Amazon.com Review
In
Darkest Desire Anthony Schmitz turns the Brothers Grimm on their heads, retelling "Little Red Riding Hood" from the wolf's perspective. Whatever charm the reader might reasonably expect from such a conceit, however, rapidly dissipates under the beast's graphic and unpleasantly sexual descriptions of child murder:
If I close my eyes, I can still hear the sound of cloth shredding as I pulled with my teeth. I was mad with rage and joy for a moment, and then I was overwhelmed by guilt. Yes, yes, certainly he was a pathetic thing, so miserably, mistakenly confident. But he was as God had made him, and now he was torn asunder. I quickly lost my appetite. I left him almost whole, except for the upper ham. That I retched in the grass a few minutes later.
The wolf goes on to describe how, in the days following this first kill, he "relived those few minutes again and again," and one can't help but think of the Ted Bundys and Jeffrey Dahmers of the world, slouching towards their next gruesome murder.
Schmitz does have a point he's trying to make about the individual's obligation to his own true nature, no matter how perverse, versus his duty to conform to social norms. In exploring this dichotomy, the author skewers psychotherapy--or at least the most opportunistic practitioners of it--and paints Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm as the 19th-century equivalent of tabloid journalists, willing to go to any length to get their story, even if it means manufacturing it. All this might have worked had the wolf's proclivities been less revolting. Unfortunately, there's just no argument to be made in favor of baby-killing as a form of self-expression. Darkest Desire is well written but deeply unpleasant to read. --Alix Wilber
From Publishers Weekly
In the clever conceit of Schmitz's (Lost Souls) novella, an articulate wolf with a passion for eating children is approached by the Brothers Grimm, who claim they want to help cure him of his desire, but, in fact, use him for their own literary inspiration. While the Brothers conduct their ostensible therapy, another figure, a changeling whom the nameless wolf calls Devil, argues that by eating children the wolf is only being true to his nature. Eventually, the Brothers lure the wolf to attack a house where children have been left alone. Schmitz's postmodern rewriting of familiar folk tales explores ideas of forbidden desire and of the manipulative relationship storytellers often have with their subjects. The narrative's brevity is a little thin rather than dense, like an observant short story stretched to book length. Schmitz is clearly an adroit storyteller, nevertheless, and his wolf emerges as a sympathetic narrator, his tale brisk and sly, if unsurprising.
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