Linda Dindzans’ A Certain Man is a strikingly heartfelt and vividly imagined piece of biblical fiction. It follows Mara, a Samaritan woman navigating the brutal constraints of her culture, her faith, and her heart during the time of Christ. Told through lush, poetic prose and an unflinching lens, the novel begins with a young love interrupted by betrayal and spirals into a gripping journey of survival, soul-searching, and transformation. With its backdrop of Roman-occupied Judea and familiar Gospel moments reimagined, the story weaves spiritual truths with deeply personal struggles, culminating in a powerful retelling of the woman at the well.

What stood out most to me was Dindzans’ writing. Her style is rich but never overdone, lyrical without losing clarity. She manages to make the ancient world feel immediate. There’s real grit in her characters, especially Mara, who is no porcelain saint. She’s bruised, desperate, fierce—and incredibly human. I felt every injustice, every small joy, every beat of her aching heart. The dialogue is often simple, but it hums with tension and longing. The scenes of violence, particularly those involving Mara’s forced betrothal, are hard to read but so crucial. They ring too true. You don’t just observe Mara’s suffering—you feel pulled under with her.

It’s the ideas that linger. The novel tackles faith, consent, justice, and freedom in a world built to deny those very things to women like Mara. And yet, there’s hope threaded through it all, not in neat resolutions, but in the idea of redemption. The figure of Yeshua appears in glimpses, each one filled with quiet power and startling gentleness. Dindzans doesn’t preach. Instead, she lays bare the deep hunger for mercy and lets the possibility of grace rise naturally. I was especially moved by how she links trauma with spiritual healing, not with platitudes, but through real, painful growth.

A Certain Man is for anyone who loves powerful women, deep questions, and stories that reach beyond their setting to hit something true. It’s especially for readers of biblical fiction who want more than sanitized retellings—this one is raw, brave, and beautifully unsettling. I’d hand it to fans of Francine Rivers or Mesu Andrews, or anyone longing for a story where faith doesn’t erase suffering, but shines all the brighter through it.

Pages: 415 | ASIN: B0D98K4BPT