Werewolves.
They are like the annoying little brother of the monster family, a me-too, tag-along, smearing their mustard encrusted corndog over your new iPod type of annoyance.
They try to act cool, all slouched posture and affected sneer, conspiratorially smoking in the Boy's Room with the bigger boys like zombies and vampires, hoping coolness can be transferred by association.
But in the end werewolves are strictly second-tier in the realm of scary critters, the Lon Chaney Jr.
to the more accomplished Lon Chaney Sr.
They're lamer than a three-legged horse prowling the water troughs at Pimlico, naying forlornly, one hoof away from the dog food factory.
Seriously, how many awesome werewolf-themed books have you read? How many incredible werewolf films have you seen? When was the last time a werewolf changed your life? You could probably count the number of werewolf-flavored multimedia funnery that you've experienced in your life on one shop teacher's hand.
With fingers left over.
The pickings are that slim.
Like Christian Bale in The Machinist slim.
Positively gaunt; meatless bones with the marrow already sucked out.
It's a pity, too, because werewolves have the one important aspect every good monster needs: symbolism.
It might not be on par with the symbolism in George Romero's zombie movies, but still man's struggle with his inner beast and with his primal nature is a meaty topic.
But even the man/beast dichotomy isn't enough to save werewolves from the monster doldrums.
Because no amount of symbolism can hide the fact that werewolves are essentially overgrown poochies with silver bullet allergies.
Who bark at the moon.
Which means that any author taking on the werewolf mythos has a Sisyphean task ahead of them, namely rolling that furry werewolf butt up the mountain of coolness, avoiding pitfalls, careful not to get stuck below the tree line with reruns of Full House and Blossom.
Most fail, miserably.
Like an IT geek's restraint in a Best Buy store.
But not S.
A.
Swann.
Swann might not make the summit with Wolfbreed, but he's definitely showing some Sherpa blood, elevating the werewolf mythology.
Making them-dare I say it-cool.
Wolfbreed succeeds by transforming werewolves from weapons of random opportunity into weapons of mass destruction, from a four-legged killing spree into a furry, fangs glistening apocalypse.
From uncontrollable beasts into focused killing machines, killers with purpose, killing on the orders of others.
Swann's wolfbreed can be controlled, aimed, unleashed on the unsuspecting and the innocent.
And like other weapons, there is guiding hand resting on the trigger, a puppetmaster pulling the strings of this cadre of furry killers.
Because in Wolfbreed, werewolves are mainly seen as a tool, a very lethal tool, but still a tool.
They are the means and not the end.
They are the stick and not the hand.
And it is this aspect-Swann's absolute refusal to rest on clichés-that elevates the novel.
That raises it above a monster-of-the-week kind of entry, giving the reader something fresh, something indelible.
Forget what you know about werewolves.
Wolfbreed is not about some unfortunate soul who is bitten by a werewolf and on the next full moon decides to fur out and cause some random havoc.
There is nothing random about the havoc here, it all has a purpose.
It all has meaning; there is a cause, and there is an effect.
And there is a rationale.
And, most importantly, there are consequences.
Consequences that go beyond just the unfortunate individual and his growing tick problem.
Werewolves are typically isolated, individualistic; the dramatic tension of their stories often revolves around their battle with their inner demons, with their struggle with the evil that lives within them.
The beast is evil, but the man is innocent, the victim of terrible circumstance.
Swann writes a different portrayal.
The beast isn't evil; it is man who is evil.
The man who is controlling and vicious.
The man who is brutal and heartless.
The werewolf is really just the victim, the corpse discovered in the first two minutes of every Law and Order episode.
By reshaping werewolves and giving them purpose, Swann has imbued them with a greater identity.
He's made them more relatable to us, made their thoughts, hopes, fears, and loves more understandable, more poignant, and much less like a slavering, mindless beast with a one-tract killing mind.
And because this approach is so engaging, so fascinating, and so new, Wolfbreed accomplished the impossible for me.
It made me think werewolves were cool.
Little brother, you've made it.