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The hungry curse,
This review is from: The Last Werewolf (Hardcover)
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Glen Duncan's pose is as wild, feral and energised as the titular lycanthrope.
He can write ferocious and brilliantly cinematic action scenes, his characters have a good line in dry, sardonic wit, and it could be a hit that may merit a movie or US box set mini-series. But I don't feel better off for having read it.
It's just that, from the pen of a reasonably mature guy who has, the jacket tells us, studied philosophy, the musings of the protagonist, Jake Marlowe, have all the profundity of an angst seized sixth former. The existentialism and nihilism just get in the way of the story, really, without being convincing components of interior worlds. Another issue which made the book a bit of a labrorious page turner for me were the actions of our monster narrator. The "sympathy for the devil" tale told from the monster's point of view is hardly new, but the attempts here to convey Marlowe coming to terms with his atrocities were incedibly alienating. The sadisitc, sexualised killing the man-monster is prone to felt be-fouling, to be honest. And however witty and engagaing he can be socially, spending the novel in his shoes is a wearying experience.