Cycle of the Werewolf

While putting my thoughts together for this post, I couldn't help but refer back to Mayberry's essay on fight scenes. While some may argue that the twelve monthly cycles of the werewolf aren't "battle scenes" in the traditional sense, most of them pit the werewolf against a human. I'd argue that makes it a battle, even if nine times out of ten it's a losing battle for the humans. And in each of those battle scenes, I noticed elements that Mayberry mentioned. In January, Arnie Westrum scrambles around his hut and looks for a weapon, which is what the underdog should do when a beast plows through his door in the middle of the night. In February, Stella Randolph may not fight back, but she approaches her own death in a way that suits her; in a way, she accepts the loss rather than screaming in fear, which is a silent way of fighting. She goes to her "happy place," her dream of love. In March, the man drifter dies with his hands up in a defensive position. All of these tiny details reinforce the werewolf's strength and make it a more powerful monster. The humans fight back, but it doesn't do them any good.

Until he attacks wheelchair-bound Marty Coslaw (did anybody else continually see "Coleslaw" when they read that name?). Marty can't fight back in the physical sense, but he uses what he does have--the fireworks--to defend himself. Bam! Suddenly we have a hero in the book. And because that hero is an underdog, it's that much more powerful when he finally survives. It shows us that the werewolf has a weakness, that his strength has come from the element of shock and fear he used in his other attacks, and for whatever reason Marty was able to overcome that and triumph. I really loved this setup. Marty's attack does two things: helps him survive and helps him identify the werewolf, thus weakening him further. The fact that it's not a physical weakness doesn't matter. His element of surprise is gone the moment Marty identifies him, and that makes him beatable.

However, he's still a great monster. In fact, once I realized that the Reverend knew what he was and refused to do anything about it, I thought he was an even bigger monster. I couldn't empathize with him because he justified his actions by calling the townspeople animals. By saying that God would strike him down when he became too evil. This adds a whole other level of creepy to the story, because it's a very malicious way of thinking. Again, though, the creep factor and the fear factor isn't coming from the fights or killing themselves, but from the build up and psychological elements. This is a monster that can kill, yes, but it can also get under your skin while you wait to see who will die during the next full moon. That was my favorite part of this story. The way the monster got under everyone's skin.

I want to make a note about Stephen King's stories. This is the second I've read where the big hero was handicapped by today's standards. The first is Tom from The Stand (M-O-O-N, that spells Tom, one of my favorite literary characters EVER). And because those handicaps come with some degree of helplessness/innocence--who associates evil with a wheelchair-bound kid, right?--the fact that King pits them as the hero against these evil monsters makes his stories that much more dramatic. It almost emphasizes the evil, which makes his monsters stronger.