In 1996, Montreal teacher and author T.F. Rigelhof’s memoir A Blue Boy in a Black Dress, dealing mainly with his experiences growing up as a Catholic altar boy, was nominated for a Governor General’s Award. Now he has penned a kind of Blue Boy in a Black Dress with Beads, titled Nothing Sacred: A Journey Beyond Belief.

Nothing Sacred incorporates the earlier memoir while expanding on Rigelhof’s later experiences at a Roman Catholic seminary, which culminated in his roommate trying to kill him and the author’s suicide attempt. In his introduction, Rigelhof admits to melodrama: “the attempted murder simply took my breath away, and the suicide fell a few feet short of fatal.” But both episodes are described in a curiously dispassionate manner. The suicide attempt, such as it was, is never explained and comes off as scarcely remembered adolescent angst. The murder attempt has little set-up and no explanation. Other episodes are as unleavened. Rigelhof considers joining a monastery in Kentucky but doesn’t catch the bus. There are many lengthy conversations with people who are simply a name, who say their piece and pass on.

What the book offers in abundance is lists. In describing who attended Holy Rosary school, Rigelhof proceeds to list 63 surnames. He then lists a dozen of their nationalities, further adding to the impression that this new book is really just a Blue Boy Bulked Up.

For much of the work, Rigelhof presents his thoughts on Vatican II, Christian cults, the rise of Pentecostalism, and various quests for the historical Jesus. These treatments of theological issues lack coherence and rigour. Each could merit a full-length work, but here the issues are given more of a book-review treatment. There are moments when Rigelhof begins to speak to his younger seminarian self, but these episodes are too brief. He would rather list books he has read and ideas he has brushed against without fully exploring.

What lies beyond belief? Apparently vague theological musings, Catholicism in street clothes, and a clutch of boyish memories that never capture the spirit or soul of their author.