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A review by screamdogreads
Howl by Shaun David Hutchinson
4.0
"It looms over me, framed by the night and the stars and moss-choked oak trees. The smell hits me first. Like a decomposing corpse. Sweet in a way that fools my brain for a fraction of a second before I realize it's rotting flesh."
Howl is a werewolf novel, but, not in the traditional way of being a werewolf novel. Howl is, at its heart, as much of a metaphorical novel as it is a creature feature. Yet, it's never overtly obvious about anything, really. In fact, it's all pretty subtle, simmering away against the backdrop of small town drama. There's something so incredibly deep and compelling about this tale, something so hauntingly beautiful about it, an iron-heavy sense of hopelessness crushes each page. The real beast of this thing is the horror of the agonizing heartache, the werewolf may terrorize the town and lurk in the shadows but, really, at its core, it's a profound and powerful novel about trauma, one that's extremely easy to love.
Howl is written and constructed in such a fantastic and lyrical manner. Hutchinson writes so very authentically, so very beautifully and with a level of empathy and elegance so rarely seen about trauma, which actually turns this novel into a grimly dark and distressing read. It's not an easy book to get through, by any means, yet it's so fabulous and so delightful that it's impossible to put down. It's one of those novels that feels so very deeply personal, it feels so real, so human. It may not be the werewolf book you're expecting when you read the blurb but, arguably, it's something so much better. Howl is, by all accounts, a breathtaking, soul-shattering story. It's absolutely harrowing, unflinching and suffocating.
Howl is a werewolf novel, but, not in the traditional way of being a werewolf novel. Howl is, at its heart, as much of a metaphorical novel as it is a creature feature. Yet, it's never overtly obvious about anything, really. In fact, it's all pretty subtle, simmering away against the backdrop of small town drama. There's something so incredibly deep and compelling about this tale, something so hauntingly beautiful about it, an iron-heavy sense of hopelessness crushes each page. The real beast of this thing is the horror of the agonizing heartache, the werewolf may terrorize the town and lurk in the shadows but, really, at its core, it's a profound and powerful novel about trauma, one that's extremely easy to love.
Howl is written and constructed in such a fantastic and lyrical manner. Hutchinson writes so very authentically, so very beautifully and with a level of empathy and elegance so rarely seen about trauma, which actually turns this novel into a grimly dark and distressing read. It's not an easy book to get through, by any means, yet it's so fabulous and so delightful that it's impossible to put down. It's one of those novels that feels so very deeply personal, it feels so real, so human. It may not be the werewolf book you're expecting when you read the blurb but, arguably, it's something so much better. Howl is, by all accounts, a breathtaking, soul-shattering story. It's absolutely harrowing, unflinching and suffocating.
"Jarret's knees pop as the joints reverse, bending backward now. He falls to the ground and cries. A hand bursts from his chest and Luca claws his way free. He's covered in blood and thick gobbets of rotting meat. His face is red, his eyes are red, his smile is white - A whimper escapes my lips as he rakes his claws across my back. As he pushes through my spine and tears out my heart. I think I'll die from the pain, but I don't. I'll live with the hurt forever."
It's a dark, deep pit of a novel, a pitch black oil slick on the blacktop, it's a bottomless void, ready to consume readers. Despite it not being the most conventional of werewolf novels, it's still every bit as visceral, as scary, as violent and terrifying as any werewolf story should be. It's just such a deeply memorable and lovable story, there's this perfect small town atmosphere that just adds to its brilliance. Trauma explorations as horror will always be one of my absolute favorite ways of engaging with this genre, and Howl navigates this tricky concept with an amazing level of compassion and depth. Howl is an obsessive downwards spiral of a book, a snarling beast with teeth so intense and inescapable.
"Hot breath soaks my neck; a clawed hand pushes my face deeper into the mud. Bristly, wiry hair brushes the back of my arms. My shoulder burns where its teeth penetrated me, and I feel its poison in my blood. "