Philip Rennett’s Good For The Soul is an ambitious, genre-blending novel that tosses political satire, spiritual conflict, and small-town Irish charm into a single, messy but compelling stew. At its core, the book follows Andrew Blackwell, a former UK prime minister, now a reluctant recluse, as he’s dragged back into the world of global influence through a secretive “Global Conclave.” Meanwhile, in the quiet Irish town of Clonbrinny, a troubled priest is caught in the moral chokehold of a criminal syndicate. It’s a story about power, guilt, reinvention, and the weird, awkward humanity that binds it all together.
What grabbed me first was how effortlessly Rennett shifts tone. One moment, you’re in a confessional booth listening to Margaret Doyle deliver an outrageously inappropriate dream confession about cassocks and spanking. Next, you’re in the thick of Blackwell’s emotional unraveling or sitting in a church watching Declan Kelly, a violent gangster, toy with religion like it’s a game of poker. These tonal shifts shouldn’t work. But they do, mainly because Rennett has a wicked sense of humor and a sharp ear for dialogue. Margaret’s appearances, especially in the “Confession” chapter, had me laughing out loud, while Father Aidan’s slow disintegration genuinely broke my heart.
What surprised me most was how Good For The Soul uses the setting almost like a character. Clonbrinny feels lived in, grimy, rain-soaked, and steeped in secrets. Peace Castle, where the elite gather to decide the world’s fate, is jaw-dropping in its opulence, but it feels hollow, too. There’s a beautiful contrast between those two worlds, and Rennett plays them against each other masterfully. When Blackwell stands before the Conclave in “The Opening Statement,” what he says feels honest, even raw, not just because of what he reveals, but because we’ve seen him wrestle with it. I didn’t expect to feel sympathy for a politician on the brink of a second act, but here I am.
The writing itself is tight and conversational, but it’s never dumbed down. I loved how Rennett injects intelligence without arrogance. He keeps the language accessible, even when the stakes are philosophical. There’s also a lot of heart under all the satire. One of my favorite moments was in “Help Me,” when Father Aidan, drunk and broken, finally whispers, “Help me.” That wrecked me.
Good For The Soul feels like a modern-day parable, soaked in Guinness, lit by lightning over crumbling churches, and filtered through the lens of people just trying to figure out what the hell matters anymore. I’d recommend it to anyone who likes their fiction smart, funny, and a little unhinged. Especially if you’re into layered plots, Irish settings, and characters that make you feel something, even when they’re being completely ridiculous.
Literary Titan
Goodreads / Amazon 11/5/25
