{Put This One on Your TBR List}
Book Review: Leech by Hiron Ennes
by Karen S. Wiesner
Be aware that there may be spoilers in this review.
I picked up Leech by Hiron Ennes at a used bookstore and bought it because 1) it was in the science fiction/horror section, 2) it sounded like a combination of genres I love and the back cover blurb definitely appealed, and 3) I liked the intriguing cover, which, by the way, my wastewater treatment manager husband immediately said, tongue in cheek, "Look, a BOD bottle--but what's that weird, black gunk coming out of it?"
I barely know where to start with this review. I've never before read a book quite like Leech, which was published in 2022 and was the debut novel by the author, who works in the field of medicine. Leech runs the gamut when it comes to genre classification: Gothic, Victorian era literature, historical, science fiction, horror, medical mystery, speculative and post-apocalyptic fiction are some of the fitting categories, along with two others that may also (but I'm not quite sure) qualify: steampunk and body horror. In the case of the latter, I've only heard of such a thing in relation to Caitlin Starling, an author I really like who's also a narrative designer that creates art exhibitions. These could be considered (by the squeamish like myself) body horror.
The back cover blurb barely seems adequate to cover what takes places in this unusual novel. But maybe that's the best place to start, with a posting of the blurb on the book. This reveals to us what the author and publisher intended to give away freely about the major themes in the Story.
Meet the cure for the human disease.
In an isolated chateau, as far north as north goes, the baron’s doctor has died. The doctor’s replacement has a mystery to solve: discovering how the Institute lost track of one of its many bodies.
For hundreds of years the Interprovincial Medical Institute has grown by taking root in young minds and shaping them into doctors, replacing every human practitioner of medicine. The Institute is here to help humanity, to cure and to cut, to cradle and protect the species from the apocalyptic horrors their ancestors unleashed.
In the frozen north, the Institute's body will discover a competitor for its rung at the top of the evolutionary ladder. A parasite is spreading through the baron's castle, already a dark pit of secrets, lies, violence, and fear. The two will make war on the battlefield of the body. Whichever wins, humanity will lose again.
There are strongly overt clues running all through this blurb as to what the underlying plot is, but it's not really something that's realized fully until the reader is well into the novel--something I'll talk about again soon.
I instantly liked this story when I started reading it because it has evocative depictions of the Victorian era--the picturesque setting (in this case, a desolate one filled with frigid, imposing mountains, dense forests, and a ruin of a "castle"); the genteel manners and mannerisms practiced by all with the classes of society always firmly occupying their proper places; the quiet, subtle, eerie, and insidious sense that absolutely nothing is as it seems on the surface. In fact, one of the things I liked most in those beginning chapters was how much the main character (who isn't specifically named through most of the story--it's written in first person point-of-view) reminded me of Jonathan Harker, a new solicitor, traveling to Eastern Europe to meet with his very first client. Leech takes place mainly in Verdira, located in a remote, frozen stronghold where wheatrock--an extremely valuable commodity used for many different things--is mined.
What the back cover blurb plainly hints at but doesn't firmly verify for most of first two-thirds of the novel is that the pathologist the Institute has sent to investigate the death of the previous one is in fact a hive-mind body host of a parasite that's replaced all medical practitioners in existence in the past five-hundred years since it established predominance over living creatures. This very same parasite was in part responsible for most human beings being transformed into mutated states while some other, unspecified (but hinted at being caused by a "{galaxy?} flying machine") physical disaster turned the world's oceans acid, shattered the moon, and created feral machines called ventigeaux ("orphans of biotechnology", as the author describes them).
Most of the characters in the book were transformed by that parasite in one way or another from mechanic hearts, to vestigial tails to Verdira's Baron being kept alive mainly through arcane machinery. The author intended it to be the norm in this world for regular patients to display "unconventional physical attributes" such as "a mechanical limb or a migratory birthmark or a literal doppelganger".
In this feudal society, while the Institute handles all medical matters, powerful barons run local areas. In addition to the misery-inducing Baron who rules over Verdira and doesn't have a kind word for anyone living in the crumbling chateau with him are his family and servants. His grown son Didier cares nothing about the lost miners and numerous massacres that have and are taking place in Verdira so long as the precious wheatrock is capable of being mined to contribute to their ongoing wealth. His wife drinks but never escapes the fact that she is, sadly, little more than a breeder. Her only worth is in producing heirs. And she knows it. Due to the mutations from the pathogen, she's suffered a long series of stillborn births. Her only surviving progenies are twin girls creepily described as "A tangle of dark hair…two small bodies sprouting like stems from its middle." Additionally, there's the tragic houseboy, Èmile, the last survivor of genocide against indigenous cave and mountain dwellers.
While the back cover blurb and the writing itself were almost blatant about touting the "symbiont" parasite that's running the medical show in this world, it wasn't immediately apparent what exactly was taking place in the story as I read through the first two-thirds. It took me that long to make all the necessary connections to comprehend that I was reading a book that was in the point of view of a pathogen for most of that time. (Guess having been in the POV of a dinosaur in another book I read isn't as odd as I formerly thought compared to this.) Only later in the story, when the previous owner of the host body re-exerted her (or them-) self and emerged despite the controlling parasite inhabiting the Institute's hive-mind also being there, did it become clear that the true horror of the story was that the main character in the host body had come to realize what had happened to her or them. At the same time, the hive-mind of that parasite had identified a brand-new parasite called Pseudomycota that killed the former doctor's host body and infected nearly everyone in Verdira.
Stated in an interview on the BookPage website as the author's main influence for writing Leech are "…the stories science can tell us about our own cells. … Deep in our mitochondria lives a strand of DNA…an essential piece of our cellular network without which we would die. …Scientists…propose it is the genome of a foreign organism that hitched a ride inside us back when we were single-celled. It’s been sitting there ever since, perpetuating itself. … Does it care about me, or does it only care about my reproductive success? … You stay awake so many nights thinking about stuff like that, and eventually you write Leech." I found this to be one of the most unique premises I've ever heard for a story. It's part of why I found it so tantalizing as I tried to piece together the tapestry of what was happening.
It's a brilliant story that was well-written…up until the last bit of the book, where the narration shifts from hive-mind parasite to former host-body consciousness. While this does make sense in the theme of the story, the end made for a lot of curse words strung together with poor grammar in an almost too modern tone of voice that I don't believe fit the previous Victorian style. Or maybe that was the point. I also felt like the book dragged on too long near the middle. Firmer editing in both these situations wouldn't have been remiss.
Beyond that, the unfortunate side effect of keeping readers in the dark about the basic scenario of the story is that, when details are finally given to fill in the many, many gaps that'd been deliberately left hanging earlier in the story, now suddenly readers are overwhelmed, smothered, even crushed beneath the weight of it all. I found the last third of the book very hard to process, and quite honestly, I didn't understand the end scene one iota. It almost seemed to imply that one of the characters turned into a werewolf or a dog, like the ones he cared for at the chateau (gulp! a ventigeaux???). I wasn't entirely sure, and I could be completely off about that.
In reflecting after I finished reading the book and then allowed myself to research it so I could figure out all the things that seemed foggy while I was reading, I asked myself if I actually liked the story. My answer is kind of the same answer as I would give for Never Let Me Go written by the absolutely brilliant author Kazuo Ishiguro. You can read Margaret Carter's review of the book here on Alien Romances Blog: https://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2023/01/clones-as-organ-donors.html. Ishiguro is the same writer who gave us The Remains of the Day, which will probably always be in my top ten of favorite novels. When I read Never Let Me Go, I felt like I was missing a vital piece of the puzzle--the one in fact that would give everything else there focus an intense meaning. Without it, nothing made sense. I had flashes of feeling like I understood what was going on in the story while reading it, but nothing cohesive, nothing strong enough to help me bridge the gap. When I finished the book and then, again, allowed myself to research it, I found myself deeply and irrevocably disappointed. If the author had given me one crucial bit of information, I would have not only liked the book I would have loved it. Instead, I felt disgruntled by the lack of clarification that should have been given within the book--in my opinion, as early as possible. Without it, I had no sense of cohesion or resolution, and I felt cheated. I was left angry enough to not read another Ishiguro book to this day. I know, sad. I've decided this manner of not quite finishing a book in a way that brings everything full circle isn't really my cup of tea when it comes to reading.
In a similar but nowhere near as drastic way, Leech kind of gave me everything other than the illuminating key to understanding the whole book until the very end, at which point I did eventually get most of what was needed for clarity and closure. Nevertheless, I did feel that a search for deeper explanations to bring everything together was needed even then. Unfortunately, a lot of the websites that I found information about Leech saw this as an allegorical tale. Like Tolkien, I distrust and abhor allegory, and I try not to include it in any of the books I write. So I passed over all that without reading much, not wanting or even being willing to read "real world parallels" into a fictional story. I do recommend Leech, especially for those who love speculative horror set in the backdrop of Victorian-era-like literature.
Karen Wiesner is an award-winning, multi-genre author of over 150 titles and 16 series.
Visit her website here: https://karenwiesner.weebly.com/
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