The Wolfman - Jonathan Maberry

            I love werewolves. Of all the monsters and supernatural creatures that abound in fiction, werewolves are my favorite. I love all kinds of werewolves, evil werewolves, insane werewolves, monstrous werewolves, tragic werewolves, romantic werewolves; the whole spectrum. Of all the readings for this class, The Wolfman was the piece that had me the most excited.

            It was terribly underwhelming.

            It was just meh. Maybe it was because Maberry’s piece is a novelization of a film, but there was something off about the work as a whole. I never got into any of the characters (the omniscient narrator contributed to this), I never got a chill or a laugh, I never felt any tension. The whole time I read I was painfully aware of the fact I was reading. I will now point out a few of the factors that contributed to my disappointment.

            This was a novelization of a classic film, which has been done a few times. I kept that in mind. I made myself at all times aware of the fact the work was supposed to follow the film. But even with this in mind, the whole thing read like a giant cliché. It felt like one dramatic cliché after the other. Mysterious stranger, gothic manor, widowed beauty, gypsy wise woman, all of it. When I read the scene with the mysterious Frenchman with the silver wolf’s head sword-cane, I groaned inside aw, I wonder what he’s gonna do with that. I knew it was supposed to be this way, and in the end it didn’t matter a bit. It bothered me anyway.

            Then there was the language. The novel was set in 19^th century Europe. The writing tried to emulate the gothic novels of the time, but it came out all clunky and weird. An actual 19th century gothic novel is easier to read, Wuthering Heights was smooth and quickly immersed me in the language and style. Not so with The Wolfman.

            And then there was the Wolfman itself. This beast was the universal studios monster, and clung to the cannon. Great. I love werewolves, but… it did not lend itself to writing well. Where we could see the torment and rage in the expression of the Wolfman in his many appearances in visual media, on paper I was beaten over and over again with a hundred kinds of “rage” and then bloodlust this bloodlust that. And The Goddess of the Hunt, The Goddess of the Hunt, The Goddess of the Hunt, RAHHHH!!! I get it!

            All of the scenes in the Wolfman’s POV evoked images of Hollywood B-movie gore. Every time someone got decapitated by the Wolfman’s claws I shuddered inside. I'm sorry, I don’t care how strong the beast is, I just don’t see that happening unless his claws are ten inches long and sharp like a battle ready katana. And then there was the one severed head that tried to scream. Ugghhhh. I couldn’t take it seriously. It was like the novel was making a parody of Lawrence’s devastating struggle.

            The idea of the Wolfman style monster is potentially terrifying. The beast kills and eats, kills and eats, dozens, hundreds if it could catch them. It’s never full, it will kill, begin to feed, and then be distracted by the next fleeing morsel. The Wolfman is a nightmare of gluttony and excess in the most violent of ways. And it is virtually indestructible. The monster’s body eats lead bullets like they’re candy, and recovers from broken bones in seconds. The Wolfman also possesses just enough intelligence to make it more frightening than a beast, but not familiar like a man. Even more frightening is the potential for the Wolfman to be anyone. But for a few hours once a month, it could be your neighbor, your father, yourself. And on that one night each month whoever the Wolfman was doesn’t matter anymore. The transformation is irresistible, and total (barring a few seconds hesitation when faced with the power of love, awww). For me, the total loss of identity is the most frightening aspect of this monster. It kills a lot, so do other monsters, but the idea of being this monster is what is truly terrifying.

            But, alas, Maberry’s execution of this great idea didn’t do it for me.

            Yet, to end on a high note, there was one scene and one sentence that made me geek out in a good way. First is the scene. When the Wolfman enters the masquerade and is pacified by the blind soprano’s voice (yes, music lulls the beast is a trope, I know) I immediately recalled my beloved Grendel, torn apart by the Shaper’s poetry. It gets an A for making me recall Grendel.

            And now for the sentence. “Somehow his mass increased-perhaps drawing substance from Hell itself.”

            Thank you Jon. Thank you. Is that really so hard? Looking at you Pinborough.