When left alone in their natural habitat, it is rare for wolves to ever attack humans. Most often, such attacks happen as a result of people naively trying to keep wolves as pets. Medieval French history books provide us with an outlier though. If scholars of these texts are to be believed, then a wolf led a reign of terror on Paris in the mid-15th century. The cult author Daniel P. Mannix tells this story, embellished with his own imagination, in his novel The Wolves of Paris.
As a young pup, Courtaud is introduced as a hybrid between a dog and a wolf, housed in the cellar of a citadel during the 100 Years War between England and France. The mutt is being raised to be a hunting dog in a team owned by the baron of the estate. One day, a band of Roman brigands breach the rubicon, enter the castle grounds, and slaughter all the people living there. They also kill most of the livestock and Courtaud is lucky to be spared as he escapes the violence before all the others dogs he knows die. Courtaud may be an animal, but if you think your childhood traumas compare in scale to his, you might want to reconsider.
During the winter, as the solitary Courtaud wanders alone in the Ardennes, a hunter comes after him, but after getting crushed in an avalanche, Courtaud samples his flesh, getting his first taste of human meat. This is a decisive moment in this soon-to-be outlaw’s dietary habits.
After wandering for some time in the northern mountains of France, Courtaud encounters a pack of wolves. He has to fight for his place in the pack and finally proves himself worthy after several scraps with the leader. He keeps fighting and eventually forces the alpha cane lupo to abdicate and Courtaud becomes the lord baron king of the pack. Along the way, he falls in love with a saucy young she-wolf named Silver and a wolf romance ensues. Although Mannix uses human traits to described the wolves’ behavior and point of view, there isn’t any gender identity crises here. This pack is made up of masculine men and effeminate women, by ferocious wild animal standards, without the gender confusion issues of 21st century America poisoning their thoughts. Otherwise, this section of the story goes into the lifestyles, habits, and behaviors of the wolf pack. It is almost like reading a script from a TV show on Animal Planet, but is also serves the purpose of developing Courtaud’s character.
The next big turning point comes when a band of hunters invade the forest where Courtaud and company live, hunting all the deer out of existence in order to stock their castle full of venison in preparation for the coming winter months. Since the deer are the wolves’ main source of food, the pack is brought to the brink of starvation and begin preying on people in a village to feed themselves. As horrifying as this may seem to members of the human race who don’t ordinarily think of themselves as a meal, it is clear to see that they are the cause of their own problem. Not respecting the wolf pack’s boundaries and killing off all their food results in the wolves’ retaliatory transgression into human territories as a last ditch attempt at survival. You may feel justifiable empathy for the victims, but Mannix shows how it is the human’s ignorance of nature that leads to their own demise.
The villagers then organize a hunting party to track and kill Courtaud, but eventually fail. This passage in the book can be challenging because Mannix introduces a lot of vocabulary related to the niche of hunting for sport in Europe. He puts you through a lot of trouble to learn new esoteric words that you know you will never use again unless you take up further study of the subject. It makes for awkward reading, but doesn’t last long enough to ruin the whole book.
Courtaud and the pack continue wandering in the wilderness, searching for food, until they reach the walls of Paris and occupy the hill of Montparnasse. They eat the corpses of dead bodies thrown outside the walls, attack livestock herders, linger on the sidelines of a battle in a nearby village in order to eat the men slain in the siege, and get chased off Montparnasse after losing a battle with a gang od wild boars. Eventually, they even breach the walls of Paris to find people to eat. It is a very action-driven novel punctuated by scenes explaining the desperation of hungry predators. But these predators are not portrayed as evil. They are simply acting according to their nature.
One of the great things about this novel is the way it tells the story from the wolves’ point of view. If there is any such thing as a charismatic wolf, it is embodied in the lead character of Courtaud. Mannix never overdoes this either. The language he uses to describe his version of events is sparse and simplistic, giving just enough detail for comprehension, but not so much that it becomes overdone. After all, how articulate could your average wild wolf actually be? A proper balance between accessibility and realism is maintained. We also see the human point of view, one which is not entirely unsympathetic. We can understand how they come to fear and hate Courtaud, but we also see how their shortsightedness, superstitions, Inquisition-style religious sadism, and stubborn insistence on continuing the 100 Years War make their situation a lot more dangerous than it needs to be.
Another great thing about this book is the descriptiveness. If you’re a sucker for nature writing, there is plenty to appreciate here. The atmosphere of the Ardennes is well done but the portrayal of shadowy, snow-clad forests and pastoral countrysides is even better. The gory scenes of wolves gorging themselves on deer and European homo sapiens is unsettling enough, but not overly-indulged in to the point of being campy. Again, it is another fine balance that Mannix has struck. Not all the description is great though; the prose starts slowing down towards the end of the story as if the author got tired of writing about one gruesome fight and feast after another. Thankfully he knew when to stop writing because dragging this on for too long would have turned it into a tedious bore.
Despite its brutality, The Wolves of Paris accomplishes what the author intended to do. He creates a sympathetic lead character in Courtaud, making him out to be not so much a villain but more of a force of nature doing what it needs to do out of a will to survive. Writing about a wolf from a wolf’s point of view, especially using human vernacular, is a risky undertaking. It could become pretentious, far fetched, or even cute (meant in the most derogatory sense of the word possible), but it doesn’t. Despite some clumsy and awkward passages, Daniel P. Mannix strikes all the right chords in a finely tuned balance. While not being one of the greatest novels ever written, it is a unique exercise in multiple perspectives. Obscure and underrated, let it remain that and be a secret gem for the few who venture into this territory.
As a young pup, Courtaud is introduced as a hybrid between a dog and a wolf, housed in the cellar of a citadel during the 100 Years War between England and France. The mutt is being raised to be a hunting dog in a team owned by the baron of the estate. One day, a band of Roman brigands breach the rubicon, enter the castle grounds, and slaughter all the people living there. They also kill most of the livestock and Courtaud is lucky to be spared as he escapes the violence before all the others dogs he knows die. Courtaud may be an animal, but if you think your childhood traumas compare in scale to his, you might want to reconsider.
During the winter, as the solitary Courtaud wanders alone in the Ardennes, a hunter comes after him, but after getting crushed in an avalanche, Courtaud samples his flesh, getting his first taste of human meat. This is a decisive moment in this soon-to-be outlaw’s dietary habits.
After wandering for some time in the northern mountains of France, Courtaud encounters a pack of wolves. He has to fight for his place in the pack and finally proves himself worthy after several scraps with the leader. He keeps fighting and eventually forces the alpha cane lupo to abdicate and Courtaud becomes the lord baron king of the pack. Along the way, he falls in love with a saucy young she-wolf named Silver and a wolf romance ensues. Although Mannix uses human traits to described the wolves’ behavior and point of view, there isn’t any gender identity crises here. This pack is made up of masculine men and effeminate women, by ferocious wild animal standards, without the gender confusion issues of 21st century America poisoning their thoughts. Otherwise, this section of the story goes into the lifestyles, habits, and behaviors of the wolf pack. It is almost like reading a script from a TV show on Animal Planet, but is also serves the purpose of developing Courtaud’s character.
The next big turning point comes when a band of hunters invade the forest where Courtaud and company live, hunting all the deer out of existence in order to stock their castle full of venison in preparation for the coming winter months. Since the deer are the wolves’ main source of food, the pack is brought to the brink of starvation and begin preying on people in a village to feed themselves. As horrifying as this may seem to members of the human race who don’t ordinarily think of themselves as a meal, it is clear to see that they are the cause of their own problem. Not respecting the wolf pack’s boundaries and killing off all their food results in the wolves’ retaliatory transgression into human territories as a last ditch attempt at survival. You may feel justifiable empathy for the victims, but Mannix shows how it is the human’s ignorance of nature that leads to their own demise.
The villagers then organize a hunting party to track and kill Courtaud, but eventually fail. This passage in the book can be challenging because Mannix introduces a lot of vocabulary related to the niche of hunting for sport in Europe. He puts you through a lot of trouble to learn new esoteric words that you know you will never use again unless you take up further study of the subject. It makes for awkward reading, but doesn’t last long enough to ruin the whole book.
Courtaud and the pack continue wandering in the wilderness, searching for food, until they reach the walls of Paris and occupy the hill of Montparnasse. They eat the corpses of dead bodies thrown outside the walls, attack livestock herders, linger on the sidelines of a battle in a nearby village in order to eat the men slain in the siege, and get chased off Montparnasse after losing a battle with a gang od wild boars. Eventually, they even breach the walls of Paris to find people to eat. It is a very action-driven novel punctuated by scenes explaining the desperation of hungry predators. But these predators are not portrayed as evil. They are simply acting according to their nature.
One of the great things about this novel is the way it tells the story from the wolves’ point of view. If there is any such thing as a charismatic wolf, it is embodied in the lead character of Courtaud. Mannix never overdoes this either. The language he uses to describe his version of events is sparse and simplistic, giving just enough detail for comprehension, but not so much that it becomes overdone. After all, how articulate could your average wild wolf actually be? A proper balance between accessibility and realism is maintained. We also see the human point of view, one which is not entirely unsympathetic. We can understand how they come to fear and hate Courtaud, but we also see how their shortsightedness, superstitions, Inquisition-style religious sadism, and stubborn insistence on continuing the 100 Years War make their situation a lot more dangerous than it needs to be.
Another great thing about this book is the descriptiveness. If you’re a sucker for nature writing, there is plenty to appreciate here. The atmosphere of the Ardennes is well done but the portrayal of shadowy, snow-clad forests and pastoral countrysides is even better. The gory scenes of wolves gorging themselves on deer and European homo sapiens is unsettling enough, but not overly-indulged in to the point of being campy. Again, it is another fine balance that Mannix has struck. Not all the description is great though; the prose starts slowing down towards the end of the story as if the author got tired of writing about one gruesome fight and feast after another. Thankfully he knew when to stop writing because dragging this on for too long would have turned it into a tedious bore.
Despite its brutality, The Wolves of Paris accomplishes what the author intended to do. He creates a sympathetic lead character in Courtaud, making him out to be not so much a villain but more of a force of nature doing what it needs to do out of a will to survive. Writing about a wolf from a wolf’s point of view, especially using human vernacular, is a risky undertaking. It could become pretentious, far fetched, or even cute (meant in the most derogatory sense of the word possible), but it doesn’t. Despite some clumsy and awkward passages, Daniel P. Mannix strikes all the right chords in a finely tuned balance. While not being one of the greatest novels ever written, it is a unique exercise in multiple perspectives. Obscure and underrated, let it remain that and be a secret gem for the few who venture into this territory.
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