The Wolfman

I wanted to like Jonathan Mayberry’s novelization of the film Wolfman. I really did. After all, it had so much potential. Creepy Victorian setting? Win. Jaded actor with a heart of gold? Win. Family secrets brought to light? Win. Monster ravaging the English countryside, much like in Rawhead Rex? Win. Detective from my own thesis novel (Aberline, even if his first name is wrong and his last name is spelled wrong; I get it, it's fiction.)? Win.

Having said that, this was the most horribly written book we’ve read so far in this course and considering that’s a group that includes Breeding Ground (which I loathed), that’s saying quite a bit.

Let’s start with the main character: Lawrence Talbot. I understand his motivation in returning to Blackmoor. After that, he loses me completely. First off, the tension between him and his father, Lord John, is ridiculous. Either you hate either other or you’re happy to see each other, guys, period. We go from prodigal feasts to angry accusations back to a Darth Vader/Luke Skywalker-esque confrontation, and at no point do I care about any of it.

Another beef about Lawrence Talbot: his sudden, all consuming infatuation with Gwen. Come on, man, this was your dead brother’s fiancée. Let a little time pass before you try to jump her bones; have just the tiniest bit of respect for the dead (and your own brother)! Also, the whole “Gwen was an angel compared to all those sluts back in London” bit was a tad much.

Speaking of Gwen and her Mary, Mother of God depiction: I don’t buy it. She was living with a man in his ancestral home prior to marriage (i.e. living in sin) during the Victorian Era, an era synonymous with over the top morality and sexual repression. Nope, Mr. Mayberry, I’m just not convinced.

Let’s talk about the monster(s) itself/himself/themselves: They were fairly intimidating, but again, over the top. The mass attack scene in the Gypsy camp left me reeling. It was the horror movie novelization equivalent of Dirty Harry shooting every man in the room; it was overkill, pure and simple. Also, I didn’t understand Lawerence’s motivations (again) in chasing after the werewolf after it’s basically attacked and killed every man, woman and child in the camp. Seems to me a smarter man would have bided his time and learned from the experience. Guess not.

Back to the writing: it was terrible. As a writer myself, there’s no phrase I detest more hearing or seeing in a critique than “show don’t tell.” I literally cringe when I see it; it’s the most overused, lazy comment you can make in a critique, in my view. Having said that, Mr. Mayberry? Show, don’t tell. And certainly don’t tell, tell, tell, and then tell some more. It was like he’d tell us a detail, then re-tell it three times after that. I get that Gwen has smoky blue eyes. Also, the fashion and food porn in this book was almost fetishistic; overdone to the point of nauseating.

Maybe it’s the fact that I generally detest movie novelizations that made me hate this book so much. Maybe it was just the fact that I kept wanting, on every page, to red ink it until the pages looked like they were themselves victims of the Wolfman because the prose was just so terrible. I’m not sure. I just know I had to force myself to finish this book, and now I’m not even sure I want to see the movie. And, that’s a shame because I think it had the potential to be a good story and just grossly missed the mark.