El hombre lobo de París

by Guy Endore

Las sombras nocturnas se ciernen sobre París. Unos siniestros aullidos se escuchan en las lúgubres callejuelas de la denominada "Ciudad de la Luz"… Nadie está a salvo del cruento ataque del misterioso hombre lobo que actúa con total impunidad, aprovechándose de la salvaje exaltación de la violencia que lo circunda.

Emplazado en el contexto del París de los sangrientos acontecimientos de la proclamación de la III República, la guerra franco-prusiana, la proclamación de la Comuna en 1871 y la posterior caída de ésta, el terrorífico argumento de El hombre lobo de París despertará sin duda el interés y la imaginación de los lectores.

Publicada en 1933 por el escritor estadounidense Guy Endore, nos hallamos ante la mejor narración sobre el mito del hombre lobo, uno de los grandes monstruos surgidos del pensamiento y de la experiencia ancestral del ser humano.

El suspense, el sentimiento de profunda extrañeza y el horror que destila esta novela inédita en España, la convierten en uno de los grandes paradigmas de la literatura de terror de todos los tiempos.

Presentación de Antonio Ballesteros. Prólogo de Alfredo Arias.

Genres: Horror, Fiction, Werewolves, Classics, Historical Fiction, Gothic, Fantasy

333 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1933

About the author

Samuel Guy Endore (4 July 1900 - 12 February 1970), born Samuel Goldstein and also known as Harry Relis, was a novelist and screenwriter. During his career he produced a wide array of novels, screenplays, and pamphlets, both published and unpublished. A cult favorite of fans of horror, he is best known for his novel The Werewolf of Paris which occupies a significant position in werewolf literature, much in the same way that Dracula does for fans of vampires.
He was nominated for a screenwriting Oscar for The Story of G.I. Joe (1945), and his novel Methinks the Lady . . . (1946) was the basis for Ben Hecht's screenplay for Whirlpool (1949).

Reviews

[Anne · Rating 4 out of 5]

A 14 year old girl walks into a church.



And is promptly raped and impregnated by the priest.
Naturally, the Church's solution was to move him to a different parish where he continued to play the part of disgusting person to perfection.
So, even in the early 30s, people were aware this was a problem.
I'm not blaming religion, I'm blaming people who turn a blind eye to monsters and their victims because they're afraid of the scandal. But I always enjoy seeing how things we think of as new problems turn out to be old issues when you read fiction from an earlier time. Things definitely change, but humans and our tendencies to repeat the same mistakes stay the same.



Anyway, this is a story within a story. In other words, it's one of those a man finds a copy of someone's diary kind of thing. And the diary starts with a secondhand story about a Hatfield's and McCoy's sort of ancient feud, where revenge leads to cruelty leads to a family curse. <-- or so the legend says...



The diary writer, Bertrand Caillet, then writes of his strange and tragic experience. A twist of fate coupled with his own dishonorable actions makes him feel responsible for the mother and her child, and he and his aunt try to do the best they can within the confines of a terrible situation. A terrible situation made worse when the little boy who was a product of the rape, then grows into a teenage werewolf. As you do.
Sadly, he does not make the basketball team.
Honestly, I think sports would have made all the difference in this kid's life. I mean, just look what it did for Scott Howard!



It's also an interesting bit of historical fiction, as the main story takes place in France during the Franco-Prussian War. Ok, and blame my American schooling, but I'd never really heard much of the whole Paris Commune kerfuffle. Whoa! And Guy Endore writes about it with this boots-on-the-ground perspective, while the city is in turmoil and the horrors of war spin and spill over the guilty and innocent alike.
BUT WITH A WEREWOLF.
So, that takes it up a notch.



The little werewolf eats a few people and even finds love before this whole ordeal is over.
But not in a Jacob vs Edward thing, so don't worry that you'll have to pick a team or something. This is not a romance, and nobody gets a happy ending.
Caillet writes about his werewolf ward from a place of love and loathing, remembering the boy but with a sad understanding that the man he has become is too damaged to be allowed freedom.
Alas, this book is no Twilight.



Unbelievably, even without the addition of an emo vampire finding true love, this book manages to be a lot of really interesting things rolled into one, and I was thoroughly impressed by it.
Recommended.

[Susan Budd · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Oh! The opium-sweet attraction of death” (183)!

That’s what brought me to this book, what brought you to this book: the lure of death. We spend our lives trying to escape it, but late at night, when we’re alone in the dark, it beckons in that way that only the Grim Reaper can beckon ~ at once alluring and terrifying.

One of the ways we make peace with death is by making light of it. We make light of the dark thing that awaits us all. We read Gothic novels and watch monster movies. We wait with bated breath for the werewolf to start gobbling people up.

My own taste for the macabre leans towards the mild and I was expecting The Werewolf of Paris to be good campy fun, something of the order of the cult-classic movie “An American Werewolf in London” (1981), but what I got was something even better: a well-written tale set during the Franco-Prussian War that comments as much on religion, science, law, and money as on sex and death.

And where there’s horror, there’s bound to be sex. Sex and death. Eros and Thanatos. Inextricably intertwined. Sophie, the dark beauty loved by the werewolf, muses about death as she lies in bed at night. During the day, she is drawn to Bertrand and his wolfish inviting eyes. And at night she thinks of those eyes as she indulges in Gothic fantasies of coffins, graves, and cemeteries. The love affair that ensues is both erotic and grotesque.

Had Guy Endore only wanted to write a werewolf story with masochistic maidens and grisly graveyard feasts, The Werewolf of Paris would be half its actual length, but in fact it’s much more. The theme of this novel is homo homini lupus ~ man’s inhumanity to man. Literally, man is a wolf to man.

As Aymar travels through a besieged Paris looking for his murderous nephew Bertrand, he observes man’s inhumanity to man wholesale. He witnesses the Paris Commune and its horrific end in the “Bloody Week” and he comes to the conclusion that everyone is a werewolf of sorts.

“Bertrand, it now seemed to Aymar, was but a mild case. What was a werewolf who had killed a couple of prostitutes, who had dug up a few corpses, compared with these bands of tigers slashing at each other with daily increasing ferocity! ‘And there’ll be worse,’ he said, and again he had that marvelous rising of the heart. Instead of thousands, future ages will kill millions. It will go on, the figures will rise and the process will accelerate! Hurrah for the race of werewolves” (264)!

Leading up to this revelation are numerous examples of human wickedness, each act of cruelty and violence leading to the next. The novel begins with a horrid story of Medieval sadism which serves as an origin story for the events that unfold later. Endore’s thesis is that “evil breeds evil.” Thus this original act of cruelty is the cause of subsequent acts of cruelty which branch out from their source eventually encompassing the whole world.

“Evil exists. And evil breeds evil. The horrors and cruelties of history link hands down the ages. One deed engenders another, nay, multiplies itself. One perpetrator of crime infects another. Their kind increases like flies. If nothing resists this plague, it will terminate with the world a seething mass of corruption” (243-244).

This book held numerous surprises for me, the first of which was the quality of the writing. The second was Endore’s treatment of religion and science.

**SPOILERS**


Religion and Science

“Oh, the terrible disgrace, the ignominy of it—possessing a mythical monster in one’s own family, in this age of science and enlightenment” (145)!

In the beginning of the novel, Aymar is firmly opposed to the Church. The fact that his aunt’s young charge Josephine is raped by a priest ~ a true wolf in sheep’s clothing ~ does nothing to improve his opinion of it. But once Bertrand’s condition becomes known to him, he embarks on a study of lycanthropy which forever alters his idea of what is and is not possible in the world.

Later, when he learns that his aunt’s will mandates that he study for the priesthood, he visits a priest who turns out to be a healthy happy man with literary ambitions. The priest speaks of astronomy and architecture and even socialism. This conversation changes Aymar’s opinion of the Church.

When I read the rape scene, I expected the novel to go in an anti-Catholic direction, but it did not. Father Pitamont’s crime is the result of his own “moral disease,” his own evil tendencies, and is no reflection on the Church.

In another conversation Aymar has in relation to his aunt’s will, he speaks with a notary. Aymar brings up the subject of the afterlife and the notary, Le Pelletier, says something that Aymar, in his youth, would probably have said: “Me, I’m a believer in science. I have nothing to do with superstitions. I’m a positivist with Comte” (83).

The atheistic worldview is also treated in this ambitious novel. The Werewolf of Paris is as much a historical novel as a horror novel and the chief example of the cruelty committed by atheists is Endore’s account of the Picpus Affair. The preposterous accusations made against the priests and nuns of the Sacred Heart of Picpus demonstrate that irrationality and fanaticism are as abundant in the secular world as anywhere else.

The persecution begins with a search of the church that turns up items that reveal what appear to paranoid minds as evidence of sexual depravity and murder: The crib from the nun’s Christmas pageant becomes evidence of illicit unions between priests and nuns. Orthopedic leg braces used by the disabled children cared for by the nuns become Inquisitional torture devices. Bodies buried in the churchyard become victims of the church’s Medieval barbarism.

Endore reproduces the interrogation of a priest by the anti-Catholic Raoul Rigault, a conversation so farcical that one wishes it were fiction. Meanwhile crime rages through Paris as the police busy themselves with “the discovery of cadavers in the crypt” (221).

And the most hideous display of cruelty in the name of science over superstition comes from Dr. Dumas, the director of the private mental hospital where Bertrand will spend his final days. Dumas regards lycanthropy as a mental illness and denounces the Medieval Church for burning werewolves even as he viciously abuses his patients and defrauds their relatives.

In a conversation between Aymar and Dumas, Aymar describes the complete reversal of his thought from the atheistic days of his youth: “. . . I have become deeply convinced that man must return to the simple faith of his ancestors, back to what we in our modem sophistication and pride term vulgar superstition” (281).


Meat-Eating

If I was surprised at the vindication of religion and the critique of atheistic science in this novel, I was many times more surprised at its commentary on meat-eating.

The horror of werewolves is not merely that they kill people. It is that they eat people. And worse, they’re people that eat people. At least, they’re people most of the time. Whether they should be considered people while in wolf form is a question not addressed in this book, but I think it is an interesting question nonetheless. If they are not people while in wolf form, then eating people is not cannibalism, but it’s still objectionable to the people being eaten. Surely this is the very thing to make a thinking person think about carnivorism and Endore devotes a chapter to it, a chapter which would make me turn vegetarian if I weren’t already one.

Aymar encounters a group of wealthy entrepreneurs who conceive of a plan to avoid starvation during the famine. He is invited to a dinner with a menu that turns my stomach to even read. But that’s not really fair. Menus with cow, pig, and chicken on them turn my stomach. But I like to imagine that my omnivorous friends would likewise feel nauseated by such dishes as “Skewer roast of dog’s liver, à la maître d’hôtel; and Minced back of cat, with mayonnaise sauce” (167).

Mayonnaise ~ blech! Okay, that one’s just me. (Me and the worldwide membership of the “I Hate Mayonnaise Club.”) But dog and cat, mouse and rat, horse and raccoon! These are not animals people are accustomed to eat. Seeing them on the menu must, I imagine, arouse as much disgust in the average non-vegetarian as it does in vegetarians. And this should be food for thought. If it is horrible to eat a dog, is it not equally horrible to eat a pig? Why are cows on the menu and not horses and cats?

The vegetarian sees death where the omnivore sees only dinner. But can anyone still eat a leg of lamb or a chicken breast and not see a dismembered corpse after following the werewolf on his nightly dinner-run in the cemetery?

There’s a footnote in this chapter which is so sad, so heart-rending, that it must surely bring tears to the eyes of everyone who reads it, even those who blithely wolfed down their ham sandwiches during my not-so-subtle attempt to convert them to a plant-based diet. It concerns two beloved elephants who lived in the zoo. They were sold to a butcher who catered to the wealthy.

“The two elephants, facing their doom, were nonplussed. Having been subjected to nothing but kindness all their lives, they could not suspect anything but kindness in the motives and actions of those who now led them into the slaughterhouse” (170).

The elephants couldn’t have been more wrong in their assessment of human beings.

To make matters worse, the first attempt to kill one of the gentle giants by smashing his head with a wooden mallet only succeeds in bloodying his head, but doesn’t kill him.

“He looked puzzled for a moment, but only for a moment, and then he regained his lifelong assurance that only caresses and food emanated from the two-legged animal. Eventually a sharpshooter was employed to kill the brutes with well-placed bullets” (170).

This footnote affected me more profoundly than anything else in the novel. Human beings should be what these elephants thought we were. But the reality of our species is nothing like that. Homo homini lupus. Man is a wolf to man. And to elephants. And to every other creature on Earth.

It is no coincidence that, walking past a butcher shop one day, Aymar sees the butcher and thinks he is Father Pitamont, the priest who raped Josephine and sired Bertrand. What could be more apropos? A brutal profession for a brutal man. He perverted the act of love by making it an act of violence and now, instead of leading his flock to eternal life, he leads innocent beasts to their deaths. The blood he sheds is a hideous parody of the blood of Christ.


Law and Money

But wait ~ the ugliness is not over yet. I’ve barely scratched the surface. This is homo sapiens we’re talking about here.

With Bertrand prowling the night, desecrating graves, and killing people, someone’s got to take the heat. One of those unfortunates is Jean Robert. When Robert stands before a judge accused of violation of sepulture, he is baited and bamboozled until it’s a wonder he knows his own name. The scene would be comic if it were not so cruel.

The law, as practiced by this judge, is a twisted thing designed to confound the average man with mind games and circular reasoning. Robert does not need to he held in jail awaiting his trial. He appeals to the judge, saying he has to work to support his family, to which the judge replies: “The law punishes crime, it does not reward innocence” (158).

Elsewhere people seek out ways to circumvent the law. In working out the details of his late aunt’s will, Aymar is advised by the notary how to circumvent the stipulation that he enter the priesthood. Then he is advised by the priest how to circumvent the prohibition on disabled priests. He observes with chagrin that “ . . . there was something a little more than coincidental in this priest telling him how to get around the law of the Church, a few days after the notary had told him how to get around the law of the State. Living and dead, sacred and profane, all were amenable to money and guile” (86).

Money cannot fail to make its appearance in this story which features so many avenues of human corruption. For the wealthy, war is an opportunity to become even more wealthy. For the poor, it is merely an opportunity to suffer stoically. Dr. Dumas, charged with the care of vulnerable mental patients, sees them, not as human beings to be treated with compassion and dignity, but as a source of francs to line his pockets. And he is ever ready to swindle their families to increase his own wealth. Even the Madame of a house of prostitution is concerned, not with the well-being of the prostitute Bertrand mutilated, but with how much money she can extort from his uncle.


Sex and Death

With all the surprises this book held for me, was I surprised by any of the sex and death? Naturally I expected sex and death in a book about a werewolf. I hoped not to be surprised by too much violence and I doubted that a book published in 1933 could surprise me with sex, but I ended up being surprised by both.

With the violence, the death, I was surprised, not by the werewolf himself, but by nearly everyone else. I knew next to nothing about the Franco-Prussian War and the Paris Commune when I started reading this book, so it was with true horror that I read about the atrocities committed by men and women against their fellow human beings.

With the sex, I was far more surprised than I thought I could be. Promiscuity and prostitution are one thing, but rape and incest are quite another. Bertrand is the offspring of his mother’s rape by a priest. Later, in a moment of weakness, Bertrand will seduce his mother and she will conceive. Thus does he fulfill Aymar’s warning that “evil breeds evil.” Bertrand literally engenders evil.

But the greatest shock for me concerned his romance with Sophie. Sophie’s conception was as unusual as Bertrand’s, though it was nearly an opposite experience. Sophie’s mother, adverse to sexual intercourse, gave herself only once to her husband and she only gave herself to him because they thought they were about to die in a shipwreck. Sophie’s sentimental father muses on the wonder of life conceived at the very moment when death seemed imminent.

With two such unusual origins, the union of Bertrand and Sophie was bound to be a strange one. What surprised me the most was the parody their union made of love, and not just romantic love, but maternal love and Christian love as well.

Sophie and Bertrand’s love affair is one of death rather than sex. He is gradually killing her by drinking her blood. In a parody of sexual penetration, a knife, supplied by Sophie herself, becomes a phallic symbol. To Sophie, who fantasizes about a double suicide, this is romantic, but there is nothing romantic about it. There is no beauty, only ugliness.

“He uncovered her. There was scarcely a portion of her body that had not one or more cuts on it. The older ones had healed to scars that traversed her dark skin with lines that were visibly lighter than the surrounding area. The newer ones were angry welts of red, or hard ridges of scab. In the candlelight the latter were like old jewelry or polished tortoiseshell” (231).

Bertrand drinking blood from Sophie’s wounds is also a parody of a mother suckling her child. “She grew heavy, sultry with blood, like a nursing mother with milk” (236). As he drinks, he makes “ugly sucking noises” (231). She plays with his hair and murmurs: “Poor little baby” (231). It is Sophie who insists that Bertrand feed from her. She takes on the protective maternal role, giving herself to Bertrand as a mother gives herself to her child

Finally, there is the parody of Christian love, of agape. The men in the canteen lust for Sophie and she, in her love for Bertrand, loves them all. She loves all of mankind and wants to give herself to all of mankind—literally, not metaphorically.

“At the moment she would have been capable of giving herself to . . . everyone who might have needed her. To the whole battalion that looked at her with lusting, hungry eyes. All those bearded and unshaven faces that wanted the smoothness of her cheeks. All those hard arms that craved to crush her soft body. All those calloused, dirty hands that wanted to touch her with intimate caresses.

And all that love for the whole male world, that welled up in her, rose and bunched itself into her lips” (233).

Each type of love is perverted into a horrid travesty of itself.

**END OF SPOILERS**


Had I known that The Werewolf of Paris was very much a historical novel, I might not have read it. So I’m glad I did not know. This book has given me a lot to think about and the werewolf is the least of it. As a werewolf novel, it is thoroughly satisfying, but as a historical novel, a philosophical novel, and a social commentary it is more than satisfying. It is edifying. If I had to sum it all up in one sentence I would say it has de-romanticized death. And that is a good thing.

Sophie’s adolescent musings about death are fit only for midnight reveries. In reality, death is not beautiful. This novel overflows with death and not one of them is beautiful. War is ugly. Violence and bloodshed are ugly. The werewolf is superfluous in a world of man’s inhumanity to man. But there is one thing that the werewolf, and perhaps only the werewolf, can do: he can show us our true nature, our wolfishness, our innate tendency to turn on our fellows with our teeth bared and our claws extended. What we do with this revelation is up to us.

[Jeffrey Keeten · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Why should this one wolf be shut up for an individual crime, when mass crimes go unpunished? When all society can turn into a wolf and be celebrated with fife and drum and with flags curling in the wind? Why then shouldn’t this dog have his day too?”

Set against the background of the Franco-Prussian War in the 1870s where thousands are being slaughtered indiscriminately on the battlefield, why should society be so upset about a few dead prostitutes, a few disinterned and gnawed on corpses, and a bit of disconcerting howling in the middle of the night? Frankly, Paris has bigger issues, such as food. With the war effort taking too much food from the mouths of the population, even the rich are having to get creative with their dinner selections.

“Braised shoulder and undercut of dog with tomato sauce;
Jugged cat with mushrooms;
Dog cutlet with green peas;
Venison ragout of rats, sauce Robert.
Leg of dog and raccoon, pepper sauce.”

I must say I would more likely be out with the werewolf eating my neighbors before I’d even consider eating my dog. Most of the bloody action is kept off stage, but we do get treated to a few shiver-inducing glimpses of the werewolf at work. ”Suddenly, there was a piercing scream, a long drawn-out blood-curling yell that wound and wound, growing shriller and shriller, stopping suddenly with a deep dark gurgle as though all that vast sound were being sucked back and down into a waste-pipe.”

Few are as concerned about the activities of Bertrand Caillet as his Uncle Aymar Galliez, who has set down his adventures, what he knows of them, for posterity. “But there was a strange shame here that he could not overcome. Oh, the terrible disgrace, the ignominy of it—possessing a mythical monster in one’s own family, in this age of science and enlightenment!”

Bertrand is the product of a rape, a priestly rape, right beneath the stained glassed windows of the chapel. His mother Josephine was like a beast unleashed, as if this act of desecration against her body opened up the floodgates of her own pent up sexual desire. No man was safe from her needs, nor could they resist the offer of her charms. She shortly would be thought of as the town bicycle, with everyone getting a chance to ride. This was disconcerting to Aymar’s family who was charged with her care. The rather prudish Aymar also finds himself a “victim” of her alluring wanton flesh as well.

This is certainly a theme that Guy Endore explores throughout the book. The inner Hyde who resides in all of us. The werewolf is quite possibly the only one being honest about his own desires. The priest who debached Josephine, the neighborhood men who take advantage of Josephine’s newfound lack of inhibitions, and even Aymar falling prey to his denied yearnings are all upstanding members of society, but all eagerly participate in the ongoing debauchery of Josephine. Later when Bertrand meets the lovely Sophie, she is consumed by a different desire. She wants to feed him, much like a willing victim offering her neck to Dracula. ”He uncovered her. There was scarcely a portion of her body that had not one or more cuts on it. The older ones had healed to scars that traversed her dark skin with lines that were visibility lighter than the surrounding area. The newer ones were angry welts of red, or hard ridges of scab. In the candlelight the latter were like old jewelry or polished tortoiseshell.”

Sophie’s compliance is frankly terrifying. She is trying to keep Bertrand from killing and feeding, but she is also caught up in the sensual and carnal aspects of him lapping her blood. This induces more shivers for me than the prospect of Bertrand opening up a fountain of blood from some random victim. I also find it intriguing, considering the fact that this book was published in 1933, that there are numerous, spicy scenes that certainly would have made a young lady blush in the early twentieth century.

When we think of classic horror, the first books to come to mind are Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I would also include Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Grey. There is something missing from the canon, and that would be a classic tale of lycanthropy. Some would argue that Endore’s book should be included in this marquee group of tales that have had such an impact on culture. Certainly, the legend of the werewolf deserves a place in the highest pantheon of horror literature. Is this it? I’m not sure. There is a lot to like about this tale, but there is also some clunkiness to it as well, but there are clunky aspects to the other classic horror books, too. I wonder, if I had read this several times by this point in my life, if my relationship with it would be stronger?

Guy Endore, struggling novelist, was also a struggling screenwriter. He did see The Curse of the Werewolf, based on this book, produced and wrote the screenplay for The Mark of the Vampire. He was an unrepentant member of the communist party, and after he was blacklisted, continued to sell Hollywood scripts under a pseudonym. He wrote biographies about Casanova, Voltaire, and Joan of Arc that did reasonably well, but he is best known for being the writer of The Werewolf of Paris.

If you are a fan of the werewolf legends, you have to read this book. If you are a fan of classic horror, you should definitely read this book. I bought a copy of this book in 2015, and because recently I was working on a werewolf story of my own, I finally read it. I’m so glad I did and plan to read it again before I kick off this mortal coil, perhaps some night when the wind is blowing and the wolves are howling.

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[Terry · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Werewolf of Paris is an interesting book. Part horror story and part historical fiction, it follows the travails of the titular werewolf of Paris from his birth to his death, as well as his place in the blood-drenched moment of history known as the Franco-Prussian War that was followed by the ill-fated Paris Commune. Interestingly the werewolf in question, Bertrand Caillet, is actually something of a secondary character in his own tale, as it is told from the perspective of his adoptive father Aymar Galliez. We never see the wolf itself in action, and despite some tantalizing clues built upon separate pieces of evidence, the actual lycanthropy of Bertrand could as easily be interpreted as a purely psychological affliction as opposed to a supernatural one. Add to that the fact that we are being told this tale third-hand (Endore’s conceit being that his story is being constructed from the reports and reminiscences of Galliez who had to put the pieces together mostly second-hand, interspersed with Endore’s own researches into the documents of the period) and the truth or fiction of the lyncanthropy in question becomes even greater. Sometimes this conceit does not always benefit Endore’s story, for there are many scenes and events that occur within the text that would have been clearly outside of the knowledge of Galliez or any documentary sources of the day…still that is a quibble for something that really is a novel and quite an enjoyable one at that.

Endore starts his ‘documentary’ with a tale taken from the annals of history that purports to enlighten us as to the ultimate origins of our werewolf. It is a sordid tale of feuding nobility wherein the Pitamonts and Pitavals, after having waged generations of warfare against each other, finally end their feud in mutual impoverishment and one of the last of the Pitamonts is held captive for years by the last of the Pitavals. His imprisonment is an inhuman one, and he is left to suffer in a literal hole in the ground, fed nothing save raw meat. This apparently triggers his transformation into the wolf-man of legend. Our tale truly begins, however, when Josephine, a young peasant girl newly arrived in Paris, is raped by a priest, a descendant of the last of the Pitamonts, and bears Bertrand, a child destined to bring forth the family curse.

We follow Bertrand in his young life, at first so full of promise and then slowly brought to near ruin by his ever-increasing taste for blood. Strange things begin to happen in Bertrand’s village: animals go missing or turn up dead, recent corpses are found exhumed and partially eaten. What could be happening? Slowly Bertrand’s “uncle” Aymar (the nephew of the woman who had taken in Josephine and the man who ends up becoming responsible for both mother and child) begins to put the pieces of the puzzle together and see that everything leads back to his nephew. At first he tries to slake the thirst of the monster inside Bertrand by feeding the boy raw meat and keeping him confined to the house. This only has limited efficacy and soon more drastic measures need to be taken. Ultimately the boy is able to escape his well-meant prison and, starving to appease his lusts, goes on a spree of murder and terror that takes him to Paris. Here, amidst the confusion of the end of the Franco-Prussian war and the rise of the Commune Bertrand is able to satisfy most of his hungers free from persecution or discovery. But his Uncle Aymar is spurred on by regret and remorse. He feels responsible for the release of this beast upon the world, a beast he is convinced is a supernatural terror, and decides to hunt him down. The rest of the tale details his attempts to find Bertrand and his slowly dawning discovery amidst the chaos and death that seems to permanently reside in Paris that perhaps mankind itself is the true monster. Side by side with this runs the parallel story of Bertrand and his fortuitous discovery of a lover not only able, but willing to supply him with a conduit for the slaking of his varied lusts…it is an interesting picture of depravity, lust and mutual co-dependence. Of course things come to a head and the piper must be paid.

Endore’s overarching purpose is, I think, not really to tell a werewolf story, but a desire to expose the bloodthirsty nature of mankind, for which the werewolf of the title becomes little more than a symbol, or even a contrast to this thesis, since one lone werewolf, no matter how savage, can never hope to decimate the lives of which plain old human conflict is capable. For, as even Aymar the unstinting hunter of the wolf must admit, if the hands of “normal” men are able to commit and rationalize the cold-blooded killing of 20,000 commoners as part of the reaction against the Commune (not to mention those killed by the Commune itself in its heyday, or the casualties of the Franco-Prussian war before it) then “What was a werewolf who had killed a couple of prostitutes, who had dug up a few corpses…?” Endore, and by extension Aymar, even postulates that the very existence of the werewolf may have been nothing more than the sickness of the time manifesting itself physically…though it is left open-ended in a chicken-and-egg way whether it is the madness of the time that allowed the wolf to be born, or whether it was the existence of the wolf that could infect mankind with its madness and bloodlust.

Overall this was a good tale, though I would say it came across much more as historical fiction for me than as pure horror (which in my opinion is fine). It has also been claimed that this is the “Dracula for Werewolves” and I’m not sure if I agree. Certainly it shares similarities with Dracula in its documentary format and is a well-written, and even seminal, version of the werewolf myth, but I am not widely enough read in werewolf stories to say whether or not it is the best of them. Also, the ambiguity of the actual ‘reality’ of Bertrand’s lyncanthropy and his relatively secondary role as a character in the story makes me think that while this is a good tale well worth reading, it may not be the ultimate exemplar of werewolf fiction.

[Rodrigo · Rating 2 out of 5]

Lo que puedo haber sido y no fue, al final la palabra es, decepcionante.
No empezó muy bien, algo lento, la parte central estuvo mas entretenida con los ataques del hombre lobo ya en la ciudad de Paris, pero el último 1/4 ha sido una novela histórica sore la III república mas que de terror, en fin, correr un tupido velo y a por otro libro...
Sinopsis: Las sombras nocturnas se ciernen sobre París. Unos siniestros aullidos se escuchan en las lúgubres callejuelas de la denominada "Ciudad de la Luz"… Nadie está a salvo del cruento ataque del misterioso hombre lobo que actúa con total impunidad, aprovechándose de la salvaje exaltación de la violencia que lo circunda.

Emplazado en el contexto del París de los sangrientos acontecimientos de la proclamación de la III República, la guerra franco-prusiana, la proclamación de la Comuna en 1871 y la posterior caída de ésta, el terrorífico argumento de El hombre lobo de París despertará sin duda el interés y la imaginación de los lectores.

Publicada en 1933 por el escritor estadounidense Guy Endore, nos hallamos ante la mejor narración sobre el mito del hombre lobo, uno de los grandes monstruos surgidos del pensamiento y de la experiencia ancestral del ser humano.

El suspense, el sentimiento de profunda extrañeza y el horror que destila esta novela inédita en España, la convierten en uno de los grandes paradigmas de la literatura de terror de todos los tiempos.
Valoración: 4/10

[Algernon · Rating 4 out of 5]

Suddenly, there was a piercing scream, a long drawn-out blood-curling yell that wound and wound, growing shriller and shriller, stopping suddenly with a deep dark gurgle as though all that vast sound were being sucked back and down into a waste-pipe.

A good scare is refreshing from time to time, giving the old synapses a jolt. The Werewolf of Paris is my 2013 Halloween pick. I had high expectations from the story, after glowing praise from a reliable reviewer on a different forum, and I was not disappointed. I see the reaction of Goodreaders is more moderate. They probably expected something closer in style to modern paranormal romances. What we have here is a supernatural creature going on a rampage in an urban environment, with a sideline romance thrown in, but the novel comes closer in style to the 19 Century Gothic than to Millenial teenage angst.

I happen to greatly enjoy the classics and I like to trace their influence on more recent authors. I believe Guy Endore could claim a position side by side with Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker as genre founding members. Guy Endore's werewolf shares with Mary Shelley's Frankenstein the tragic destiny of the misunderstood victim of popular hysteria, condemning him for an affliction outside of his conscious control. Most of the elements we have come to associate with the werewolf myth are present here: the nocturnal habits, the shapechanging, the violent temper, the body hair, the double identity that cannot communicate from one form to another (although, surprisingly, not the full moon connection). I haven't read enough to be able to declare Endore is the first writer to use the myth, but he is definitely one that made it popular.

The horror elements of the story are carefuly graded in intensity, starting with sounds and smells and barely glimpsed images at the edge of vision, evolving later into more explicit blood splaterred scenes. The real focus though is on the mind games, on the psychological impact of fear on the scientific oriented man. Early in the novel a sort of origin story is given, describing the long standing feud between two families in the Rhone-Alpes region of France, Pitaval and Pitamont, ruthlessly attacking each other generation after generation. The theme of man's inhumanity to man will return with a vengeance by the end of the novel, but for the moment the most memorable scene is of a man buried alive in an oubliette and slowly turned from rational human being into beast.

One of the pet theories of the author is that evil begets more evil, and acts of horror are inherited from one generation to another. The novel takes us next to Paris in the aftermath of the 1848 revolutionary year, and introduces the narrator - Aymar Galliez, a rationalist and a militant for social change, forced to deal with unexplained phenomena as a young servant girl in his household is raped by a renegade priest and later gives birth to a wild boy.

You don't know everything? Why, that phrase was the beginning and the end of all mysticism.

Aymar takes the boy and the mother under his wing, to be raised in the country, away from the corrupting influence of the big city. Aymar also struggles with personal issues, mostly dealing with religion and the role of the church in dealing with spiritual matters. This is the second pet theory that I would counsel readers to attribute to Aymar Galliez rather than directly to the author. This is how I coped with some hard to swallow statements about the limitations of science as a method of understanding the world and with other radical diatribes about the usefullness of burning witches and other undesirables at the stake.

Anyway, to cut my synopsis short, the boy (Bernard) grows to become an unruly teenager while slain animals are starting to be found around his village. Aymar locks the boy's door every night, but somehow the unusual killings go on. Soon, more than animals fall victim to the mysterious assailant, and the action moves to Paris on the eve of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, as Bertrand runs away from his tutor.

The Paris section of the book is extensive and slowly expands the scope of the novel from the individual fate of Bertrand to the struggle of millions to survive first the siege of the Prussians, then the chaotic rule of the Communards and finally the brutal repression by Government loyalists. In a series of sketches we are aquiainted with the social injustice rampant at the times, with the creative ways the French always had of eating 'disgusting' things, with the mob rule that surpasses rational thought in times of great distress.

There is such a thing as a drunkenness that comes from a surfeit of bloodshed. The mob of Paris, outraged by endless murders, howled, but only for more blood, like a man drunk with liquor who, while lying wretched and puking under the table, still craves another drink and yet another.

The pacing of the novel may be found too slow by modern readers, and the horror elements relatively scarce in the economy of the plot, but I found the developing big canvas compelling, not quite as detailed and deep reaching as Les Miserables, but nothing to be ashamed of. The social commentary Galliez likes to insert into his narrative tends sometimes to steal the focus from the main characters, but his observations are still relevant and should at least provoke a moment of reflection on how the more things change, the more they remain the same. One example deals with the manipulation of public opinion through the media, creating adversaries of freedom and society out of thin air:

Of course, all Paris was not so stupid, but the unthinking mass, accustomed to playing the sounding board to the tune of the journalists, responding first to one sentiment and then to its opposite, was stirred profoundly by these romantic tales of horror.

On the subject of how good looking, rich people are getting a free ride in society, living their life in a sheltered rosy bubble, insulated from the sordid need to work for a living:

One envies such people, but in the same breath one wishes heaped upon their heads all the joys that life can offer and yet so insistently refuses to most of us. For such people seem as if selected by nature to be showered with the best gifts. She, herself, wanted of life an endless succession of new wonders, new pleasures and surprises.

The 'she' in the quote above is Mlle. Sophie de Blumenberg, the ravishing daughter of a succesful Paris banker, slumming in a soldier cantina in a poor imitation of Florence Nightingale. She falls there under the animal magnetism of a tongue-tied Bertrand, a Civil Guard volunteer now, to the despair of the lady's beau, the spick Captain Barral de Montfort. This classic doomed love triangle gives a new dimension to the novel, another throwback to the 19 Century taste in melodrama and grand gestures (Eugene Sue is mentioned at one point). I found the characters of Sophie and Barral well rounded, if a little predictable, and the resolution well suited to the larger drama enfolding in the city. Sophie in particular is an apt illustration of the deep waters running under the surface of social grace and of the subconscious terrors and urges that can come to consume a person completely:

Darkness. Intense darkness. And shadows among shadows. An a vast fear. It was like absolute nothingness. Absolute blankness. But within this nothingness a something more horrible than the mind can imagine. That was death. Lying underground in a coffin. Her imagination had already put her there a thousand times.

The final scenes at the end of the Paris Commune and later in a mental facility mark a return to the initial theme of man preying on his fellow man and leave a bitter aftertaste of defeat, of helplessness in the face of evil, incarnated not in a supernatural being, but in the placid visage of fellow human beings. Aymar Galliez turns to the Catholic Church for redemption. As a humanist without a clear religious affiliation I can neither condemn him nor condone his antisecular stance. I can only hope some lesson can be learned from the mistakes of the past:

Why should this one wolf be shut up for an individual crime, when mass crimes go unpunished? When all society can turn into wolf and be celebrated with fife and drum and with flags curling in the wind? Why then shouldn't this dog have his day too?

[Sandy · Rating 5 out of 5]

I suppose that I owe a debt of gratitude to writer Marvin Kaye, who selected Guy Endore's classic novel of lycanthropy, "The Werewolf of Paris," for inclusion in Newman & Jones' excellent overview volume "Horror: 100 Best Books." If it hadn't been for Kaye's article on this masterful tale, who knows if I would have ever run across it, and that would have been a real shame, because this is one very impressive piece of work indeed. In this beautifully written novel from 1933, we learn the history of one Bertrand Caillet, the product of a lecherous priest with a sinister family history raping a French peasant girl in the early 1850s. Caillet is later raised by Aymar Galliez, the nephew of the woman who had hired the peasant girl as a maid, and his notes on Caillet, purportedly found many years later by the author, form the kernel of this tale. It does not take Aymar long to realize that something is decidedly wrong with his young charge; in fact, Caillet is a werewolf, who loves nothing more than leaping out of his bedroom window at night and killing livestock and assorted wayfarers around the countryside. Years later, as a young man, Caillet runs away to Paris, to continue his depredations in a more populous arena, but at a most inauspicious time: right in the midst of the Franco-Prussian War, and right before the incredible violence of the Paris Commune of 1871.

But this novel is so much more than a simple tale of horror, although there ARE many grisly scenes. Endore (whose real name was Harry Relis) views his werewolf not as a monster, but rather as a sympathetic victim. Although Bertrand commits some truly horrible acts--killing his best friend, committing incest with his mother, despoiling graves, murdering countless creatures, draining his wealthy Jewish girlfriend (a neurotic, self-destructive, death-obsessed girl who today would probably be a Goth) slowly of her life's blood--the author makes it clear that the atrocities going on around him (e.g., the 20,000 Parisians killed by the Versaillists during the Commune) make his sins seem small indeed. Presciently, the author says that future wars will kill millions, a prediction sadly borne out just a decade after this book's release. Perhaps what is most remarkable about this tale, though, is its seeming veracity. Endore gives us so much information about the Commune, and peoples his novel with so many actual historical figures, that it really is difficult to tell where fact ends and fiction begins. There supposedly really was a Sgt. Bertrand in 1840s Paris who was said to be a grave-despoiling werewolf, and that fact adds an additional frisson to this tale. Thus, "The Werewolf of Paris" works as both an excellent tale of terror AND an easy-to-take lesson in French history. I knew virtually zilch about the Commune before going into this book, but feel that I've learned quite a bit about it now, and in a fun way, too. That's not to say that fans of a good horror tale will be left unsatisfied. As I mentioned, this tale contains its fair share of gore and grue, and some pretty terrible incidents are depicted. The horrible tale of that lecherous priest's ancestor being tortured in an oubliette will not soon be forgotten, the real-life facts of the Commune atrocities are equally quite disturbing, and a discussion of the dietary experiments tried by the desperate Communards (ragout of rat, anyone?) will surely turn the stomachs of most. The pitiful final fate of Bertrand Caillet will surely move most readers, too. Despite an occasional glitch here and there (Bertrand travels northeast to reach Paris from the Yonne River valley, when he should be going northwest; Bertrand is said to have been interred in August 1873 and exhumed in June 1881, after eight years and two months, but that should be seven years and 10 months), this really is a terrific piece of writing from Mr. Endore. Anyway, thanks again, Marvin! I owe you one!

[Printable Tire · Rating 5 out of 5]

I would have gladly read the author's sardonic prose offered in the framing story for itself, but enter a werewolf story we must, however tenuously the excuse to do so. And what a story it is! I don't know if Endore set out to write the "Dracula" of werewolf stories, but he certainly accomplished it, and very much outdoes that story in both epic scope and prosaic style.

Here is a story that has a little bit of everything: canibalism, child rape by priest, incest, bestial instincts, cowardness, madness, the death-drive, sadomasochism, rough sex, political intrigue, social satire, arcane and family history, nature vs. nurture, science vs. religion, existential and philosophical inquiries, and of course enough dismembered bodies to sate even the most blood-thirsty gore-hound's appetite ("What was that white, heavy object, like a head of winter cabbage chewed by worms?", the protagonist, Bertand, wonders, when confronted by a severed head he recently ravished).

It is so beautifully rendered it took me a while to finish reading it, not because I found it hard or boring but for the old cliche of not wanting it to end. And to think he accomplishes so much in 200 or so pages!

This is the kind of book that makes me want to copy to remember certain
passages. Fortunately (for you) I restrained myself a bit, but here is one I especially found interesting, told in a certain character's language:

"There are elemental spirits all about us, the souls of beasts that have died, or of more horrible beasts that have never lived. When the body of a man weakens, the soul of that man begins to detach itself from the tentacles of flesh and prepare itself to fly off the instant the body dies. And around a dying man a circle of beastly souls peer and wait. They would like to have that beuatiful body for a house, that body of man which is the highest creation ever to have come from God's sculpturing hands. Man, the body with the erect spine, before which the horizontal spines of the animal must grovel.

It is to guard against the invasion of roaming souls that bodies stiffen in rigor mortis, at once after death. Then the souls that enter man's husk find only a stiff shell left. Nevertheless it happens ocassionally that the soul of a beast gains entrance into a man's body while he yet lives. Then the two souls war with each other. The soul of this man may depart completely and leave only that of the beast behind. And that explains how there are men in the world who are only monsters in disguise, playing for a moment at being man, the kings of creation. Just as a servant plays with his master's clothes(76)."

There is much historical backdrop to this story as well. I was somewhat familiar with the Commune of Paris from my old "leftist" days, when it was heralded as a great triumph of socialism. Here, however, it is portrayed as it was: a comedy of justice, a canvas to be shit on by suspicious mobs and bureaucratic clowns. It is here when the book becomes relentlessly (though still enjoyably) cynical, telling of various injustices that are both tragic and, well, comedic at the same time:

"It was wrong to burn the treasures of Paris, valuable libraries, irreplaceable archives. It was wrong, not because these things have half the value that is placed on them, but because the burning was the mere gesture of a beaten man taking a spiteful blow at his opponent's children. Yes, if the burning of libraries, museums, archives would abolish poverty, I'd call the exchange cheap. But this had no symbolic meaning, nor any real value." (196).

There is a great deal of commentary on class in this book, the idiocy of the Franco-Prussian war and war in general, scathing critiques of government and people of every kind. Indeed, near the end of the book, one character is forced to conclude:

"What was a werewolf who had killed a couple of prostitutes, who had dug up a few corpses, compared with these bands of tigers slashing at each other with daily increasing ferocity! 'And there'll be worse,' he said, and again he had that marvelous rising of the heart. Instead of thousands, future ages will kill millions. It will go on, the figures will rise and the process will accelerate! Hurrah for the race of werewolves!" (199)

This is more than a horror-genre story. Indeed, the horror aspect is really only background for the grand-sweep horror story Endore wishes to relate. There are thrills and chills, but they are inevitably swallowed up by the revolution sweeping Paris, and this (like in Hugo) works to the benefit of the story rather than its detriment.

There is a lot going on here, but it's ultimately more bleak and depressing than "spine-tingling" fun. Yet Endore provides that as well, and a sardonic wit that is a joy to read. He can be ghoulishly morbid (the appendix details the unsanitary conditions of 19th century
cemetaries) but he can also make you care about the love life of a werewolf (or was he?) and that's quite an accomplishment.

This is also one of the books that dumbfounds me by the fact it isn't more popularly known. It was apparently quite successful during its first release and afterwards (there was even a Hammer film which shared NOTHING with it starring Oliver Reed) but it isn't mentioned as a great classic of Horror, or put on a pedestal next to Dracula or Frankenstein, which is where I believe it should be. Maybe it's the long Halloween night talking but I was almost brought to tears to read Endore sold this novel outright for $750 during the depression! He deserved more money than that certainly, and this book certainly deserves more recognition than it gets.

[Malice · Rating 4 out of 5]

Me encantó la mezcla del horror de la humanidad, el contexto histórico y los monstruos (no necesariamente el hombre lobo). Los hechos históricos suelen ser más crueles que la ficción, así que para mí logra su cometido.
La parte que más me gustó fue la historia de las dos familias, ¿cuántas veces ha existido?, ¿cuántas de ellas se han perdido en la historia? Y que fuera a partir de aquí donde surgen los monstruos.

[Ethan · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really love werewolf novels. Unfortunately most today suffer from "Twilight syndrome". Were authors attempt to turn a monster into something sexy. What makes novels about these monsters great is the concept of the beast within. That evil side to every human being which we must all work to keep in check. The werewolf of Paris handles the concept wonderfully. The story centers largely around a young man named Bertrand who through no fault of his own is cursed with lycanthropy. He struggles with coming to terms with what he is which adds a lot of depth to his character. However he isn't very likeable but he is not meant to be. He commits many horrible crimes due to his cursed nature. Still You can't help feeling sorry for him for the entire story. The book deals with many social issues including war, sexual abuse, and just plain human evil. I really enjoyed this underlying theme. It gives us a lot to think about. Bertrand was a monster yes but are we in a world full of rapist, child abusers, and murderers any better than the monsters we fear in stories?

[Noran Miss Pumkin · Rating 3 out of 5]

The last fourth of the book, was such a let down. It suffered from writer rushing to the ending syndrome. Sophie was just a nasty insane little creature, and Berral taking her back time after time/ He was so whipped!!! She sleeping with anything, and just because she finally bedded him-all is forgiven?!?!? This book had a great beginning-it deserved a great ending.

Pseudo uncle lets him out to feed on all the dead from the war.
Sophie has a werebaby, raised by whipped boyfriend.
Were wolfie catches pseudo uncle and sophie doing it!
Were wolfie rapes and kills a street tramp, to only discover it was his loving mother.
Then his half brother hunts him down for revenge!
Wolfie neets she wolf, and dumps Sophie so quick. Maybe even makes a snack out of her, or they raise the baby wolfie themselves.

[Rocio Voncina · Rating 2 out of 5]

Titulo: El hombre lobo de Paris
Autor: Guy Endore
Motivo de lectura: Letras Macabras (Isla Macabra 2023)
Lectura / Relectura: Lectura
Mi edicion: Electronico
Puntuacion: 2/5

Este es un libro el cual considero que el titulo "El hombre lobo de Paris" tiene un poco sabor a clickbait..por que? Porque considero que este libro realmente no se centra en la imagen/mito del hombre lobo.

Algo positivo es la idea creativa del origen del hombre lobo, de acuerdo al autor madame Didier envia a la doncella Josephine con un recado a la iglesia, alli Josephine tendra un encuentro lamentable con el sacerdote Pitamont (este sacerdote abusara de Josephine), tiempo despues tendremos esto:



El autor plantea el origen desde una maldicion, nacera un niño llamado Bertrand un 25 de Diciembre.
A traves de la trama tenemos vistazos por ejemplo de como es la alimentacion de Bertrand, y aca tengo un problema..Guy Endore presenta a este animal bebiendo sangre, en un intento de calmar la bestia en el, Endore termino convirtiendo a este hombre lobo en vampiro. y entonces para mi es dificil "comprar" esa idea. Tenia mas sentido la manera de alimentarlo cuando era niño trozos de carne cruda.

En cierto punto el lobo de Paris me recordo a "Los Miserables" de Victor Hugo, y esto es en la busqueda de la justicia e intentar evitar que un inocente pague por un acto que no cometio, la diferencia? Valjean (los miserables) se sacrifica a si mismo, Aymar pretende sacrificar a su "sobrino" basado en la sed de venganza e ira.

La trama es muy ciclotimica, por momentos avanza por una linea argumental, para dar un salto y cambiar bruscamente de tema (parecido a cuando una persona esta conversado y dice "ah, antes de que me olvide", interrumpe la converacion para decir algo y luego retoma la conversacion original).
La historia tiene muchos elementos, desde una herencia y mandato para poder obtener esa herencia, un triangulo amoroso, capitulos donde tenemos acceso a ver el marco historico de Francia y sus conflictos, un amante obsesivo y vengativo, etc). El punto es que el propio autor llega a pedir disculpas dentro de la trama ya que de verdad hay pasajes confusos dentro de la cronologia, incluso para mi este libro tiene ciertas partes que si no estuvieran, habria sido mejor (especialmente al inicio).

Un abuso en las notas al pie, realmete es muy exagerado el uso.
La prosa es buena, pero es un libro promedio, realmente no destaca en nada, y llego un punto donde me aburri, una pena.

[Dfordoom · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was the basis for the rather delicious 1961 Hammer movie The Curse of the Werewolf. Yes, the one with Oliver Reed as the werewolf! The novel is actually mainly concerned with lycanthropy as a metaphor for human viciousness, and especially for the horrors of war and revolution (much of the action takes place during the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 and the subsequent violence and civil war surrounding the establishment of the Paris Commune). The book does come up with some intriguing ways of explaining the nature and origin of werewolves – theories involving multiple souls in a single body, and single souls in multiple bodies. There’s also quite a bit that had to be cut from the movie version. There’s incest, and there’s some serious priestly wickedness. It’s one of the more interesting werewolf novels that I’ve come across.

[Bill Wallace · Rating 5 out of 5]

Guy Endore's lycanthropic classic may be one of those books that becomes a different book depending on the reader's age. It certainly seems like a different book now from the one I read in my 20s. As a parable of the tide of history and the tolls of time, its weight is improved by the reader's longevity and experience of history.

Absolutely one of the best horror novels ever written and one of the darkest -- neither of the film adaptations have scratched its shaggy hide -- it's a harrowing account of the awful things human beings do to each other. Far worse than the habits of wolves.

I found it also wanting a sequel, likely best left unwritten. If the conflicts of the 19th Century, supernaturally embodied by a hapless werewolf, invested the horrors of the rise and fall of the Commune, what creature must have spawned the ideological nightmare wars of the 20th?

[Kamakana · Rating 5 out of 5]

201018: i just read an excellent review by Susan Budd, that reminds me of this book, i read this years ago, i thought this was on here, i have to say this is one of my favorite horror works, as years have passed, i cannot give it a true review. only that the historical, philosophical, religious, aspects are integrated, effective, necessary, that this is a corrective to any historical revisionism, religious or secular claimed values, with a bleak vision of mankind. written at exactly the right time...

[DeAnna Knippling · Rating 5 out of 5]

The sardonic tale of nature vs. nurture and what one does to survive the Franco-Prussian war, when one is a werewolf.

I found this delightful. The book isn't quite a satire, but it has its moments--I finally realized these were intentional when I got to the part where the foodie club is discussing the best way to eat horse, which was considered outre until the years described in the book, when the Germans were trying to starve them out. Ironies, cruel twists of fate, sarcasm, bitterness, bile: this isn't just a horror novel, but a mockingly horrific novel. I quite enjoyed it, and found the historical events better for the horror, and the horror better for the historical events. Recommend.

[Joshua Anderson · Rating 4 out of 5]

I had been looking forward to this book for a long while, and though it didn’t disappoint, it also wasn’t what I had expected. The story certainly had it’s horror elements, but there was also more heart, sympathy, and history included, which added to the richness of the novel. I thought the back drop of the Franco-Prussian War and the Paris Commune were impactful for me, like a mirror being held up to our werewolf and asking, “who is the monster?” Overall, I enjoyed the tragedy of this story unfolding and couldn’t help but feel for many of our characters, even if they were given so few pages.

[Bruce · Rating 5 out of 5]

The book follows Bertrand Caillet, a young man who was conceived when his mother was raped by Father Pitamont, a priest descended from a family known for its brutality. This sordid conception, in conjunction with a Christmas Eve birth, curses Bertrand to life as a werewolf, a man in which two spirits, one of man and one of beast, vie for control of the body. His adopted uncle, Aymar Galliez, manages to keep his transformations at bay for many years by feeding Bertrand raw, bloody meat. However, an encounter with a prostitute leaves young Bertrand with a taste for human blood, and he runs away from home to live in Paris, where he ends up joining the National Guard when the Franco-Prussian War breaks out. Aymar follows, intent on stopping or destroying him before too many people are killed.

This novel was an interesting and engrossing read. It was first published in 1933, eight years before [i]The Wolf Man[/i] was released to theaters and forever set in stone the "rules" of werewolves. As such, it tells a werewolf story free of the usual tropes and conventions, and makes for a refreshing take on the subject. There are some recognizable elements, such as the brief usage of a silver bullet early on in the story, but other things like the full moon are entirely absent. Bertrand's activities in wolf form are only suggested for the most part, with more focus on the aftermath. The transformations are also kept mysterious, with the exception of one scene where he feels his tongue flattening and extending into a more lupine form.

The book also crosses genre lines. It works as a horror story, a drama, a war story, a historical piece, and a romance. The horror comes in multiple forms, from rifled graves to mutilation. There's also [i]a lot[/i] of moments where you'll be genuinely shocked and disgusted at what the characters do. That goes for damn near all of the characters, not just Bertrand. The historical elements are often given center stage. A lot of detail is given about the time period, especially the atrocities committed during the war and the brief existence of the Paris Commune shortly thereafter. The romantic side of the story is fairly well done, avoiding most of the cliches one would associate with a supernatural love story. In fact, the relationship between Bertrand and his lover, the death obsessed Sophie de Blumenberg, is pretty creepy in its own right.

Overall, this book was a very worthwhile read. It paints a bleak portrait of nineteenth century France, and poses an interesting question: In a world where people are reduced to eating rats just to survive, where thousands of people are senselessly murdered and abused, is a werewolf really so bad?

[Williwaw · Rating 4 out of 5]

Good news! This book is finally back in print: Pegasus Edition

I bought the pricey Centipede Press edition, which I don't regret at all. It's visually appealing, with antiquarian engravings and a gallery of covers from older editions, along with related movie posters.

This book is full of surprises. First, the prose is dazzling. Second, the story is not for the weak of heart: there's rape, sadomasochism, torture, necrophilia, and no shortage of violence. Finally, it's done up in a convincing way. We don't get to see Bertrand Caillet's transformations directly. Instead, we mostly see the aftermath of his rampages: dismembered sheep, human beings, and corpses. The closest we get is when the narrator locks him in a room and listens outside the door to the growling and scratching.

There's so much richness here. A complex plot with historical sweep; lots of interesting, convincing characters; and enough detail that the reader can get swept into Endore's imagined world.

Don't go into this expecting a reprisal of Universal Pictures film, "The Wolf-Man." It's nothing like that. It's more like reading a 19th century novel a la Tolstoy or Dickens. There's no need to be a horror fan to enjoy this novel, because it avoids the formulaic cliches and conventions that one might expect from the genre. It stands on its own, as a fine novel should.

This is a complex, fascinating book that deserves a wider audience.

[Nicki Markus · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book has a slow start and occasional disjointed jumping in the middle of the narrative, but once it gets going it is a riveting story set against an intriguing historical backdrop.

I particularly like the way the violence of the werewolf is linked to and compared with the violence taking place in general at the time. It also offers a very frank appraisal of sexual proclivities and their link to violence.

This book is not the modern fare of smouldering alpha male, but I sense it is a work that paved the way for our current day werewolf tales. Certainly Bertrand exudes a sort of magnetism (much is made of his eyes) and the sexual elements are most definitely there. But in addition to that, this book is also part thriller, part historical fiction and part detective story.

I recommend this book to werewolf fans who are interested to see how the genre has progressed over the last 70 years and also to those who enjoy historical supernatural fiction.

I received this book as a free e-book ARC via NetGalley.

[Anthony · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm still impressed by the age of this book, and considering its content, I imagine some shocked--even appalled-- readers from the 1930s. This was a great horror read for the most part, though I would have wished the historical banter have been shortened a bit as it began to stray far from the story. I suppose it was there to build setting, and to show how werewolfism can be diminished in the face of social crisis. This was set in 1870s Paris during and after the Franco-Prussian siege.

The story itself was fantastic. Some moments were rather twisted, like the drinking of his lover's blood to curb the urges of the change. I grew to feel quite sorry for Bertrand, for he seemed innocent of his curse and wasn't even made aware of what he was until adulthood. Prior to that, he thought everything was just vivid dreams.

The ending... well, I can't say I was happy about how it ended, but all considered, I guess it was the most appropriate way to end this.

All in all, I enjoyed the read -- perfect for the Halloween season, and a great horror classic

[Jesus Flores · Rating 3 out of 5]

Esta interesante, pero creo que de repente se pierde demasiado en otras cosas.

Por ejemplo todo lo del personaje que descubre el libro/diarios de Aymar Gallies, creo que sale sobrando.

Me fascino la historia de las dos familias en "guerra", y creo que de haber iniciado con eso, le subiría una estrella.

Aquí el lycantropismo tiene una explicación diferente.

Si una vez que aparece el hombre-lobo logra generar tensión, a pesar de jugar con no ser tan directo en mostrarte.

Y después de cierto suceso pues hasta logras empatía por el personaje que lo sufre, y ciertamente esa forma de terminar, el horror.

Y si aunque dije al inicio que de repente se va de largo en las temáticas creo que es en si dependiendo de mi gusto, algunas me gusto que las expandiera, como lo de la cena especial, o la situación de la guerra, pero había otras que.

[- The Polybrary - · Rating 3 out of 5]

~* Part of my TBR for the 2016 Halloween Read-A-Thon! Full review found on The Bent Bookworm*~

The Werewolf of Paris was first published in 1933. The writing style is definitely of the age, but it also shows marks of the beginnings of modern day novel writing. Apparently they liked their smut in the 1930s too, they just tended to be more embarrassed about it.

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

Intelligent, engaging, haunting and poetic, it is both a historical recreation of Paris after the Franco-Prussian War centered on the siege of Paris with its rationing of food and commodities, and a horror story told in a modern vernacular filled with universal human truths about the monsters of this world, within and without. It's sexually deviant from the onset, twisted and perverse, with surprisingly funny dark humor peppered throughout. A fascinating read. I ate it up.

[Rick Hautala · Rating 3 out of 5]

Okay, you can say the book is kind of a mess ... Sloppy plotting, and kind of a limp ending,and not the most likeable protagonist (as if that's a requirement!), but there are some powerful scenes of horror here that stand up with the best ..

[Thomas Stroemquist · Rating 2 out of 5]

Definitely some great ingredients and some both interesting and enthralling writing. As a time document, it’s fascinating, as a book it has a lot of problems. The different side stories don’t hold together very well and sometimes it feels like the author just went off wanting to tell something else and lost track. Long pieces are also frankly boring. I’m not sad that I read it, but just like Frankenstein (that is often mentioned in relation) it’s not a great reading experience.

[Clifford Brody · Rating 5 out of 5]

With a title like “The Werewolf of Paris”, you might think this novel was just one more modern-day saga of an otherworld monster wreaking havoc on the population, if not in the United States then for sure in the French capital.

Get ready for a real surprise, and a rewarding one indeed! Published in 1933—yes, 1933—under the pen-name Guy Endore by then-Hollywood screenwriter Samuel Goldstein (nominated for an Oscar for “The Story of G.I. Joe”), this phantasmagoric journey of historical-fiction takes the reader centuries back into time via the unusual art form of a personal essay written by the uncle of Bertrand, a most unwilling werewolf who finds himself prisoner of fate in the France of the mid-to-late 1800s.

Like the hapless victims who fall to him as prey, Bertrand suffers greatly. But unlike them, he is not being devoured at the hands of a monstrous being wholly out of control and instead by the searing painful agony of this young Frenchman’s seemingly fruitless efforts to escape a fate as heir to an evil incarnation as werewolf, one inherited from a centuries-long line of werewolves whose origins trace back to a remarkably vindictive feud-rivalry between two medieval French families.

Almost lost forever until resurrected and reissued by Pegasus Books in 2012, “The Werewolf of Paris” chronicles in a style reminiscent more of classical writing than modern day fiction the tragedy of Bertrand’s life—and the sad tale of someone so unwillingly trapped inside a body he cannot control.

No matter that this book is a true example of high-quality literary fiction. It reads so, so easily as Endore charts a mysterious course for the reader, taking you on a secret journey into the history of where werewolves REALLY came from. You are drawn willingly as "victim" of Endore’s creativity into the thoughts brutally cascading through the mind of Bertrand as victim himself—one who clearly does not want to be who he really is—and just how horrific it becomes for Bertrand to discover firsthand what harm he brings upon himself, not just upon his most unwilling prey.

Beware! You will be taken captive by the very first sentences of this unnerving legend of man-monster Bertrand. You will learn what it was really like to live through the dark days of privation as the 1870-71 Franco-Prussian War presaged France’s defeat, with the communards afterwards wreaking their own havoc on Paris. You will find yourself actually praying that Bertrand succeeds in his life mission of escape as he himself is overwhelmed by a uniquely post-war French chaos “à la Parisien”…this despite your nominal revulsion when uncovering the ghastly and grisly fate of Bertrand’s victims, before, during, and after.

Above all, and whether you are fan of fiction, history, biography, mystery stories, the surreal, or an open window into the mind of a deeply troubled person’s startling inner thoughts, you will find it hard indeed to put this book down until you find out at the very end whether The Werewolf of Paris does escape his supposed pre-ordained fate. Which, after all, is what a really good read is all about, right?

[Lisa (Harmonybites) · Rating 2 out of 5]

Written in 1933, this is framed with a story of an American finding a discarded manuscript about the werewolf, Bertrand Caillet. Set in France in the late 19th Century, this tries to be for werewolves what Dracula is to vampires, filled with lots of werewolf lore.

The novel doesn't gloss over the original legendary nature of werewolves as savage, uncontrollable and dangerous, not just smexy men running in a pack with a furry problem... It's what I appreciated in the book more than anything. It's hard to find straight-up horror these days. Vampires sparkle, and werewolves are mannerly professors or suave sophisticates, so I enjoyed finding one that's an out and out monster, mad, bad, and dangerous to know.

There are risque and disturbing elements--rape, incest, etc, yet the story is shot through with dark humor. The secondary characters are finely drawn and the historical backdrop of the Franco-Prussian War and Paris Commune well-detailed. However, it often has tedious, rambling parts that have nothing to do with the story--mostly in service to the rather obvious communist point-of-view. Way too much of the material about the Paris Commune had nothing to do with the werewolf.

[Crookedhouseofbooks · Rating 4 out of 5]

Arguably, a foundational book in the werewolf sub-genre, The Werewolf Of Paris is a classic monster tale and, I think, belongs with the likes of Bram Stoker's Dracula and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.

The story is written in third person, the narrator being a man that has put the pages together using reports, documents and personal diary entries from the characters. Part historical fiction, the book also delves into events and circumstances created by the Franco-Prussian War and is essentially the tale of a young man suffering from lycanthropy in a time of national upheaval. The werewolf, known as Bertrand has his character developed even before conceived and in his mother's womb. The reader learns how an unfortunate family background and series of events lead to the creation of something quite monstrous. Whether or not it is supernatural or more of a chronic mental illness is not completely clear but I would like to think that it's more of a supernatural occurrence.

I loved how the history was so fully explained and based around older beliefs and superstitions of the time. I also really liked how Bertrand's illness was documented with several different symptoms (i.e: hairy palms, lack of appetite, etc) and that there was a concerted effort of his loved ones to stave off those symptoms and his ever increasing need for bloodshed.

The descriptions of his attacks were surprisingly pretty disturbing and graphic at times. And even though the conversations and scenarios were outdated, everything made sense and had meaning. Even when the narrator would wander away from the main story to describe incidents arising from the war, those incidents were very interesting to read and were typically just as gruesome. I think he approached these other events in order to draw comparisons to different superstitions and the unfortunate fact that humans can be just as beastly as the fabled monsters.

One other detail worthy of note is Bertrand's love interest. Initially, I had been concerned that this would prove to be the most outdated part of the story. Instead, the reader is given the details of a unhealthy relationship where the lovers are happy in their misery. She wants to be needed and he needs to basically chew on her every once in awhile (LOL). It seemed to me to basically be an unhealthy relationship in the most literal sense imaginable.

Without giving anything else away, I will close by mentioning that the ending blew me away. It was, most definitely, not a happy ending for Bertrand and I literally found myself saying, "Poor bastard" when closing the book. This was just an amazing, classic tale and I would highly recommend it to those that love to read foundational horror stories and tales about werewolves.

[Doña libros · Rating 3 out of 5]

Tengo sentimientos encontrados con este libro, al inicio me pareció muy aburrido luego mejoró y luego en partes me aburría pero luego se redimía jajajaja.
La trama fue muy accidentada, la idea que plantea sobre el hombre lobo me gustó, pero luego se desvía y sentía como que no hilaba del todo bien la historia central. Hay cosas que ya olvidé contra otras que me quedaron muy gravadas, así que es un 2.5 muy marcado, lo subo a 3 porque su planteamiento de la licantropía convierte al libro en el clásico sobre el genero que es.