Name: The Werewolf of Paris
ISBN: 9798702061092

Guy Endor

The Werewolf of Paris (1933) is a horror novel as well as a work of historical fiction by American writer Guy Endore. The novel follows Bertrand Caillet, the eponymous werewolf, throughout the tumultuous events of the Franco-Prussian War and the Paris Commune of 1870-71.

The Werewolf of Paris

Guy Endore

In a work that strives to do for werewolves what Stoker's Dracula did for vampires, Endore's werewolf, an outcast named Bertrand Caillet, travels round seeking to calm the beast within. An episodic tale, the story wanders through 19th Century France and into hotspots like the Franco-Prussian war. Stunning in its sexual frankness and eerie, fog-enshrouded visions, this novel was decidedly influential for the generations of horror and science fiction authors who came after.

Tim Pendry

Guy Endore's 'The Werewolf of Paris' (1933) has been touted as doing for the werewolf what 'Dracula' did for vampires but this is nonsense. Although it has its qualities, it is a literary mish-mash that is not a patch on Bram Stoker's seminal novel. Endore himself was an American novelist and scriptwriter who had Tod Browning's 'Mark of the Vampire' to his credit as well as 'The Curse of the Werewolf' (based on this book), 'Mad Love' and other schlocky but cult Hollywood favourites. As this book testifies, he could write with facility. So what is the problem with the book, especially as those sections that actually deal with the werewolf are very good? It is that he tries to do too many things at once. If you try to sell two things (let alone three or four) you will not sell one. We start with a quasi-autobiographical introduction that introduces the manuscript, the trope that is the go-to for a lot of weird fiction. This indicates what is to come - a classic interwar American love affair with all things French. This passion for France may be the heart of the problem because a folkloric tale of a loup-garou drifts into a pastiche/parody/tribute (depending on your attitude to such things) of the French novel and then into a somewhat didactic account of the Paris Commune. None of this is bad in itself but it detracts from the authenticity of the central story which, in itself, offers some degree of confusion over the origins of the werewolf. Is it genetic, is it environmental, is it just plain evil? Endore seems to settle somewhere traditionalist Catholicism and Lamarckianism. This core would have made a fine novella that could have made or enhanced Endore's reputation since, despite the obscurities as to context, it nevertheless does not shy from authentic horror, is very well written and introduces an interesting sado-masochistic element with Sophie. This sexual element acts as counterpoint to Stoker's. Whereas with Dracula we have sublimated eroticism, seduction and female desire in the hands of the ultimate cad, Bertrand (werewolf) and Sophie (Jewish princess) create a more physical direct eroticism of cuts, pain and death. However, although we might have tolerated the distraction of the aping of the French great novel as the framing of the monster, the Paris Commune setting that dominates the second half of the book is far too didactic, allowing Endore, the American Leftie, to excoriate violent Europeans. The point of the didacticism is passed over lightly when Chaplin's argument from 'M. Verdoux' appears. The ordinary criminal from circumstance (after all, Bertrand can hardly be responsible for his inheritance) is contrasted with the bloody violence of both sides in the Commune. Endore is clearly the type of the world-weary intellectual looking at the horrors of the world and wanting to vent his frustration at the species. He also resurrects the idea of Catholic evil (interesting from a Jewish writer) without irony although he himself would incline to Communism. His excoriation of the Communards incidentally is far from incompatible with his moralistic American Communism. Marxism is disciplined - or at least was amongst interwar Anglo-Saxon Leftists. Very intellectual and disciplined Marxists had (then) little time for emotional blood-letting. So, we get a somewhat hysterical account of that historical episode in which no horror is disallowed the reader but at the cost of our werewolf becoming a mere bit player. At a certain point we ask is this a contribution to the werewolf genre or is it a political tract using the horror novel as medium? Endore comes to seem self-indulgent in his story-telling, wanting to express his interests and concerns and allow himself the pleasure of writing horrible things, without putting in the effort to give his story coherence or the opportunity to found a true mythos. It is no surprise to find that, although the book has its aficionados, it cannot be said to be firmly placed at the top of the horror canon although this is not on account of it being in any way careful not to shock us. Precisely the opposite. This is a novel of real horror far more than of unease. He closes with a detailed and gruesome account of cemetery practices in Paris but there are many instances of extremity with detailed accounts of what a murderous werewolf might do, of grave-robbing, political massacres, of the afore-mentioned sado-masochism and even of incest. Once again, we are led to question why this horror (meant to shock) was not integrated into a better structured and frankly shorter tale and Endore perhaps written a separate French pastiche about the horrors instigated by the Communards and the countryside thugs who Thiers sent in to destroy them.

The Werewolf of Paris

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