked or genetically altered? That foundation is never laid, which leaves the entire concept of what makes an Ascendant feel hollow and confusing.
The rules of the world don’t make sense either. Early on, it’s established that the law prohibits Celestials from falling in love—not Ascendants. But then somehow, Grace and Hunter’s romance is forbidden to the point where their memories could be wiped. It contradicts the earlier setup and doesn’t explain why Ascendants, who don’t always ascend, are held to the same standards.
And then there’s the setting itself, which contradicts its own internal logic at every turn. Characters use phones and computers in the beginning, but later Hunter pulls out a physical map like smartphones never existed, and suddenly no one knows how to drive. By the end, phones are completely forgotten—like the author just stopped remembering they were part of the world. It’s jarring and makes the world feel like it only functions when it’s convenient to the plot. There are also massive plot holes everywhere. For instance, Celestia is described as a place specifically for Ascendants with powers, and the entire structure is built around developing and mastering those powers. So how on earth is Grace—who has no powers—placed there at all? Her entire class schedule revolves around learning to use abilities she doesn’t possess. It’s not just strange, it’s completely nonsensical. The book tries to play it off like it’s just her feeling like she doesn’t belong, but the reality is that she literally doesn’t. It’s like putting someone with no arms in a sword-fighting academy and expecting no one to notice.
On top of that, we’re introduced to terms and concepts like Riftkeepers, corrupted souls, demons, Ascension—all these elements that could be fascinating if they were developed—but they’re just thrown in and barely explained. Riftkeepers, for example, are said to be humans who know about Celestials, but then one of them is randomly described as being “extremely powerful,” with no explanation of how a human can go toe-to-toe with supernatural beings. The idea of corruption is also laughably vague. Apparently, someone can become corrupted by doubting or loving someone, and then if they die while corrupted, they turn into demons. But until then, there are no real consequences—not for the corrupted person, not for the people around them. It just weakens some magical barrier around a random place where only a portion of people are. Why would anyone care about corruption if nothing happens unless you die? And even then, the only impact is that demons show up sometimes? It feels like a vague concept thrown in to raise stakes that are never actually felt.
The book is just riddled with contradictions. At one point, someone says casual flings are common, yet by the end, we’re told Grace and Hunter could be mind-wiped for having one. We’re told Ascendants aren’t allowed to have children—but how are Ascendants even made in the first place? If they’re born, then someone had to have children. That question is never answered. And if not all Ascendants ascend into angels, wouldn’t it make more sense that the ones who don’t would start families to keep the line going? But instead, there’s this vague law that applies to everyone, even though it doesn’t make sense for all of them.
And the ending. Oh my god, the ending. Not only was it completely random, but there was absolutely no buildup. No clues, no foreshadowing, nothing to make the reveal feel earned. It didn’t feel like a twist—it felt like the author picked someone out of a hat and said “You’re the villain now.” That kind of writing doesn’t shock the reader; it just leaves them feeling cheated. There were no “aha!” moments, no connections to draw. It just happened, and I was left blinking at the page wondering if I missed something.
All in all, Saints & Sinners had some solid bones—a compelling premise, an intriguing world, the potential for emotionally charged conflict—but it needed so much more development. The characters are underwritten, the world is barely held together, and the plot is full of holes and inconsistencies that make it impossible to suspend disbelief. I truly wanted to love this, and I still believe Rina is a talented author based on her later work, but this book simply wasn’t ready. It needed several more drafts, clearer rules, stronger character arcs, and a lot more thought put into how the world actually works. As it stands, it just doesn’t hold up.