The Howling

[warning: some spoilers to follow]

Strange ... Last weekend I bought a couple of books that were all published in 1977, the year I seriously started to read weird stuff. The Grayspace Beast and Midnight at the Well of Souls are science fiction, both of which I have not previously read. The Howling is pure classic horror, and I did read it way back then, probably as a fifth grader the year it came out.

My initial reaction after a quick re-read was: How was I ever allowed to read this as a ten-year-old? I mean, it's quite sexually explicit. I didn't remember how much so, though there was one scene I seemed to recall ... but I'm blushing, and I want to get on with this review.

Werewolves. My earliest memories of them are from those black-and-white Universal flicks made in the early 40s. Sad and tragic Larry Talbot, the Werewolf. Then, nothing major for three decades. That's something like 375 full moons. Gary Brandner's The Howling and Whitley Strieber's The Wolfen were responsible for a semi-renaissance resurgence of the hairy beast in the late 70s. Both were made into moderately successful flicks, and both were dwarfed by the 1981 smash hit An American Werewolf in London. Then the beasties went back in hiding for almost another three decades, like "It" from Stephen King, until Benecio del Toro and Stephenie Meyer enticed them out in the open for film and print treatment.

I re-read The Howling in one three-hour sitting. I have to admit I enjoyed it, enjoyed it in a way I am not enjoying Thomas Mann's magnum opus. In fact, even mentioning The Howling in the same paragraph as The Magic Mountain is sorta like mentioning Rocky IV and Doctor Zhivago in the same breath. But it was a welcome break from German angst, a well-spent diversion. I mean, I could've watched two SciFi channel originals in that three-hour period and come out much the worse.

The plot's simple and direct, if a little contrived. Stylish seventies couple Roy and Karyn Beatty are newlyweds living the swanky lifestyle out in LA. By page four Karyn is raped. The offender is caught and plays no further role in the novel, but Karyn is emotionally scarred, and the Beattys' marriage suffers. At the suggestion of a psychotherapist, Roy takes a sabbatical from his work, finds a home to rent in a sleepy town (named Drago!), and hopes that some healing will take place there.

As is not uncommon in such horror novels as this, that sleepy town is a deathtrap. All the usual clues are overlooked: strange taciturn sheriff, overly friendly general store lady, no children, no pets, a history of mysterious disappearances over the years. And, of course, nightly howling. Like, right-outside-the-window howling.

Karyn's dog Lady is left out overnight and becomes werewolf chow. Convinced the pup was killed by wolves, Karyn begins researching them, and soon comes into contact with an ex-nun named Inez Polk, who introduces the werewolf theory as an answer to Drago's missing person problem. Roy falls for a mysterious woman named Marcia Lura, a raven-haired gypsy-like beauty clothed in pheromones. You know where that's heading. Later, he gets bitten by a black wolf (who do you think that is in human form?) and begins his own personal transformation. Karyn has a standoff with a menacing wolf and manages to blow half its head off with a shotgun. The next day, she and Inez spot a prominent Drago citizen with a bandaged ear. Hmmm. And then there's the doctor, who the pair of women bring into their confidence. Do you think he's a werewolf, too? Do you? How 'bout the whole town being werewolves? Hmmm?

The Howling is actually a fun read. Though I know nothing of Gary Brandner, his prose is such that the pages turn, and even though you can spot what's going to happen a couple hundred yards away, you still want to read it to confirm your guess. Everything's neat and tidy and not a single sentence, paragraph, or chapter is wasted. Well, with the exception of a short digression where a peripheral character has to hunt down a gunsmith in LA to manufacture some silver bullets. But I did learn that the melting point of silver is 960 degrees, so there.

I'm still amazed at the blunt sexuality of the book. While it's not explicitly hardcore, per se, it did expose ten-year-old LE to ... let's say, a non-procreative way of intercourse and, well, improper nun-on-nun relations, through flashback. The book could have been written without those three or four scenes, but then it wouldn't be The Howling, a thorough product of its times, enjoyable despite its faults.

I give it a generous B minus.