Wellington’s Werewolves

I realized I had never gotten around to reading the sequel to a David Wellington book that my momster had gotten me for Christmas a year (or two – ack!) ago. So, I picked that up. But, then I inadvertently picked up the first one and didn’t realize it was the first one until half way through (it had been awhile since last we had met). Even though I rarely re-read I went for it. Then snarfed down #2. They hit the spot.

If you’ve never read David Wellington he is a good read. His writing echoes Steven King a bit in that his descriptions can be graphically awesome (I still recall King describing in Dolores Claiborne skin being peeled like an orange – good stuff, if you’re into that sort of thing). Wellington does tend to venture toward the mystical at some point in his books’ series. I think it’s an impulse to want to explain the why behind his horrors – but, hey, he deals in zombies, vampires, and werewolves so he can do what he wants.

Frostbite: A Werewolf Tale is book one. Girl gets lost in the woods. Or does she? Encounters raging beast. Scratch. Oops. Wolfy. There’s some hunting. A radioactive city. Some death.

Overwinter: A Werewolf Tale is book two. Said girl and boy (you know there was a boy, this one has some charming WWII-era colloquialisms) set off on a quest for the cure. There are some black ops peeps out to protect oil interests. Lots of death. A nice package of fantasy-horror.

These are not the half-man beasts of Underworld or the gooey still have their humanity wolves from Laurell K. Hamilton. These are big dire wolves that no one wants to kiss or have tea with, but have a great story.

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