Tait expands what could be a straightforward potboiler, complete with plot points involving a coma and a mysterious military operation, into a rich portrait of Hokkaido life, on base and off, attentive to the textures of everyday life and the feeling of the folklore of a wild place pressing up against modern bars, bowling alleys, and fallout shelters. The cast is expansive—standouts include hostess Kiriko, of mysterious parentage, and new arrival Captain Gideon Forsberg, who is intriguingly prepared, after serving in Germany, for bizarre wolf attacks. Tait writes with rare empathy for all his characters and handles a blend of mystical elements with respect, twining literary realism with visceral horror—including some suitably grisly scenes—and fabulist surprises.
That thoroughness, especially when it comes to setting down characters’ drifts of mind, plus a tendency to explain in detail what might have been suggested, results in a novel that often lacks narrative momentum. Werewolf and Idol’s baggy length demands reader commitment, but it’s smart, accomplished, and unusually humane, digging deep into its milieu and 20th century geopolitics, and building to surprises as its story sweeps well beyond Japan and Korea.
Takeaway: A smart, epic novel of lycanthropes in mid-century Japan and beyond.
Great for fans of: Glen Duncan’s The Last Werewolf, Benjamin Percy’s Red Moon.
Production grades
Cover: C+
Design and typography: B+
Illustrations: N/A
Editing: B
Marketing copy: A-