believers never die.
At one point in Mary Borsellino's THE WOLF HOUSE: ORIGINS AND OVERTURES, a character says "Origin stories are crap."
Not all of them.
This one isn't.
This is for the freaks, the geeks, the loners and the losers, the ones who never got along with anything but the bruises and the people who bled from their own self-inflicted wounds because ... well, because of a lot of reasons, because they never felt comfortable being together and because they never held themselves in a way that made people think they had something to steal, to feed on. It's for the barely and the merely human among you. But it's for more than that.
With a sharp clarity that rarely makes it into even the most clear-headed self-conscious "literary" novels, ORIGINS AND OVERTURES is as focused on the faces we present to the world as it is with stripping them away to reveal that even the coolest, the richest, the snobbiest, and the impossibly secure are as raw and fucked as the ones who don't know how to hide what scars their lives have produced.
And it's not about how vampires and anything like that could ever bring you happiness or specialness. Vampires, as the characters are quick to point out, are a metaphor, and not always a very good one, even - especially - when they're real creatures too. One of THE WOLF HOUSE's greatest accomplishments is its deft, overt acknowledgment of the pop culture context it belongs in - complete with references from its monster-movie-fan main character: Poppy Z Brite! THE LOST BOYS! Anne Rice! Vampire: the Masquerade! - right alongside its own vividly realized monsters, vampires as nonmetaphorical as they are personably nonhuman. And they offer no grand escape from the problems a regular old confused human freak ever has to face. Some greater security, a home, immortality: great, but hardly the lifesaver it's made out to be for an angry punk rock chick confused about everything and uncomfortable in her own skin - do you really think immortality fixes these things?
THE WOLF HOUSE doesn't.
This is a messy, bracing book, but under the fangs of a hot teenage summer, it has a bleeding heart, fresh and warm and alive.