Carl Reinelt’s The Last Altar Boy is a genre-blending novel that weaves together grief, addiction, spirituality, and historical memory. The story follows Charlie Houden, a man on a haunting road trip from Texas to Michigan to carry out a mysterious plan involving the ashes of his daughter. Along the way, he confronts demons both real and imagined, relives past traumas, and finds unexpected moments of grace. The narrative slips seamlessly between timelines, voices, and even the spiritual realm, grounding Charlie’s personal journey within a broader meditation on generational pain and redemption. We get glimpses of American history, the harrowing account of the 1881 Michigan fire and the forced relocation of Native peoples, all echoing the central theme: what do we do with the suffering we inherit?

Reinelt has a gift for capturing the internal disarray of someone at the end of their rope, yet his prose remains grounded and sharp. Charlie is messy, stubborn, and endearing in that deeply flawed way that real people are. The dialogue is snappy and real, the dreams are terrifying and surreal, and the flashbacks carry the weight of memory like bruises. There’s a scene in a decrepit Arkansas motel that plays out like something from a psychological horror film, and I found myself tensing up like I was watching it on screen. And then, in the next chapter, he’ll drop you into a quiet sunrise on Lake Huron and let the stillness do its work. The book is honest, reflective, and aching. It meanders in places, sure, but so does grief. And Charlie’s road trip is less about a destination and more about the slow crawl toward any kind of peace.

What surprised me most was how the book balances pain and beauty without flinching from either. There’s trauma here, lots of it. Loss of a child, addiction, estrangement, inherited guilt. But Reinelt doesn’t drown in it. He gives Charlie these tender moments of human contact: the kindness of a stranger, a well-timed joke with his partner Mia, a newspaper from a girl who might not be entirely of this world. Those moments hit harder than any grand revelation. Reinelt also doesn’t force a neat ending, and I appreciate that. Life rarely gives us one. Instead, Charlie’s journey offers something quieter: the chance to keep walking, even when your legs are shaking. That resonated with me more than I expected it to.

The Last Altar Boy is for anyone who’s ever carried around guilt like a stone in their pocket. It’s for people grappling with grief that doesn’t go away just because the world keeps spinning. I’d recommend it to fans of Cormac McCarthy, T.S. Eliot, or even folks who enjoy quiet, lyrical indie films. But more than anything, I’d recommend it to people who are trying to make sense of their pain.

Pages: 320 | ISBN: 978-1-7362149-5-4