Carrion Saints is unlike most books I’ve read, but it did put me in mind of lore-rich videogames like Elden Ring, with a truly vast world that feels thought-out and interconnected. By no means cozy in the traditional sense, its nonetheless a book with a stable, steady pace that’s uninterested in conforming to a traditional three-act structure and that rarely prioritizes tension. As my fellow judges have noted, it’s episodic, and I’d most recommend it to readers who enjoy episodic storytelling. In a rare anti-recommendation, I would suggest that, despite the marketing, category Romance readers are unlikely to find what they expect or look for from a Romance in Carrion Saints. However, if you’re a fan of the TV show Hannibal, you may enjoy the dynamic of the two leads.

Hiyodori’s Carrion Saints is the story of two immortals wandering a dying world as they contemplate the difference between good and evil, as well as the very personal internal forces that bind us to our paths. The protagonist, Crow, is a saint–a variety of being popularly associated with Good. When the story opens, Crow is on a mission to destroy the last Great Adversary of mankind–a monster who takes the form of a disembodied head and who is trapped on a hillside above a village. The monster–Magnolia–proves more powerful than Crow expected. When Magnolia defeats Crow, she not only breaks free from the hillside, but takes control of her, forcing the saint to journey with her and do her bidding. As Crow is forced to work for Magnolia, their conversations reveal key worldbuilding elements. The most significant of these elements is the difference between saints and monsters. Each type of entity feeds on magical “cores” that exist within certain humans (as well as other monsters and saints). While monsters violently and non-consensually extract cores, saints consensually remove cores from sworn companions. Crow herself is, perhaps, one of the most rigidly moral saints that Magnolia has met. Crow travels the world protecting humans from monsters and hasn’t taken a sworn companion since the tragic death of her last one many years prior. Although saints do feed off cores, they are also bound by magical logic to honour a sworn companion’s choice to voluntarily tie themselves to a saint. While there is a loose, overarching plot, each of the novel’s parts tends to focus on the particular village or location in which Magnolia and Crow find themselves. Over the course of their travels, Crow expresses a desire to free herself from Magnolia’s spiteful and often abusive control, but rarely acts on this desire when presented with the opportunity.

Prose is incredibly important to me–especially in the context of a writing competition–and Carrion Saints has gorgeous and evocative prose. The sweeping yet specific descriptions of the natural environment really bring Hiyodori’s world to life, and her reflections on landscape impressed me. In dialogue, both Crow and Magnolia also have very distinct voices–Magnolia bratty and modern, and Crow more ethereal. There are banger lines (and banter) throughout, and I was spoiled for choice when selecting a quotation to include in my review. Mood and tone are also critical to how Carrion Saints unspools, and I’d argue with anyone that Hiyodori has absolute command over both. There’s a melancholic, elegiac quality to the atmosphere that looms over and characterizes each of the varied environments and locations that Crow and Magnolia travel to. In Carrion Saints the world is ending, and the reader feels it. There’s a distinct vision behind the novel–this is a book that, despite its episodic structure, is much more than a series of pre-selected tropes slapped together. At a line level, it’s clear Hiyodori is a skilled, intentional writer–something I expect from a SPFBO finalist.

Structurally, I did have issues with Carrion Saints. Throughout, I couldn’t help but feel it was much longer and more repetitive than it needed to be, and unfortunately this impacts many of the book’s other aspects (character, theme, etc). In many ways, the philosophical underpinnings of the book are its Achilles heel, since they often suggest depth without ultimately being as profound as the exquisiteness of the world feels, and because until the end, those underpinnings are revisited at about the same level of depth again and again. Aside from enchanting descriptions of the physical world, the focus of Carrion Saints is really on using the conversations between Crow and Magnolia to explore both worldbuilding and the book’s own internal philosophical problems. First and foremost of these is the question of the differences and similarities between saints and monsters. In fiction, these kinds of questions tend to be powerful for the reader insofar as they reflect or relate to real-world questions and problems. Certainly, the differences between heroes and monsters (or villains)–and who gets to be called what–is a meaningful field of study (my own in fact!). Yet in Carrion Saints the parameters that help define “monster” and “hero” largely answer the question themselves–saints consensually feed and monsters don’t (with some rare counter examples that we’re told about late in the novel, but which we don’t see on page). The labels of “monster” and “saint” seem to be either chosen or innate–they aren’t externally imposed–removing the possible relevance to questions of how humans brutalize one another through the reduction of individuals (or marginalized groups) to monsters and heroes. Given that fact, the question becomes more of an analysis of predation–is predation ever morally just, even when it’s necessary? Since immortals don’t exist in the real world, it seems to apply most to whether it’s ever morally just to eat animals, but I’m unsure that was the intention, and if it was, the answers provided are opaque. Key information that might change our perspective–or Crow’s–is also withheld for longer than seems ideal, so that it often feels like the book is spinning its wheels, waiting to get past its filler episodes to juicier character moments. It’s not that every book about an immortal preying on humans needs to engage with these questions to work–some of my favourites really don’t–but Carrion Saints directly presents itself as a book that is interested in a more philosophical treatment of the topic.

In terms of character, I had a very solid feel for Magnolia, who leaps off the page. She’s unquestionably irritating, petty, small-minded, and manipulative–an exceptionally unlikable person who’s nonetheless well-drawn and realistic (she even reminds me of people I’ve known). To be clear, despite disliking Magnolia on a personal level, I say all of this in praise of her construction as a character. It’s naturally very easy for me to root for an abuse victim, especially when the abuser is someone like Magnolia. There’s also a lot of nuance to Hiyodori’s depiction of someone who’s experienced her own trauma, later participating in abuse herself–a cycle of violence all too common and familiar. Crow, in contrast, is retiring and secretive–even from the reader. I never disliked Crow, but I did feel that she came across much less powerfully than Magnolia, and much of that is to do with Hiyodori’s choice to withhold Crow’s emotional motivations until the conclusion of the novel. I couldn’t help but feel as though this was to the book’s detriment, since it kept me at an emotional distance from her, without much of a payoff in terms of a twist or reveal. On the surface, the text is more interested in the debate over monstrosity and sainthood (in terms of their in-world meanings, at least), than it is in Crow or Magnolia’s personal journeys. This wouldn’t be an issue, except that my impression is that beneath the surface, the book is intended to be about how the characters’ visions of themselves conform to reality. Since we lack critical pieces of worldbuilding information to do with saints, as well as Crow’s backstory, it’s challenging to invest emotionally for most of the book and I did find myself lacking much motivation to pick the book back up, even if a previous section had wowed me with its visual acumen. That said, when those hooks do at last sink in, they sink in deep. The last of Carrion Saints’ six parts is powerful, compelling, and does a lot to enrich Crow as a character.

I find stories about immortals hit or miss. At their best, they communicate something about grief and our relationship to our own mortality. I think Carrion Saints does a fantastic job of capturing the right mood in terms of these themes, and there’s a layer of solastalgia to the work that I found especially moving, yet I did want more from it at the same time. I’m very grateful that SPFBO gave me the kick up the pants I needed to finally read some of Hiyodori’s work, which has been on my TBR since SPFBO9! Although I had some qualms, I want to emphasize that I was impressed by Hiyodori’s skill overall and that there’s much here that really works. If Carrion Saints were broken up into novellas, short stories, or were tightened up as a novel, I feel it would be even stronger. If you’re a fan of episodic storytelling, Elden Ring, or the relationship between Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter (by way of The Last Unicorn), I recommend checking out Carrion Saints.

Really enjoyed this! Proper review to come