3.5 stars rounded up. This is the tale of Joe, a skinhead in London who, after being bitten by none other than Lene Lovitch at a gig, turns into a werewolf. And when vicious and bloody murders start happening throughout the capital, the police start to wonder just who is responsible.
A short book, very much in the style of the old Richard Allan ones, but written a heck of a lot better. Almost too well actually, when Joe started spouting poetry I found it difficult to really believe that a skinhead of that time would be that literate, but maybe this book was aiming to make people change their preconceptions of the skinhead myth. I had friends who were skins back in the 80s though - and they didn’t know a line of poetry!
The book is an incredibly evocative reminder of 1970s London, which I loved, the descriptions of clothes, music, violence and pubs were all so vivid. I also enjoyed the werewolf parts, which I was a bit sceptical about when I began, but it’s written so well into the story that it was easy to suspend belief. And that cover, wow, so eye catching.
*SPOILER ALERT*
My only criticism and the reason my rating was lower was down to the very abrupt ending, it left so many unanswered questions, the main one being WHAT was going to happen to Joe???? What an infuriating ending, it felt as though the author couldn’t be bothered to wrap any more of it up, so just left it. Very annoying.
Thanks to The Pigeonhole for an ARC of this book.