The Wolf Gift

Hardcover | February 14, 2012

byAnne Rice

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A daring new departure from the inspired creator of The Vampire Chronicles (“unrelentingly erotic . . . unforgettable”—The Washington Post), Lives of the Mayfair Witches (“Anne Rice will live on through the ages of literature”—San Francisco Chronicle), and the angels of The Songs of the Seraphim (“remarkable”—Associated Press). A whole new world—modern, sleek, high-tech—and at its center, a story as old and compelling as history: the making of a werewolf, reimagined and reinvented as only Anne Rice, teller of mesmerizing tales, conjurer extraordinaire of other realms, could create.
 
The time is the present.
 
The place, the rugged coast of Northern California. A bluff high above the Pacific. A grand mansion full of beauty and tantalizing history set against a towering redwood forest.
 
A young reporter on assignment from the San Francisco Observer . . . An older woman welcoming him into her magnificent family home that he has been sent to write about and that she must sell with some urgency . . . A chance encounter between two unlikely people . . . An idyllic night—shattered by horrific unimaginable violence, the young man inexplicably attacked—bitten—by a beast he cannot see in the rural darkness . . . A violent episode that sets in motion a terrifying yet seductive transformation, as the young man, caught between ecstasy and horror, between embracing who he is evolving into and fearing what he will become, soon experiences the thrill of the wolf gift.
 
As he resists the paradoxical pleasure and enthrallment of his wolfen savagery and delights in the power and (surprising) capacity for good, he is caught up in a strange and dangerous rescue and is desperately hunted as “the Man Wolf” by authorities, the media, and scientists (evidence of DNA threatens to reveal his dual existence) . . . As a new and profound love enfolds him, questions emerge that propel him deeper into his mysterious new world: questions of why and how he has been given this gift; of its true nature and the curious but satisfying pull towards goodness; of the profound realization that there may be others like him who are watching—guardian creatures who have existed throughout time who possess ancient secrets and alchemical knowledge. And throughout it all, the search for salvation for a soul tormented by a new realm of temptations, and the fraught, exhilarating journey, still to come, of being and becoming, fully, both wolf and man.

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From the Publisher

A daring new departure from the inspired creator of The Vampire Chronicles (“unrelentingly erotic . . . unforgettable”—The Washington Post), Lives of the Mayfair Witches (“Anne Rice will live on through the ages of literature”—San Francisco Chronicle), and the angels of The Songs of the Seraphim (“remarkable”—Associated Press). A whole...

Anne Rice is the author of thirty-one books. She lives in Palm Desert, California.   www.annerice.com

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Format:HardcoverDimensions:416 pages, 9.51 × 6.56 × 1.44 inPublished:February 14, 2012Publisher:Knopf Doubleday Publishing GroupLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0307595110

ISBN - 13:9780307595119

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Reviews

Rated 4 out of 5 by from The Wolf Gift Anne is back.
Date published: 2014-08-12
Rated 4 out of 5 by from The Wolf Gift Anne Rice is amazing in her ability to create a world and tradition around unreal societies! She did it with the Vampire Chronicles and the Mayfair Witches. She has done it again with The Wolf Gift. I am looking forward to book two!
Date published: 2014-07-20
Rated 3 out of 5 by from The Wolf gift Captivating, but like most of Anne Rice's books, I find that it is very sentimental and lacking in humor. But still beautifully written. I do like the new twist on the wearwolfs, that they are not mindless beasts and that the change seems to feel so damn good :)
Date published: 2014-07-04
Rated 5 out of 5 by from The Wolf Gift Happy that Anne Rice has come back to the supernatural
Date published: 2014-06-21
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Second time around. Read it again to refresh before Wolves of Midwinter. It's Anne Rice so 'nuff said.
Date published: 2014-06-14
Rated 5 out of 5 by from The Wolf Gift Is the best wolf novel I read ever! This is another reason to become a fan of Ms. Rice!
Date published: 2014-05-27
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Anne Rice enchants.... An amazing story with wonderful new characters from the glorious imagination of Anne Rice!
Date published: 2014-03-31
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Great book I loved this book.
Date published: 2014-01-10
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Can't wait for the next edition! Brilliant as only Anne Rice can deliver
Date published: 2014-01-06
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Good Book What Anne Rice does in this book is the same thing she did with her vampire novels but only with the werewolf genre! A fascinating tale!
Date published: 2013-10-15
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Great read Maybe not the best of Rice's work, but a definite entertainer.
Date published: 2013-09-10
Rated 5 out of 5 by from New stories Keep me very interested. Not what I expected. Great
Date published: 2013-04-20
Rated 3 out of 5 by from Hoping the next installment will be better. The newest venture for the legendary Anne Rice, and it looks to be quite promising. Her take on the werewolf legend, I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it either. I am looking forward to see how it develops and how she moves everything forward. I enjoyed the fact that the werewolves don't completely lose themselves when they take form, and I liked the characters for the most part. I could have done without Laura entirely, I found her to be a bit of a ninny, and Reuben can do much better than her! I would like to have seen him draw Celeste into this new world of his, at least she didn't sob through everything! Perhaps Reuben has some dominance issues :-) I did not enjoy the constant glorifying of the "werewolf feast" as it were. I liked their drive to eradicate evil, but I could have done without the descriptions of tearing beasts limb from limb, the devouring of flesh and dripping blood! If they truly value life and spend so much of their time endlessly debating philosophy, how can they think it so divine to rip apart a mountain lion with her cubs nearby? I am hoping these issues are addressed in the next installment!
Date published: 2012-04-29
Rated 5 out of 5 by from It's no longer a curse, It's a GIFT On February 14th, the creator of the widely known and beloved Vampire Chronicles released a new novel, surprisingly about werewolves. The Wolf Gift by the incredible Anne Rice was one title I absolutely could not wait to, pardon the wording, sink my teeth into! Here was the Goddess of Gothic novels writing about a species her readers never imagined she'd write, I just really didn't know what to expect from her. The Wolf Gift by Anne Rice tells the story of Reuben, a 23 year old reporter who's been sent to an extremely lavish and luxurious family home in order to write an article for the San Francisco Observer. Unfortunately, while on stay at the family home with the older woman who owns it, an unexpected event occurs; Reuben is bitten by an unidentified beast in the darkness of the woods behind the home and the woman killed. From the bite, Reuben receives the wolf gift, the ability to transform into a ferocious wolfen creature with incredible strength, senses, and agility. Is the world ready for him or will they try to destroy him? On the day of the release, I actually had the opportunity to attend Anne Rice's sold out signing in Toronto at the Bram & Bluma Appel Salon (click here to read my recap). She was on tour for her latest novel The Wolf Gift and she enthusiastically spoke of her newest character Reuben. Before the signing and release day, I actually had the opportunity to read The Wolf Gift about two weeks before it's store on-sale date, and I couldn't help finding myself connecting so much more with the characters as I watched her speak warmly of them. First and foremost, I really enjoyed reading from Reuben's perspective. As I've mentioned in several reviews in the past, as a female reader I often have a difficult time connecting with male point of views, however Reuben was completely the opposite. As a 23 year old as well, I found myself greatly connecting and understanding Reuben. Unfortunately, when it came to Reuben's character, there were a few things that just didn't fit well. For one, his vast knowledge of historical events and artifacts. It's exceptionally unbelievable that a 23 year old reporter, working for a San Francisco paper no less, would know of all these historical pieces, key moments, and how to read and translate old or dead languages. Additionally, Reuben's tendency to "fool around" with women without knowing very much about them failed to rub me on a positive note, it just didn't work very well to his advantage. Additionally, I also found myself loving Anne Rice's approach to lycanthropy. Instead of the typical stories that focuses on werewolfdom being a curse, Anne Rice saw it as a gift, something her character Reuben could use to grow and mature into someone with so much more potential and strength. Perhaps, even someone who could do good instead of evil, as shown through Reuben's actions. I also loved how different The Wolf Gift was from her previous novels. In The Wolf Gift, Anne Rice used today's technology to her advantage, adding more depth to Reuben's struggle with his wolf gift, as well as trying to keep himself safe from the authorities and media who wanted him destroyed. Anne Rice's latest, The Wolf Gift, was a breath of fresh air! The Wolf Gift brings to the genre a unique and exciting take on lycanthropy, an inspiring protagonist, and a bone-chilling thriller that will have readers begging for more Reuben!
Date published: 2012-03-21
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Anne Rice does Werewolves Right All other paranormal writers step aside. This is how you write a werewolf novel. Anne Rice does werewolves right. They're big, beastly, scary and most of all intimidating. It seems like we've forgotten that recently. Anne Rice explores a lot of interesting concepts in her latest novel. Instead of your traditional werewolves – more beast than human – Anne Rice crafts a Man-Wolf. A creature that is both consciously human and beast at the same time. I thought this was an interesting and exciting premise and it opened up the story to some greater concepts. Such as what one would do when in the possession of so much power? How would it affect your decisions? How would you interact with others? I really enjoyed this take on the werewolf and thought it was a lot more detailed and thoughtful than I expected. If the deeper concepts weren't enough, however, this book is also packed with some serious action. Anne Rice takes all those moral questions and applies them to a sort of “masked vigilante” style of character. In many ways The Wolf Gift is like Batman meets the Werewolf. I'm a huge fan of superhero fiction and the ideas and morals embedded in those stories, so I was incredibly drawn to this idea of the Man-Wolf being a defender of the people and exploring what right he had to take on this role. I do have one complaint and that is the women in this book are just horrible. Particularly Rueben's love interest. I found her vapid, annoying and for the most part pretty useless. She didn't really do anything to move the plot along. In addition her actions were so irrational. Especially the way she falls in love with him in a matter of days, knowing next to nothing about him except that he's a werewolf. What finally sealed the deal on my dislike of Laura was the following lines, “He drove Laura south to get her Jeep and the bulk of her possessions which amounted to so few boxes that he was kind of amazed. Half of them were filled with flannel nightgowns.” Half of her possessions are flannel nightgowns? Who is this woman? Who has that many nightgowns? It was just one of those things I couldn't get pass and I could have done without her character all together. I thoroughly enjoyed reading The Wolf Gift, it was the type of werewolf novel I had been waiting for. Complaints about the female characters aside, I found it to be extremely well put together and significantly more deep than I ever thought it could be. A must read for any fan of the paranormal. This and other reviews at Hooked on Books (http://christashookedonbooks.blogspot.com)
Date published: 2012-02-19

Extra Content

Read from the Book

I Reuben was a tall man, well over six feet, with brown curly hair and deep-­set blue eyes. “Sunshine Boy” was his nickname and he hated it; so he tended to repress what the world called an irresistible smile. But he was a little too happy right now to put on his studious expression, and try to look older than his twenty-­three years.He was walking up a steep hill in the fierce ocean wind with an exotic and elegant older woman named Marchent Nideck and he really loved all she was saying about the big house on the cliff. She was lean with a narrow beautifully sculpted face, and that kind of yellow hair that never fades. She wore it straight back from her forehead in a soft wavy swinging bob that curled under just above her shoulders. He loved the picture she made in her long brown knit dress and high polished brown boots.He was doing a story for the San Francisco Observer on the giant house and her hopes of selling it now that the estate had at last been settled, and her great-­uncle Felix Nideck had been declared officially dead. The man had been gone for twenty years, but his will had only just been opened, and the house had been left to Marchent, his niece.They’d been walking the forested slopes of the property since Reuben arrived, visiting a ramshackle old guesthouse and the ruin of a barn. They’d followed old roads and old paths lost in the brush, and now and then come out on a rocky ledge above the cold iron-­colored Pacific, only to duck back quickly into the sheltered and damp world of gnarled oak and bracken.Reuben wasn’t dressed for this, really. He’d driven north in his usual “uniform” of worsted-­wool blue blazer over a thin cashmere sweater, and gray slacks. But at least he had a scarf for his neck that he’d pulled from the glove compartment. And he really didn’t mind the biting cold.The huge old house was wintry with deep slate roofs and diamond-­pane windows. It was built of rough-­faced stone, and had countless chimneys rising from its steep gables, and a sprawling conservatory on the west side, all white iron and glass. Reuben loved it. He’d loved it in the photographs online but nothing had prepared him for its solemn grandeur.He’d grown up in an old house on San Francisco’s Russian Hill, and spent a lot of time in the impressive old homes of Presidio Heights, and the suburbs of San Francisco, including Berkeley, where he’d gone to school, and Hillsborough, where his late grandfather’s half-­timber mansion had been the holiday gathering place for many a year. But nothing he had ever seen could compare to the Nideck family home.The sheer scale of this place, stranded as it was in its own park, suggested another world.“The real thing,” he’d said under his breath the moment he’d seen it. “Look at those slate roofs, and those must be copper gutters.” Lush green vines covered over half the immense structure, reaching all the way to the highest windows, and he’d sat in his car for a long moment, kind of pleasantly astonished and a little worshipful, dreaming of owning a place like this someday when he was a famous writer and the world beat too broad a path to his door.This was turning out to be just a glorious afternoon.It had hurt him to see the guesthouse dilapidated and unlivable. But Marchent assured him the big house was in good repair.He could have listened to her talk forever. Her accent wasn’t British exactly, or Boston or New York. But it was unique, the accent of a child of the world, and it gave her words a lovely preciseness and silvery ring.“Oh, I know it’s beautiful. I know it’s like no place else on the California coast. I know. I know. But I have no choice but to get rid of all of it,” she explained. “There comes a time when a house owns you and you know you have to get free of it, and go on with the rest of your life.” Marchent wanted to travel again. She confessed she’d spent precious little time here since Uncle Felix disappeared. She was headed down to South America as soon as the property was sold.“It breaks my heart,” Reuben said. That was too damn personal for a reporter, wasn’t it? But he couldn’t stop himself. And who said he had to be a dispassionate witness? “This is irreplaceable, Marchent. But I’ll write the best story I can on the place. I’ll do my best to bring you a buyer, and I can’t believe it will take that long.”What he didn’t say was I wish I could buy this place myself. And he’d been thinking about that very possibility ever since he’d first glimpsed the gables through the trees.“I’m so glad the paper sent you, of all people,” she said. “You’re passionate and I like that so very much.”For one moment, he thought, Yes, I’m passionate and I want this house, and why not, and when will an opportunity like this ever come again? But then he thought of his mother and of Celeste, his petite brown-­eyed girlfriend, the rising star in the district attorney’s office, and how they’d laugh at the idea, and the thought went cold.“What’s wrong with you, Reuben, what’s the matter?” asked Marchent. “You had the strangest look in your eye.”“Thoughts,” he said, tapping his temple. “I’m writing the piece in my head. ‘Architectural jewel on the Mendocino coast, first time on the market since it was built.’ ”“Sounds good,” she said. There was that faint accent again, of a citizen of the world.“I’d give the house a name if I bought it,” said Reuben, “you know, something that captured the essence of it. Nideck Point.”“Aren’t you the young poet,” she said. “I knew it when I saw you. And I like the pieces you’ve written for your paper. They have a distinct character. But you’re writing a novel, aren’t you? Any young reporter your age should be writing a novel. I’d be ashamed of you if you weren’t.”“Oh, that’s music to my ears,” he confessed. She was so beautiful when she smiled, all the fine lines of her face seemingly so eloquent and pretty. “My father told me last week that a man of my age has absolutely nothing to say. He’s a professor, burnt out, I might add. He’s been revising his ‘Collected Poems’ for ten years, since he retired.” Talking too much, talking too much about himself, not good at all.His father might actually love this place, he thought. Yes, Phil Golding was in fact a poet and he would surely love it, and he might even say so to Reuben’s mother who would scoff at the whole idea. Dr. Grace Golding was the practical one and the architect of their lives. She was the one who’d gotten Reuben his job at the San Francisco Observer, when his only qualification was a master’s in English literature and yearly world travel since birth.Grace had been proud of his recent investigative pieces, but she’d cautioned that this “real estate story” was a waste of his time.“There you go again, dreaming,” Marchent said. She put her arm around him and actually kissed him on the cheek as she laughed. He was startled, caught unawares by the soft pressure of her breasts against him and the subtle scent of a rich perfume.“Actually, I haven’t accomplished one single thing in my life yet,” he said with an ease that shocked him. “My mother’s a brilliant surgeon; my big brother’s a priest. My mother’s father was an international real estate broker by the time he was my age. But I’m a nothing and a nobody, actually. I’ve only been with the paper six months. I should have come with a warning label. But believe me, I’ll make this a story you’ll love.”“Rubbish,” she said. “Your editor told me your story on the Greenleaf murder led to the arrest of the killer. You are the most charming and self-­effacing boy.”He struggled not to blush. Why was he admitting all these things to this woman? Seldom if ever did he make self-­deprecating statements. Yet he felt some immediate connection with her he couldn’t explain.“That Greenleaf story took less than a day to write,” he murmured. “Half of what I turned up on the suspect never saw print at all.”She had a twinkle in her eye. “Tell me—­how old are you, Reuben? I’m thirty-­eight. How is that for total honesty? Do you know many women who volunteer that they’re thirty-­eight?”“You don’t look it,” he said. And he meant it. What he wanted to say was You’re rather perfect, if you ask me. “I’m twenty-­three,” he confessed.“Twenty-­three? You’re just a boy.”Of course. “Sunshine Boy,” as his girlfriend Celeste always called him. “Little Boy,” according to his big brother, Fr. Jim. And “Baby Boy,” according to his mother, who still called him that in front of people. Only his dad consistently called him Reuben and saw only him when their eyes met. Dad, you should see this house! Talk about a place for writing, talk about a getaway, talk about a landscape for a creative mind.He shoved his freezing hands in his pockets and tried to ignore the sting of the wind in his eyes. They were making their way back up to the promise of hot coffee and a fire.“And so tall for that age,” she said. “I think you’re uncommonly sensitive, Reuben, to appreciate this rather cold and grim corner of the earth. When I was twenty-­three I wanted to be in New York and Paris. I was in New York and Paris. I wanted the capitals of the world. What, have I insulted you?”“No, certainly not,” he said. He was reddening again. “I’m talking too much about myself, Marchent. My mind’s on the story, never fear. Scrub oak, high grass, damp earth, ferns, I’m recording everything.”“Ah yes, the fresh young mind and memory, nothing like it,” she said. “Darling, we’re going to spend two days together, aren’t we? Expect me to be personal. You’re ashamed of being young, aren’t you? Well, you needn’t be. And you’re distractingly handsome, you know, why you’re just about the most adorable boy I’ve ever seen in my entire life. No, I mean it. With looks like yours, you don’t have to be much of anything, you know.”He shook his head. If she only knew. He hated it when people called him handsome, adorable, cute, to die for. “And how will you feel if they ever stop?” his girlfriend Celeste had asked him. “Ever think about that? Look, Sunshine Boy, with me, it’s strictly your looks.” She had a way of teasing with an edge, Celeste did. Maybe all teasing had an edge.“Now, I really have insulted you, haven’t I?” asked Marchent. “Forgive me. I think all of us ordinary mortals tend to mythologize people as good-­looking as you. But of course what makes you so remarkable is that you have a poet’s soul.”They had reached the edge of the flagstone terrace.Something had changed in the air. The wind was even more cutting. The sun was indeed dying behind the silver clouds and headed for the darkening sea.She stopped for a moment, as if to catch her breath, but he couldn’t tell. The wind whipped the tendrils of her hair around her face, and she put a hand up to shelter her eyes. She looked at the high windows of the house as if searching for something, and there came over Reuben the most forlorn feeling. The loneliness of the place pressed in.They were miles from the little town of Nideck and Nideck had, what, two hundred real inhabitants? He’d stopped there on the way in and found most of the shops on the little main street were closed. The bed-­and-­breakfast had been for sale “forever,” said the clerk at the gas station, but yes, you have cell phone and Internet connections everywhere in the county, no need to worry about that.Right now, the world beyond this windswept terrace seemed unreal.“Does it have ghosts, Marchent?” he asked, following her gaze to the windows.“It doesn’t need them,” she declared. “The recent history is grim enough.”“Well, I love it,” he said. “The Nidecks were people of remarkable vision. Something tells me you’ll get a very romantic buyer, one who can transform it into a unique and unforgettable hotel.”“Now that’s a thought,” she said. “But why would anyone come here, in particular, Reuben? The beach is narrow and hard to reach. The redwoods are glorious but you don’t have to drive four hours from San Francisco to reach glorious redwoods in California. And you saw the town. There is nothing here really except Nideck Point, as you call it. I have a suffocating feeling sometimes that this house won’t be standing much longer.”“Oh, no! Let’s not even think of that. Why, no one would dare—­.”She took his arm again and they moved on over the sandy flags, past his car, and towards the distant front door. “I’d fall in love with you if you were my age,” she said. “If I’d met anyone quite as charming as you, I wouldn’t be alone now, would I?”“Why would a woman like you ever have to be alone?” he asked. He had seldom met someone so confident and graceful. Even now after the trek in the woods, she looked as collected and groomed as a woman shopping on Rodeo Drive. There was a thin little bracelet around her left wrist, a pearl chain, he believed they called it, and it gave her easy gestures an added glamour. He couldn’t quite tell why.There were no trees to the west of them. The view was open for all the obvious reasons. But the wind was positively howling off the ocean now, and the gray mist was descending on the last sparkle of the sea. I’ll get the mood of all this, he thought. I’ll get this strange darkening moment. And a little shadow fell deliciously over his soul.He wanted this place. Maybe it would have been better if they’d sent someone else to do this story, but they’d sent him. What remarkable luck.“Good Lord, it’s getting colder by the second,” she said as they hurried. “I forget the way the temperature drops on the coast here. I grew up with it, but I’m always taken by surprise.” Yet she stopped once more and looked up at the towering façade of the house as though she was searching for someone, and then she shaded her eyes and looked out into the advancing mist.Yes, she may come to regret selling this place terribly, he thought. But then again, she may have to. And who was he to make her feel the pain of that if she didn’t want to address it herself?For a moment, he was keenly ashamed that he himself had the money to buy the property and he felt he should make some disclaimer, but that would have been unspeakably rude. Nevertheless, he was calculating and dreaming.

Editorial Reviews

“The Wolf Gift is vintage Anne Rice—a lushly written, gothic…metaphysical tale. This time, with werewolves.” —Alexandra Alter, The Wall Street Journal  “Anne Rice has done it again.  In her latest novel, The Wolf Gift, the woman who single-handedly, reinvented the vampire genre puts her formidable talent to work rewriting ‘were-wolf’ lore and in the end succeeds magnificently.” —Nola Cancel, Examiner  “[Rice] returns to the lushly evocative scenery and gothic atmosphere of her vampire novels with great success. . . her reimagining of a well-worn mythology is fresh and intriguing. Fans of Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles and The Lives of the Mayfair Witches series should delight in this new saga delivered in the author’s distinctive style. Part creation story, part love story, all excellent!” —Bette Lee Fox, Library Journal (starred)  “I want to howl at the moon over this…I devoured these pages…[A] terrific new novel. . . . The plot [is] magnetic, the characters fascinating, and Rice’s style as solid and engaging as anything she has written since her early vampire chronicle fiction.”—Alan Cheuse, The Boston Globe  “Rice weaves her trademark meditations on the role of supernatural creatures in society into an often thrilling, page-turning yarn” —Kristine Huntley, Booklist  “[A]n energetic gambol, feisty and terrific fun. . . . [A] fast-paced, heady romp that ranks with her best. . . . Wolf Gift is irresistible.”—Joy Tipping, The Dallas Morning News “[I]n Rice’s hands, The Wolf Gift evolves from a fantastical romp into an engrossing thriller. . . .”—Liz Colville, San Francisco Chronicle “Anne Rice combines a vast literary gift with a shameless love of sex, beauty and pop culture. Her artistic vision is part Bela Lugosi, part Andy Warhol, part Christina the Astonishing, the medieval holy woman who could famously “smell sin.”…The Wolf Gift will leave open-minded readers howling for more.”—Aidan Johnson, The Globe and Mail “[E]xciting tale of a contemporary werewolf. . . . Rice’s classic concerns regarding good and evil and shifting views of reality play out wonderfully in what will surely please fans and newcomers alike.”—Publishers Weekly “[O]ne part ‘Beauty and the Beast’ love story, one part meditation on morality and immortality, and one part superman tale. . . . Told in the memorable style that won Rice’s vampire series so many readers, The Wolf Gift is an intriguing new take on the classic werewolf legend…Rice deepens and gives nuance to classic werewolf lore.”—Diana Pinckley, New Orleans Times-Picayune “Rice has never shied away from tackling Big Issues…The Wolf Gift marks a return to form while still giving a nod to spiritual matters…[A] delectable cocktail of old-fashioned lost-race adventure, shape-shifting and suspense.”-Elizabeth Hand, The Washington Post “Anne Rice is back”—Tirdad Derakhshani, The Philadelphia Inquirer “[W]ritten with compelling modernity…The Wolf Gift is a strong—and welcome—return to the monster mythology that made Anne Rice famous.”—Rob LeFebvre, Shelf Awareness “With both thrilling acts of horror and a final act that is deeply based in the mythology of the Wolf Gift and its history --- and bordering on lycanthropic existentialism --- this novel opens readers up to a world they only thought they knew…The characters come alive, and the strange history of the Nideck family will jump off the page and enter the readers’ nightmares as Rice has found a new gothic saga to sink her teeth into.”—Ray Palen, Bookreporter.com