Kornwolf »

Tristan Egolf's new novel is a book about the return of an old curse — the Kornwolf, a ferocious werewolf whose nocturnal rampaging becomes increasingly impossible to ignore. Kornwolf takes the reader for a good old-fashioned romp in the stubble — a journey through the slums and honky tundra of rural Pennsylvania, where nothing quite passes for good or bad, sublime or dismal, discrete or brash. And then the monotony breaks. Something — a freak of creation — is running amok in the fields. To solve the mystery, three generations of prodigal sons — a writer and hometown boy who swore he'd never come back to Penn's Woods; a middle-aged former pugilist who runs a decrepit boxing gym; and a misfit, mute, beaten-down Amish boy — are brought together by the light of a blue moon, in a town called Blue Ball. On one level this is a masterfully orchestrated, hilarious, and compelling take on the classic horror yarn, on another, Kornwolf is a social satire of suburban sprawl, closed minds, and all manners and varieties of self-satisfaction — Amish, civilian, or... other — in the best tradition of Tom Robbins and George Saunders.

Publishers Weekly

Depending on the phases of the moon, Ephraim, antihero of this caustic, exuberant novel, changes from a meek Amish lad into a hideous, foul-smelling werewolf with a taste for Satanic thrash-metal and an uncanny resemblance to Richard Nixon. Pursued by a cynical reporter, a sympathetic boxing coach with a mysterious past and a horde of vigilantes, Ephraim rampages through the barns and cornfields of the Pennsylvania Dutch countryside, as well as the exurban subdivisions and Sprawl-Marts that are gnawing away at it. As he lopes toward a prophesied Halloween bloodbath, his howl gives voice to the hidden violence and sexual transgressions of the orderly, pacifist Amish, the "hedonic enchantments" with which consumer culture seduces the young and deranges settled communities, or perhaps an anarchic devilry that neither traditional religion nor modern capitalism can tame. This is familiar teen-werewolf territory, but Egolf, who committed suicide earlier this year, infuses it with deadpan wit and sardonic social satire, both sympathizing with and lampooning the Amish resistance-and occasional surrender-to the corruption of "English" society. Like Stephen King, Egolf (Lord of the Barnyard) pokes the dark, squalid underbelly of smalltown life, but adds an edge of punk derision. Although Egolf's climax plunges into lurid melodrama, he delivers a smart, stylish supernatural fable with an infectious bite. (Jan.) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.