I had never heard of Nicholas Pekearo before I happened upon a copy of his novel, The Wolfman, at the library. Naturally I picked the book up and checked it out and I learned something tragic about its author. Pekearo was an auxiliary police officer in New York City who was shot down in the street on March 14th, 2007 in the line of duty. He died later that night. I hate hearing that sort of thing and my interest was even further piqued. Then I read some laudatory blurbs by people I respect like Jack Ketchum, Joe R. Lansdale and Andrew Vachss. That was enough to convince me to borrow the book and to make it the very next one that I read.
The Wolfman is indeed a novel of lycanthropy, but it's unique. The titular werewolf is a mean-tempered son of a bitch with a chip on his shoulder the size of Rhode Island. But he's a decent sort at heart and he tries to aim his nocturnal bloodlust toward suitably deserving individuals. Once a drunken transient, he now exists in a small town and works at a greasy spoon restaurant. But there's another killer on the loose in the neighborhood who is killing women. The main thrust of The Wolfman is a cat-and-mouse game of pursuit between the two.
Ketchum's blurb compared The Wolfman to the writing of Charles Bukowski, but I would have arrived at the same conclusion. The werewolf leads a dirty, hardscrabble existence and he seems on the verge of violence at every turn. in the unlikely event that Bukowski had written a werewolf novel, it might well resemble Pekearo's book.
In short, I loved the novel and I was held rapt at every page. There is a hip noirish quality to the first person narrative, with sharp insights and a nonstop sense of black wit in every line.
Nicholas Pekearo had several novels in the works and I'm not certain that any more are going to be published. As for The Wolfman, the cynical among us might assume that it was published for reasons of the author's tragic death and his status as a fallen hero. I can't say whether it had any bearing on the publisher's decision to put it out. I'm just happy that they did so.
The Wolfman is indeed a novel of lycanthropy, but it's unique. The titular werewolf is a mean-tempered son of a bitch with a chip on his shoulder the size of Rhode Island. But he's a decent sort at heart and he tries to aim his nocturnal bloodlust toward suitably deserving individuals. Once a drunken transient, he now exists in a small town and works at a greasy spoon restaurant. But there's another killer on the loose in the neighborhood who is killing women. The main thrust of The Wolfman is a cat-and-mouse game of pursuit between the two.
Ketchum's blurb compared The Wolfman to the writing of Charles Bukowski, but I would have arrived at the same conclusion. The werewolf leads a dirty, hardscrabble existence and he seems on the verge of violence at every turn. in the unlikely event that Bukowski had written a werewolf novel, it might well resemble Pekearo's book.
In short, I loved the novel and I was held rapt at every page. There is a hip noirish quality to the first person narrative, with sharp insights and a nonstop sense of black wit in every line.
Nicholas Pekearo had several novels in the works and I'm not certain that any more are going to be published. As for The Wolfman, the cynical among us might assume that it was published for reasons of the author's tragic death and his status as a fallen hero. I can't say whether it had any bearing on the publisher's decision to put it out. I'm just happy that they did so.
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