If BLACK AMBROSIA (which I read and reviewed back in November) is the vampire novel to beat, this is the werewolf novel to beat. Like BLACK AMBROSIA, WILDING covers incredibly potent emotional territory and explores gender, trauma, sexuality, mental illness, poverty, and outsider status in nuanced and intriguing ways beneath its veneer of late 80s/early 90s pulp paperback splatter horror. Both novels also imagine their chosen archetypal monster as a sexually abused and exploited, homeless teenage girl, albeit one who can devour her tormentors and innocent people alike.
However, where BLACK AMBROSIA's vampire, Angelina, is such a solitary creature that she's never sure if there are *any* other vampires in the world, anywhere, WILDING's Deborah is a runaway from a whole family of matriarchal lycanthropes. Her mother Lydia, grandmother Ruth, and great-grandmother Mary all have their own story arcs and alternating point of view chapters, and it's here, in its messy, uncomfortable excavation of abuse cycles and twisted family/cult dynamics that WILDING really shines. In this, it reminds me more of another favorite horror novel from November 2019, EGO HOMINI LUPUS. Both books refuse to allow their reader access to the interior life of any comfortably innocent, likable character, while simultaneously refusing to let even their worst villains be without recognizable, sympathetic loyalties, emotions, hurts, and moments of tenderness. They plunge us into snarling, multi-generational webs of characters who are both abuser and abused, murderer and victim, rapist and raped, traumatized survivor and serious threat to others' survival.
Unlike EGO HOMINI LUPUS, though, WILDING takes a very cautiously optimistic stance on the possibility of breaking these cycles and potentially redeeming oneself. It is hard, Tem suggests, and thankless, and most people cannot or will not do it. But there is always a narrow sliver of a chance to be better, and to protect others from suffering in the same way all over again.
Also reminiscent of EGO HOMINI LUPUS, and appropriately for a werewolf novel, WILDING revels in detailed descriptions of bodies, bodily fluids, bodily transformation, sex, violence, and death. This isn't a book for the squeamish. I love Tem's evocations of the physical, visceral ways emotions like anxiety, rage, and love can manifest, though, and I love her gorgeous digression about deep time, evolution, and the changing landscape of the Colorado Rockies in the last chapter. A love for nature shines through this novel; the multiple graphic disembowelments and scenes of werewolf fighting or predation are only a facet of that. Tem has a clear respect for, and knowledge of, the mountains where she's chosen to set her story, and for the city of Denver as well.
As a final note, I'll remark that, while I adore many monster novels in which the reality/literal-ness of the supernatural elements is left ambiguous, I also find it refreshing that for all its thematic and psychological depth, the were-women of WILDING definitely, actually, no-kidding turn into giant wolves that eat people. It is not a shared delusion. They are not a clan of cannibals who just *think* they can turn into wolves (although this concept is briefly, subtly toyed with towards the beginning of the novel). It *is* a metaphor for uncontrollable rage, passion, and trauma reactions, but it is also meant to be taken at face value as-read: in the world of this story, there are werewolves. Women who are angry and hurt enough, and/or who come from a line of werewolves, can turn into beasts if they put on a wolfskin at the full moon. Or, if they're particularly powerful, any time they want to do it. There are plenty of scenes where people turn into wolves in this novel; don't worry. (And I enjoyed the focus on more ancient werewolf lore-- spells, unguents, magic wolfskins-- over the contemporary Universal Studios derived stuff about silver bullets, being turned into a werewolf by the bite of a werewolf, etc.)