2011 at 9am Posted by Rebecca Joines Schinsky
Published July 12, 2011 by Knopf
The buzz about The Last Werewolf began in early spring, and I joined the chorus shortly after, when the persuasive ravings of my Bookrageous copilots (who used words like “amazeballs” to describe it) convinced me to discover its awesomeness for myself. The book is out this week—in a beautiful first printing that features red edging on the pages—and you’ll do well to get your paws on a copy ASAP. Here’s the quick and dirty:
Jacob Marlowe (yes, a werewolf named Jacob, but think Joseph Conrad’s Marlow than Stephenie Meyer’s Jacob) is informed by WOCOP (the World Organization for Control of Occult Phenomena) that he is the last living werewolf, and his days are numbered. The text of The Last Werewolf comes from Marlowe’s journals, which he has written in hopes of leaving a record of his life. Duncan’s writing is fanfuckingtastic, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Marlowe and his struggle to make sense of morality and the meaning (if there is one) of werewolves.
Marlowe has used his preternaturally long life to read basically the entire English canon. References to the great works abound, from Shakespeare to Tennyson to Bronte and beyond, and Marlowe is not shy about flaunting his prowess, literary and otherwise. I mean, a man develops certain proclivities after two hundred years of experience, and Marlowe is nothing if not in touch with his animal nature. The Last Werewolf is gritty, profane, gorgeous, and filthy hot. And I do mean filthy. If your sensibilities are at all delicate or easily offended, this is probably not the book for you.
But if you’re up for philosophy, fucking, and a transformative literary adventure, you don’t want to miss this one. Incredible right up to the very last page, it bears the unmistakable scent of sequel set-up, but I’m prepared to forgive Duncan (and then some) if the presumed follow-up bears even half the rock-your-world potential found here. Jacob Marlowe is the first werewolf I’ve loved, and he may well be the last. But don’t just take my word for it. There’s also this:
And then there’s Ron Charles’s take in the Washington Post, which, well, if you don’t love it, we might not be able to be friends any more.