Book Review — "The Raven" by Jonathan Janz
To be perfectly frank, this book fucking rules.
Jonathan Janz is one of those authors that seems to be all the rage amongst the Horror Twitter crowd. So, I have been itching to read one of his novels for a little while now, and I’m very glad that The Raven got to be the one that slashed my cherry. I purchased a copy of The Sorrows not too long ago, naturally figuring that Janz’s debut would be a wise place to start, but then The Raven swooped into my lap via NetGalley.
This is in all likelihood going to be brought up frequently in reviews of this novel, so I’ll just go ahead and throw it out there myself, too: what an apropos set-up for this moment in time. In other words, read at your own caution.
Turns out, magical and mythical creatures from lore and mythology are real. Or, at least, they were in a bygone era, until recently. Because now they’re preying upon our world once again, since the dormant DNA—from deep within the helix—that exists inside much of the planet’s formerly human population has been reignited thanks to… a virus. So yeah, if you’re trying to flee literarily from this global pandemic, this story is indeed wonderful escapism, but just know that you’ll be entering another universe recovering from a rampant viral outbreak. But this epidemic is “better” because…
Vampires. Werewolves. And superhuman cannibals. (Oh my!) And that’s not all, folks…
Remember that moment in the final act of The Cabin in the Woods when the cells that hold all the beasts open and all hell breaks loose? Well, I eventually reached a point in my reading where every time Janz established a new creature, my mind flashed to that blood-soaked image. Because, oh my goodness, The Raven is such a colossal cocktail of monstrosities!
When the story opens, the world is unrecognizable. Janz drops us right into the middle of what’s ostensibly the mortal apocalypse. Very little remains of humankind. Most Latents, those who didn’t devolve due to the virus, are dead; the rest are either in hiding or actively fighting every night to stay alive. In a way, the choice to begin here feels like starting a TV show with its third season, which is actually okay by me—since there are enough clues sprinkled throughout to grasp the context of it all. Plus, it gets us right to the action.
Janz is particularly adept at crafting fight scenes on the page—something that very few authors do well, in my opinion. His sequences reminded me of reading R.A. Salvatore’s Forgotten Realms chronicles many moons ago in middle school. Because Janz’s combat choreography is so riveting. Not high-octane, ball-to-the-wall stuff, but gripping nonetheless—and fitting for the narrative.
Maybe these scenes feel so solid because our protagonist, Dez, is not a born warrior. He has a bit of a contemporary everyman sensibility. Dez is, for the most part, all alone in this desolate place, but he’s not exactly a guy with nothing left to lose—even though he’s lost a son and a wife to this plague. You see, one is dead, and he has vowed to atone for it so as not to let it be in vain. But the other has disappeared, leaving behind no evidence of death. So Dez holds out hope, determined to reunite, refusing to let a few fanged and furry beasts stand in his way. The man is driven, there’s no doubt. And I’m going to venture to say… He’s hot, too.
Is it weird to say I’m attracted to Dez? I haven’t felt this way about a character in a novel since I read Stephen King’s The Stand and met Nick Andros. It doesn’t hurt that Dez spends a sizeable portion of the story borderline naked, and I’m a visual thinker. A very visual thinker, with an engorged imagination. Furthermore, Dez makes the occasional pop culture reference and we have the same taste in undergarments, so you could say we’re pretty simpatico, if only he weren’t so damn straight… (Hmm, you know what… the crossbow is a somewhat phallic weapon, if you think about it. How Freudian of Janz.)
In addition to a great main character, Janz offers us a delectable Big Bad as well. The villain of this tale is so foul, so remorseless, so greedy, so repugnant, and so inhumane that any halfway decent person will likely spend a lot of their reading experience wanting to see him die a slow, horrendous death worthy of his heinous behavior. In the event of a film adaptation, it’d be a perfect role for a Shakespearean actor prone to chewing the scenery.
I hope The Raven marks the beginning of a series. I mean, I’d be fine if this ending serves as the conclusion to this saga, but I would certainly welcome the opportunity to explore this realm some more. I’m also looking forward to reading more of Janz’s work in general. My plan is to go back and read his stuff chronologically from the start while also reading any new work he puts out so I don’t fall behind—meaning my completion of Janz’s body of work will probably occur somewhere smack dab in the middle of his oeuvre, since he’s so damn prolific. (The son of gun probably wrote another book in the time it took me to write this freaking review.) Wish I had that kind of dark energy!
