Gay Werewolves; A Threesome of Books
That title got you, didn't it?
I'm going to do something that is a massive departure from my usual reviews, because something a little bit odd has been happening with my book choices lately. I'm noticing patterns.
It started with a sudden apparent fascination with Carmilla reimaginings and adaptations. Between mid-2025 and now, I've read three different Carmilla-inspired sapphic novels and despite having never read the actual source material, somehow managed to acquire TWO MORE. Weird but whatever. I guess I'm just in my toxic lesbian vampire era.
Then I read Jackson Alone, which starts with a queer character seeing a pornography with someone who looks an awful lot like themselves in it. I also had Persona by Aoife Josie Clemens on my TBR, which has a similar inciting incident, although the works are dramatically different. If I had a dime, but it's weird it happened twice, and so forth.
I also started listening to the audio book of Queer as Folklore by Sacha Coward while at work. I haven't finished it, but my Libby loan got zapped, so I'm in the hold queue so I can wrap up the last few hours. The book explores some basic folklore concepts and how inherently queer they are. It includes traditional folklore, myths, and legends, as well as what might be called modern folklore, like aliens, weird technology (AI, etc), and superheroes.
There is an obvious line to be drawn between different kinds of folklore and the queer experience and identity, some more obvious than others; unicorns, mermaids, and fairies. And then there are darker tales, those of vampires like Carmilla, and werewolves.
The last two books I read were about werewolves. The Red Winter, by Cameron Sullivan, and The Wolf and His King, by Finn Longman.
Both novels handle the werewolf myth in unique ways that evoke the queer experience, drawing on specific real-world mythos originating in France. The Red Winter is inspired by the Beast of Gévaudan, a sort of 18th century urban legend surrounding historically documented animal attacks in the Gévaudan region of France in the 1760s. According to good ol' Wikipedia: "A 1987 study estimated there had been 210 attacks, resulting in 113 deaths and 49 injuries; 98 of the victims killed were partly eaten.1 The Wolf and His King is a retelling of the late twelfth century lay2 of Bisclavret, by poet Marie de France. Bisclavret tells the story of a werewolf knight who is trapped in his wolf form by his treacherous wife after confiding his secret to her.
In Sullivan's afterword for The Red Winter, he mentions that the book has been in the works for nigh on a decade, and it shows. I went into it blind except for the publisher's summary, having never heard of the Beast of Gévaudan, and it was still obvious that Sullivan did meticulous research into his source material and the time period. Longman's work in The Wolf and His King is equally meticulous, fleshing out a story that was originally less than 500 lines of verse into a romantic historical saga. Their background as a medievalist is obvious in both accuracy and atmosphere.
Religion is a central theme in both novels, but it serves drastically different purposes. In The Red Winter, demons and gods utilize humans both as pawns and as sustenance; people are disposable, either as fuel to be consumed or as tools of war between gods. In The Wolf and His King, religion is a balm; a source of comfort. The king's chaplain gently eases the worries of both the king and Bisclavret, offering solace, advice, absolution without judgement.
Like the treatment of religion in their respective stories, The King and His Wolf is over all a much gentler story than The Red Winter. Sullivan's werewolf is the creature of horror movies, unforgivingly brutal and bloody. Some parts were difficult for me to read as an animal lover, so if you are interested in reading, I do recommend caution. The treatment of hunting dogs in this story really mirrored the way the gods and demons treated their human hosts and pawns, with highly notable exceptions.
The King and His Wolf on the other hand contains very little violence, if any, and for a while my anxiety was spiking purely because everything was going too smoothly. The vast majority of the book is very pleasant, almost cozy, like listening to a relaxing narrative song. Of course, I was correct and things do end up going horribly. But I can assure readers that it does indeed end on a satisfying, happy end.
The Red Winter also ends satisfyingly, and although it doesn't exactly have a happy ending, it does have a hopeful one, which I feel is an important balance for stories with such a grim tone. One way the books differ entirely, however, is humor. The Wolf and His King has a bit of light humor, but overall is a gentle and dramatic tale without sharp edges in need of softening with comedy. The Red Winter on the other hand is hilarious. Between the main character's Calciferesque-but-meaner in-dwelling demon, a sassy succubus, and the utilization of footnotes for comedic effect, Sullivan's humor brilliantly offsets the otherwise dismal themes of his novel.
Finally, both novels explore the inherent queerness of the werewolf narrative, but in slightly different ways. The following thoughts are purely my own interpretation and not reflective of the respective author's actual intent, so please keep that in mind.
In Queer as Folklore, Coward describes many ways the myth of the werewolf is allegorical to the queer experience; social stigma, the feeling of not belonging, or being an outsider, of not being built quite the same as everyone else, the struggle to accept yourself and be accepted by others and the comorbidities of mental illness that come with internal and external turmoil of societal rejection.
In The Red Winter, the curse of the werewolf takes the form of spiritual vengeance; gods angered by human resistance and betrayal curse the loved ones of those who have wronged them. In The Wolf and His King, the origin of the curse is left ambiguous; it's unclear how Bisclavret came to be a werewolf, although a local curse is briefly mentioned. But while the Red Winter felt distinctly more like an allegory for HIV/AIDs, the punishment of a deity for perceived offense, Longman's novel explores the myth as less of a contracted illness and more of a state of being that differs from the average experience. In this way, it feels more like an allegory for being trans, gender-nonconforming, or otherwise generally queer. Bisclavret is treated with great sympathy by nearly everyone around him, those who understand his condition as a possible infirmity of the nerves prior to discovering the truth. In particular, the king's chaplain discusses symptoms he experiences himself that allude to depression and anxiety, stating frankly that even religion does not help, but offering Bisclavret validation and gentle advice for managing his malaise.
Both Cameron Sullivan and Finn Longman explore the queerness of the werewolf myth in some strikingly similar and profoundly different ways. Each is a fascinating approach in its own right, and both novels will be sticking around in my noggin for quite some time. It feels like kismet to have read Queer as Folklore immediately prior to these books, which released very close together, entirely by accident. Just like last year when I read When Brooklyn Was Queer3 immediately prior to When the Tides Held the Moon4. Which, I'm also just realizing, was also around the time I read Marsha: The Joy and Defiance of Marsha P. Johnson5.
Isn't it weird how everything is connected?
If any of the books I mentioned piqued your interest, I encourage you to nab them from your local library/e-brary or consider a purchase from an independent bookstore either in person, via their website, or via Bookshop.org. In particular, The Wolf and His King is one of the most gorgeous physical books I own, with beautifully sprayed edges that recall medieval illuminated texts. The Red Winter is also stunning in person, with blood red sprayed edges.
Email me
OR
Leave a comment
\\Latest posts
Disclaimers:
No part of this blog has been created with the use of GenAI or LLMs. No part of this blog may be used to train GenAI or LLMs. Do not contact me with opportunities related to training, editing, or proofing output from GenAI or LLMs. Please see a full list of disclaimers here.
The fear of wolves: A review of wolf attacks on humans, 2002↩
A "narrative lay" is a short, rhyming chivalric story; Bisclavret is found in a collection of twelve lais written by Marie.↩
Written by Hugh Ryan, this nonfiction gives an overview of the LGBTQ+ history of Brooklyn from the 1800s to the 1960s.↩
Written by Venessa Vida Kelley, this is a novel about a gay Puerto Rican and a merman set in early 1900s Brooklyn and mentions a LOT of the same topics brought up by Ryan in his book. You can read my review of it here.↩
Written by Tourmaline, this is the first definitive biography of one of the LGBTQ+ community's most revered and important early-modern activists.↩