Who Are The Werewolves In 'Mongrels' Based On?

Stephen Graham Jones crafts the werewolves in 'mongrels' as a tragic, blue-collar family clinging to their monstrous heritage. They're not based on any single myth but feel like a patchwork of marginalized identities—part migrant workers, part outlaw bikers, part indigenous tricksters. Their lycanthropy manifests through generational trauma rather than noble bloodlines.

The uncle embodies the 'rabid dog' archetype, attacking gas stations and howling at police sirens. His brutality contrasts with the aunt's survival tactics—she seduces truckers for money and tells folktales about their kind being railroad workers or coal miners. The nephew's coming-of-age struggle mirrors real-world kids caught between family traditions and modern alienation.

Jones sprinkles clues about their origins through roadside diner conversations and prison tattoos. Some legends in the novel suggest they descended from Cherokee skinwalkers, while others imply they're mutated Dust Bowl refugees. This ambiguity makes them feel authentically rootless—monsters shaped by America's highways and trailer parks rather than European castles.

What hooked me about 'mongrels' is how it reimagines werewolves as a dysfunctional family lineage. They don't trace back to medieval curses but seem to evolve from desperation—like their ancestors were frontier outlaws who made deals with the wrong spirits. The aunt's stories reference Depression-era hobo signs and Navajo skinwalker myths, blending cultural influences into something uniquely American.

Their powers are erratic. Shifting depends on moon phases but also hunger, fear, or anger. The uncle can barely control it, often waking up naked in ditches. The aunt uses hers strategically, growing claws to open locks. The nephew's first transformation happens during a school fight, tying the change to adolescent rage. Unlike traditional lore, silver just gives them rashes, and they avoid cities not because of hunters but due to surveillance cameras. Jones makes lycanthropy feel like inherited poverty—a cycle they can't escape.

The werewolves in 'Mongrels' feel like they crawled straight out of Southern Gothic folklore with a gritty, modern twist. These aren't your romanticized shapeshifters—they're poor, violent, and constantly on the run. The main trio (a teenage boy, his uncle, and his aunt) embody different survival strategies. The uncle's a reckless thief who embraces his feral side, the aunt uses her cunning to manipulate humans, and the boy struggles with whether to join their world. Their transformations aren't magical; they're painful, messy, and tied to puberty. The book hints they might descend from Appalachian outcasts or Dust Bowl drifters, making them feel like a hidden American underclass.