‘The whole thing gets richer and more involving the more of it you read’ – The Last Werewolf by Glen Duncan

Like supernatural fiction about scary mythical creatures? Try The Last Werewolf. Like fast-paced, intelligent  (and sexy) thrillers? Try The Last Werewolf. Like clever commentaries on writing and narrative and story-telling? Try The Last Werewolf. In case you haven’t twigged, I’m sold on this book. And the kicker is that I didn’t initially like it. For the first couple of chapters I thought it was overwritten, too know-it-all, too self-consciously playing the world-weary ancient-being card with a nod to Amis-esque cultural references and fancy word-play, and I was prepared to drag myself along for a pretty heavy-handed three-hundred-plus pages. But then it seduced me; the tone of the text began to gel with the narrator’s character and the plot started to race, and I couldn’t put the damn thing down. I spent all day on the couch devouring it. I didn’t even bother to change out of my pyjamas. (Okay, any excuse, but still – well played, Glen Duncan.)

Jake Marlowe’s a werewolf – a two-hundred-and-one year-old man who transforms into a wolf every full moon. He’s killed and eaten more humans than he cares to remember, and he’s sick of it. He’s lonely – his kind are dwindling and there’s been no female werewolves as long as he’s been alive – and he’s got the usual ennui of the extremely long-lived. There’s nothing new under the sun for our lupine narrator and he wants out. When his human familiar, Harley, who works for WOCOP (the World Organisation for the Control of Occult Phenomena), discovers that WOCOP operatives – otherwise known as the Hunt, an ancient group determined to wipe out the werewolf species once and for all – have finally killed the only other surviving werewolf, Jake’s path becomes clear. With the entire might of the Hunt focussed on hunting him down, he just has to hold still. Despite Harley’s entreaties to run or to fight, Jake’s instead waiting with exhausted relief for his assassins to come and finish him off. But it’s never that simple – a nasty murder and a shocking chance encounter make life seem suddenly tempting after all, and as the Hunt closes in, Jake’s desire to survive resurfaces… I can’t say anything more without giving away massive spoilers, but listen to me: even if you’re not caught up in it initially, this book is worth the read.

Oh, and there’s vampires.

It’s the way Duncan combines the tropes of different literary genres that makes the novel stand out for me. As far as the conventions of the werewolf-novel go, he’s got his own extremely vivid and visceral versions of the physiology and the gore and the creature’s desire for blood and sex; Jake’s descriptions of the kill, his blood-lust and his sexual urges are all very strong driving elements of the narrative. You get the pain and wrenching discomfort of the change (‘the Curse’ – echoes of the menstrual cycle here), the associated pull of the moon, the schizophrenic cleaving of wolf and human, the brute force of the werewolf’s longing, and the existential and moral angst of the serial murderer who finds himself enjoying the (necessary) kill. Then there’s the clinical elements of the thriller – the intelligence and counter-intelligence measures as Jake tries to stay hidden (the fake IDs and credit cards, the aliases, the dodging of tails), the amassing of conspiracy theories and paranoia (what do the vampires want? Who is in the Hunt’s pay?), the blacked-out windows and kidnappings and gadgetry, the shifting allegiances, the good-cop/bad-cop routines. And it’s all topped off with the self-consciousness of the modern literary consumer – the book consists of Jake’s diary entries, and he’s a well-read werewolf. He knows the conventions of both the supernatural genre/myth and his own epistolary form, and he draws attention to both so that Duncan gets away with the diary format and the rewriting of the werewolf story without either looking tired or cheesy. Jake discusses creation myths and the urge to tell and devour narratives in order to understand oneself and one’s own situations, and he’s gently mocking of his own self-conscious, meandering style in this age of snappy, straightforward, climactic tales. But it’s not self-indulgent; there are enough twists in the story to keep it racing along throughout, and Jake’s burgeoning (even after more than two hundred years) self-awareness and emotional depth mean that the whole thing gets richer and more involving the more of it you read. So, with an intelligent and witty prose style, the pace and tension of a good thriller, and the always fascinating pull of the supernatural Other, what’s not to like? Eh?

Any Cop?: Hell, yes. I’m already itching to see if there’s going to be a sequel.

Valerie O’Riordan