I’ve got a bit of a history with this book – I first saw a copy when it arrived in the store I work in and I was immedietly pulled in by the title – simply put, the cynical reader in me thought, “Yeah, right – there is never a ‘last’ anything…’ and then I read the back cover and thought, ‘Okay, sounds interesting,’ but it just didn’t have the pull, you know? So I waited a couple of weeks, read the first page. showed it to a couple of customers, and the more I did the more interested I became.
Eventually we received an ARC of Tallulah Rising and I thought, “Hah! I knew I was right!” So I read the back of Tallulah, probably ten words or so, and then put it back down. Idiot, I thought. Picked up The Last Werewolf. Began reading. Sunk away… 😉
So, now that my little tale is out of the way – read this book. Please, pleasepleaseplease read this book! The only way to get rid of these crap shape-shifters in the Twilight saga and True Blood is to take werewolves back to what they were – vicious, strong, sometimes-bipedal, all claws and teeth and instinct and none of this Jacob’s-longing-gaze crap! Anyway, rant over.
But seriously. The Last Werewolf is my kind of werewolf, the old-school kind, the kind you’ll see transformning in American Werewolf in London with the ferocity and power of the werewolves in the Underworld movies. These are kickass and terrifying! Best I’ve ever come across. 🙂
Story-wise, The Last Werewolf is at once an epic journey of discovery, both for the main character and for the reader, and an exsquisite poem of love and longing the likes of which left mefeeling hollow and frazzled and heartbroken and amazed when I finished it. It’s a kick up the ass with steel-toe’d pointy shoes, frenetic and shocking and heart-warming and even infuriating – the only movie / book / comic etc. I can compare it with is the feeling I was left after I watched Trainspotting for the first time. You know, dazed, reeling from that intense glimpse of a world I had no clue existed.
If you’re a conservative reader, meaning you like nice, formulaic, tidy, happy-ending-kind of books, books that don’t really challenge your beliefs, that leave you in your comfort zone, then this book is most definitely not for you. So, stop reading this review, because I’m just wasting your time. 🙂
if, however, you’re the opposite-kind of reader, I’m pretty sure this book will kick your ass as it did mine. 🙂
It’s written in First Person, just in case you needed to know that, so for the length of the book you’re in, ahem, Jacob Marlowe’s head. He’s interesting and learned and sarcastic and, as I hinted above, infuriating. I couldn’t think of a better character to tell this tale, however. 🙂
I won’t say anything else – I just don’t want to give away too much, or even run the risk of saying too little – I absolutely loved this book, and I applaud Glen Duncan for not being shy or conservative, for sticking his finger way up the ass of what people today think werewolves are, for writing a book that’ll probably haunt me for years, if not for the rest of my life.
One hell of a glorious, terrifying and true-to-itself ride – please read it!
10 / 10