The Adaptable Educator’s Book Review – Preacher, Volume 7: Salvation

Garth Ennis’ Preacher, Volume 7: Salvation is, at first glance, a reprieve from the chaotic, violent, and near-apocalyptic trajectory of Jesse Custer’s journey. However, beneath this seeming interlude lies a richly layered exploration of American mythology, the individual’s role in shaping justice, and the ever-complex question of redemption.

A Morality Play Drenched in Blood and Irony

If Preacher as a whole is a road novel reimagined through the lens of Western nihilism, then Salvation is Ennis’ deconstruction of the myth of the “lone savior.” Jesse finds himself in Salvation, Texas, assuming the role of sheriff and attempting to bring order to a town drowning in moral decay. The very premise echoes classic Western narratives: a mysterious stranger arrives, sets things right, and either rides off into the sunset or perishes under the weight of his own principles. But Ennis, as always, is too subversive to allow such a clean resolution.

Salvation is a town plagued by bigotry, corruption, and deeply ingrained power structures, embodied by the grotesque figure of Odin Quincannon—a character whose cartoonish depravity belies his real-world counterparts. Ennis renders Quincannon with an exaggerated grotesquerie that functions as both satire and a genuine horror, exposing the unchecked power of industrialist greed and white supremacy. He is not merely a villain; he is an institution, a remnant of a corrupt legacy that cannot be toppled by a single man with a badge.

The Burden of Free Will and Redemption

One of the most compelling aspects of Salvation is the internal struggle of Jesse Custer. Having temporarily abandoned his quest to confront God, Jesse’s tenure as sheriff offers him an opportunity to reflect on the meaning of justice beyond personal vengeance. This volume, perhaps more than any other, forces him to grapple with what it truly means to wield power responsibly. Unlike the God-given (or stolen) authority of the Word of God, Jesse’s influence here is earned, a product of action rather than divine decree.

His reunion with his long-lost mother is particularly poignant, grounding the narrative in a deeply personal reckoning. It serves as a moment of humanization, a reminder that Jesse is not merely an avenging angel but a man with wounds that transcend the physical.

Thematically, Ennis toys with the idea that escape—both physical and emotional—is an illusion. Salvation may offer temporary respite, but Jesse cannot ignore the unfinished symphony of his larger conflict. The past, whether it be family trauma, destiny, or the sins of America itself, is inescapable.

A Darkly Ironic Americana

Steve Dillon’s artwork continues to complement Ennis’ storytelling with a balance of stark brutality and expressive nuance. The small-town setting allows Dillon to shift from the sprawling landscapes of Preacher’s earlier volumes to a more intimate and claustrophobic aesthetic, reinforcing the idea that Salvation is not so much an escape as a momentary illusion of one. His ability to capture grotesque caricatures without reducing them to parody is particularly evident in Quincannon’s design, a villain who would be almost laughable if not for the real-world evil he represents.

Ennis’ writing, as always, oscillates between crude humor and sharp philosophical inquiry. His satire is razor-sharp, never allowing the reader to settle into comfort. Even the most triumphant moments are laced with irony, reminding us that Jesse’s so-called victories are fleeting. Salvation, in the end, is an intermission, not a resolution.

A Necessary Detour

If Preacher as a series is a grand indictment of power—both divine and mortal—then Salvation serves as a moment of critical reflection. It is a study of what it means to confront evil in its everyday form rather than its supernatural manifestations. By stripping Jesse of his larger-than-life mission, Ennis forces the reader to consider whether the fight against corruption and cruelty is any less significant when it is not cosmic in scale.

As a standalone volume, Salvation is an engrossing character study and an incisive critique of American exceptionalism. As part of the Preacher saga, it is an essential moment of reckoning before the inevitable return to chaos. In the end, it is not the town of Salvation that needs saving—it is Jesse Custer himself. And, as Ennis reminds us, salvation is rarely so simple.