WARNING: Mongrels by Stephen Graham Jones is not just a novel about werewolves, it is an actual werewolf. You will see it resting placidly on a shelf at your local book pound. Sure it has sharp teeth, but they are smiling, no? The teeth are red, but you tell yourself surely it’s not blood. You’ll stroke its beautiful yellow and black matte coat; ruffle your fingers through its pages. Nice boy. You’ll take it home and find somewhere cozy to cuddle with it and get to know it a little better. Maybe you decide to call it Jonesy, like the cat in Alien, which you watched last night. That’s a good twist, naming a wolf after a cat. What tales does Jonesy have to share with you? He tells you about this sweet young boy, steeped in the legends of his werewolf family. Jonesy draws you in, lulls you with these charming adventures and cool tastes of everyday wolf life. He tells you a coming of age tale. You begin to care for these werewolves—your new pack, your new siblings. You delight in their thrills and thrill in their delights. You fear for them, you fear of them. You run with them. You share their hunger. You flee the police. You flee mankind. You yearn to be one of them. Before you know it, a transformation has taken place. You realize Jonesy has been a werewolf all along. You thought you were reading him, but he was reading you. He has torn into your flesh. He has nipped at your heart. He has lapped your brain. You’ve become one of the pack. Now there is nothing left, but for you to leave this life, to run off and howl at the moon.