The wolf-sickness strikes always without warning, stealing Bisclavret’s body and confusing his mind. Since boyhood he hasn’t dared leave his isolated holdings—not to beg the return of his father’s lost estate, not to seek brotherhood among the court, not even to win the knighthood he yearns for. But when a new king ascends, Bisclavret must deliver his kiss of fealty or answer for the failure.
Half an exile himself, the young king is intrigued by this uneasy, rough-hewn nobleman. Bisclavret seems a perfect knight: bold, strong, and merciful. But he keeps his secrets close, and the king’s longings are not for counsel alone. As his fascination grows, the barriers between them multiply, until the king battles desperation and grief. Then Bisclavret vanishes beyond reach, just as the greatest threats to the kingdom converge. Only duty to his people stands between the king and ruin—duty, and the steady loyalty of the strangest wolf.
"Always I am tired of running."
Finn Longman's The Wolf and His King is the achillean retelling of a medieval tale about a werewolf at court, teeming with yearning and courtly love and fealty in spades. The gorgeous writing, very atmospheric, gives the reader the impression of reading an old lai. The author experiments with PoVs, weaving an incredible tapestry of second and third person, and writing in verse from the perspective of the Wolf. No character is named, save for Bisclavret, giving a feeling of both deep disconnect and great immersion. The nameless king, the wife, the cousin, the knight in green: everyone's a reflection of the role they take in the old tale, but also vivid characters of their own. We feel deeply the King's yearning for Bisclavret, and the latter's turmoil. This isn't a novel in the truest sense, more of a joyful reclamation.
✨ 5 stars
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