Fiend
Alma Katsu has built a solid reputation as a writer of historical horror fiction. With Fiend, her latest novel, Katsu shifts gears, crafting a work set in present day. The publicity blurbs describe it as Succession mixed with the supernatural, and it is refreshing to see such truth in advertising. Of course, the premise of the popular television series, an obscenely wealthy family’s misuse and abuse of power, is not new. More dramatic takes can be found in theatre, with examples such as Shakespeare’s tragedy of King Lear, and two of the great Lillian Hellman’s plays: The Little Foxes (1939) and its prequel, Another Part of the Forest (1946) which focused on the vile and acerbic Hubbard clan. Indeed, with one of the central characters in Fiend, I was reminded of Hellman’s immoral Regina Hubbard Giddens. Whether this was intentional or coincidental on Katsu’s part, I’ve no idea. In any case, sibling rivalry and mendacity are timeless and, therefore, fertile pickings for a narrative. In many ways, the novel is a fitting bridge book for this time of year: A transition period between summer beach reads, Fiend does qualify as a brisk summer-like divertissement, and a revving up for the fall season gateway transition to darker horror.
The book’s privileged Berisha Family embodies the term “filthy rich.” Many of its business successes are mired in malfeasance, ill-gotten gains that leave a pungent scent of corruption. While the family members’ hands are clean, they bear responsibility for the untimely and often gruesome deaths of those who cross them. This has been going on for centuries, dating back to the home/mother country of Albania where a demon became bound to the clan. The latest Berisha descendants to inherit the gift-curse are patriarch Zef, who heads the corporation and wields enormous power over his three adult children, and Olga, Zef’s trophy wife and the grim bearer of his offspring. The narrative is told from a third-person point of view of the progeny, with flashbacks to their respective childhoods. Dardan, the eldest and heir apparent by virtue of his gender, feels the weight of the head that wears the crown: “The family secret has never been explained explicitly to him. What it is, its nature, has always been implied — maybe because there are no words for the family protector. He’s always been told it’s a blessing. It’s the source of their strength. It has cowed rivals for centuries. Made them feared, brought them prosperity, because they were not afraid to use it.”
Inherited empowerment is hard to make empathetic, and author Katsu deserves praise for rendering the unscrupulous Berishas somewhat sympathetic. Power is no substitute for love, and this family is loveless. They have commitment to the concept of what dynastic family means, but the mercantile side supplants tenderness. Though blood ties are paramount in the maintenance of the position of power, love is an abstract and remoteness rules. Those on the periphery of the family also keep their distance, as illustrated by this dinner scene: “The servants do not serve: they scurry out as soon as the platters are placed on the white damask tablecloths, spending no more time with the Berishas than absolutely necessary.”
Covetous daughter Maris has her eyes on the prize. She itches to take over from Zef, and is most like him in temperament and business acumen. Her cutthroat mentality is on a par with his. Therefore, she is naturally resentful that her brother is the designated next in line. Centuries of ancestry continue the antiquated tradition of male birthright. Maris’s role, as perceived by her father, is that of a breeder of more Berishas. The husband that will be chosen for her will wield more power than she would be allowed. Maris doesn’t take kindly to this prospect and is royally tired of subjugating herself to win favor: “Hadn’t she eaten crow over and over, swallowed every insult, sublimated her wishes and her pride and done as she was told just to hang on to her place at the table?”
Nora, the youngest of the heirs, also feels unvalued. Like Maris, she is a disappointment because of her gender and is aware that her father resents her for it. Having another son would have fulfilled his notion of a proper “spare” in the royal sense. Nora is thus the consummate disappointment, and proceeds to live her life as such. She’s a free-spirit loose cannon who knows that however she behaves, she will never garner her father’s affection or approbation. It’s no wonder she seeks connection elsewhere.
Fiend, published by Putnam, is primarily a study of the three Berisha heirs. Author Alma Katsu finely depicts their foibles and cravings in 239 breezy pages which can easily be read in one sitting. Regarding the Demon Fixer’s place in the frame of the horror genre, the entity is a mere device. Its possession-like takeovers aren’t particularly scary. The creature is more metaphor than monster. In evaluating horror fiction, the fright factor must be considered and considerable. In Fiend, son Dardan summarizes “Sometimes you have to believe in the boogeyman.” I didn’t. When viewed as marketed, the novel is a Succession success, but the demon is akin to window dressing. The book ends with the closing of a door, leaving a figurative door open for a sequel. Unabashedly abundant in its commercial savvy, Fiend will probably reap the benefits.
