Bitten gets off to such a good start. It reminded me climbing inside a late model luxury car at a rental agency, a car that's been recently waxed and has that New Car Smell. And then doesn't goddam go anywhere. I gave Kelley Armstrong 86 pages to turn the ignition before I got out and walked back into the rental office for other options.
This 2001 novel is the first person account of "Elena," a blonde haired Toronto resident who's a werewolf. What lured me in here was Armstrong's prose, which is often sensual and exciting, at least in the prologue, where Elena wakes at 2 a.m., sneaks out of the Toronto apartment she shares with her new boyfriend, transforms into a 130-pound wolf and goes for a run in a ravine.
My legs pick up the rhythm before I'm halfway down the ravine. I close my eyes for a second and feel the wind slice across my muzzle. As my paws thump against the hard earth, tiny darts of pain shoot up my legs, but they make me feel alive, like jolting awake after an overlong sleep. The muscles contract and extend in perfect harmony. With each stretch comes an ache and a burst of physical joy.
Armstrong has a gym membership, clearly. Good work so far. Nothing heart-stopping happens in the prologue but it does set up all sorts of interesting questions as Elena returns to her boyfriend, Philip, who has no idea what she is.
-- Does Philip suspect Elena is cheating on him?
-- Has Philip ever noticed Elena's superhuman strength in bed?
-- When they went to see The Fellowship of the Ring, did Elena start to wolf out in the theater? That was a long damn movie.
-- Does Elena's diet puzzle Philip?
-- Does Philip have an interesting occupation like zoologist or veterinarian that would make him wonder if his fear of commitment was making him imagine things about his new girlfriend, like, that she might be a dog?
We never find out in this novel. First, Armstrong has no facility with characters or dialogue. These are bland people with generic backgrounds, nonspecific occupations and boring hobbies. If you guessed they have nothing to talk about, nothing important, you'd be correct. I liked the decision to begin the novel in Toronto; that city is ripe with possibilities in the summer, but Armstrong doesn't explore them.
Then we have the dialogue:
"Well, which is it?" Jeremy asked, his gaze skewering mine. "Pack or not?"
"Come on, Jer," Clay said. "You know she doesn't mean it."
"We had an arrangement, Elena. I wouldn't contact you unless I needed you. Well, I need you and now you're sulking and fuming because I had the gall to remind you of your responsibilities."
"You need me for what? To take care of a trespassing mutt? That's Clay's job."
If you missed that the characters were named Elena, Jeremy and Clay, it's okay, because Elena, Jeremy and Clay call each other Elena, Jeremy and Clay by name on every page.
Armstrong's characters refer to each other by name so often that I couldn't help but notice how wrong the names were. "Elena" should belong to a raven haired gypsy type, a bohemian, not a gym Barbie. The pack leader is named "Jeremy". No, sorry. "Jeremy" is an unemployed musician, maybe a blogger, but Jeremy is not an alpha werewolf. His lieutenant, a killer with six-pack abs is named "Clay." A werewolf named "Clay"? No. "Clay" is golf or tennis coach. I kept imagining him wearing a Polo shirt.
Armstrong doesn't show any ingenuity when it comes to her narrative either, which involves Elena departing Toronto to assist her Pack, a group of six or seven men who exist in the human world, but are unable to deal with one rogue werewolf who's intruded on their territory in upstate New York. House trained werewolves, apparently. As they assemble, the werewolves enjoy a delicious breakfast of pancakes and ham.
Werewolves eating pancakes and ham.
I can accept psychics, vampires, werewolves, etc., but one motif I find silly is the secret club motif. This is where characters with supernatural powers get together and have themselves a little meeting to discuss action items, assign jobs and deadlines, and maybe gripe at each other. It's all very social and practical and nice but excuse me, BORING!
Psychics, vampires or werewolves do not have meetings. These are not the kind of people who like to chit chat. These are people who've been given godlike powers and yet -- and here's where an author can have fun -- these powers make it next to impossible for them to connect with others. They may be able to help others out of a desperate situation, but will never be accepted by them or invited over to watch Netflix. They walk alone.
I mean, would you want to hang out with a psychic, werewolf or vampire? And if a bunch of them are in a secret club together, it's just so silly. There's nothing as ridiculous as a compliance meeting if you're a werewolf. Maybe my antipathy for compliance meetings is surfacing here. Bottom line, I was dreadfully bored by the direction Armstrong took her novel and will not be reading more of her books.