Well, damn. Here I was, really enjoying this book, until it just … got old fast. The title sums up the plot accurately enough: Jacob Marlowe is the world’s last werewolf, who is being hunted by an international group dedicated to killing occult creatures, but the joke’s on them, because Jake has a bad case of ennui and plans to kill himself, anyway. Think James Bond if James Bond was a werewolf who wanted to kill himself after too many women, too much booze, and too many years on the prowl. The first few chapters were unique and fun, lots of great lines.
But then … ?
The first moment of disappointment came with the first major love scenes in the story. So many good lines, and yet–too many overwrought ones. And the action and story itself I found far too simple and almost entirely predictable. Also, like Jake I found myself not quite caring about what happened. Maybe that’s the problem with having a character who doesn’t want to live.
Story is a bit like a dessert that you start eating feeling delighted by and end feeling like you should’ve stopped ten forks-worth ago, because now it just seems like the worst thing you ever did, eating that cake.
That said, there were too many sentences I loved to give this book any less that three stars.