Amalia Gkavea
The Day After His Crucifixion
There are bad books. There are offensive books. And then there are books so drenched in ignorance, arrogance, and faux spiritualism that they leave you wondering how they were published in the first place.
The Day After His Crucifixion is marketed as a deeply moving spiritual novel, one that gives voice to the women around Christ in the immediate aftermath of His death. What it delivers instead is a theologically void, historically inaccurate, and emotionally tone-deaf mess—wrapped in clumsy dialogue and dressed up as empowerment.
Let’s begin with the most outrageous omission: the complete absence of the Virgin Mary.
In a story set in the wake of the Crucifixion—a moment that shattered her maternal heart and crowned her with the silent dignity of suffering—the fact that she is not even a presence, a shadow, a thought, is not just an oversight. It is spiritual illiteracy.
How can anyone claim to speak of Christ’s final hours and exclude the woman who brought Him into the world? Who stood at the foot of the Cross? Who carried the unbearable weight of grief, faith, and maternal love?
This omission is not artistic—it is disgraceful.
And it doesn’t end there.
The author rewrites Gospel timelines, most egregiously by having Lazarus resurrected before Jairus’s daughter. A careless error—one that no writer dabbling in sacred ground should dare to make.
The women in the novel are not empowered—they are preachy, shallow avatars for the author’s personal ideology. Their frequent snide commentary about the Holy Apostles is disrespectful, not bold. This isn’t reclamation. It’s revisionist posturing with no theological backbone.
The characters speak like they’re moderating a women’s retreat in 2024, not grieving the death of Christ in 1st-century Judea. There’s no reverence, no atmosphere, no spiritual rhythm.
And finally, just when the book couldn’t get more disappointing, I received an unsolicited email from the author herself, asking me to leave “a few good words” or “at least 5 stars” because she “poured her heart into it” and “paid a lot” to make it free on NetGalley.
Let me be absolutely clear:
I do not review with pity. I do not reward theological cosplay. And I certainly do not offer stars in exchange for guilt.
This book is not a tribute to Christ. It’s a vanity project masquerading as devotion.
It offends the faith it pretends to honour.
It silences the most powerful woman in the story.
And it insults the intelligence of every reader who takes Scripture seriously.
I do not recommend it. Not for Christians. Not for historical fiction lovers. Not for anyone who values truth.
Let it be forgotten.
There are bad books. There are offensive books. And then there are books so drenched in ignorance, arrogance, and faux spiritualism that they leave you wondering how they were published in the first place.
The Day After His Crucifixion is marketed as a deeply moving spiritual novel, one that gives voice to the women around Christ in the immediate aftermath of His death. What it delivers instead is a theologically void, historically inaccurate, and emotionally tone-deaf mess—wrapped in clumsy dialogue and dressed up as empowerment.
Let’s begin with the most outrageous omission: the complete absence of the Virgin Mary.
In a story set in the wake of the Crucifixion—a moment that shattered her maternal heart and crowned her with the silent dignity of suffering—the fact that she is not even a presence, a shadow, a thought, is not just an oversight. It is spiritual illiteracy.
How can anyone claim to speak of Christ’s final hours and exclude the woman who brought Him into the world? Who stood at the foot of the Cross? Who carried the unbearable weight of grief, faith, and maternal love?
This omission is not artistic—it is disgraceful.
And it doesn’t end there.
The author rewrites Gospel timelines, most egregiously by having Lazarus resurrected before Jairus’s daughter. A careless error—one that no writer dabbling in sacred ground should dare to make.
The women in the novel are not empowered—they are preachy, shallow avatars for the author’s personal ideology. Their frequent snide commentary about the Holy Apostles is disrespectful, not bold. This isn’t reclamation. It’s revisionist posturing with no theological backbone.
The characters speak like they’re moderating a women’s retreat in 2024, not grieving the death of Christ in 1st-century Judea. There’s no reverence, no atmosphere, no spiritual rhythm.
And finally, just when the book couldn’t get more disappointing, I received an unsolicited email from the author herself, asking me to leave “a few good words” or “at least 5 stars” because she “poured her heart into it” and “paid a lot” to make it free on NetGalley.
Let me be absolutely clear:
I do not review with pity. I do not reward theological cosplay. And I certainly do not offer stars in exchange for guilt.
This book is not a tribute to Christ. It’s a vanity project masquerading as devotion.
It offends the faith it pretends to honour.
It silences the most powerful woman in the story.
And it insults the intelligence of every reader who takes Scripture seriously.
I do not recommend it. Not for Christians. Not for historical fiction lovers. Not for anyone who values truth.
Let it be forgotten.