We Are the Beasts Summary, Characters and Themes
We Are the Beasts is a historical young adult novel set in 1765 Gévaudan, France, during the infamous period when reports of a monstrous beast slaughtering villagers terrorized the countryside. Gigi Griffis reimagines this folklore through the eyes of fierce, flawed, and resilient teenage girls who confront both real and metaphorical monsters.
At its core, the novel examines how patriarchal violence, systemic oppression, and personal trauma intersect in the lives of girls forced to survive and resist in a brutal world. The story is gritty, poetic, and unapologetically feminist, filled with haunting imagery, raw emotional depth, and a potent call to reclaim one’s power.
Summary
The novel opens in the forests of rural France with an unsettling sense of dread. A body is discovered near the cliff’s edge, torn and surrounded by blood-streaked butterflies.
Amid this fearsome environment lives Joséphine, a strong-willed teenage girl who, along with her best friend Clara, is used to surviving on the margins of society. The girls live in a harsh world where shepherdesses go missing, and whispers of a murderous “beast”—perhaps a wolf, perhaps something else—spread like wildfire.
When they encounter a traumatized girl named Charlotte, hiding in the forest after escaping her abusive father, Joséphine and Clara make a radical decision. They will fake Charlotte’s death and hide her.
This act of compassion sets off a dangerous chain of events. The girls lie to their village, hide Charlotte in Joséphine’s old family cottage, and manage to deceive even her grieving sister Hélène—at first.
The fear in the region escalates as more deaths occur, including a man savaged under suspicious circumstances. The beast, once thought to target only women, appears to have grown more daring.
Rumors shift from supernatural causes to demonic possession, witchcraft, and sin, particularly blamed on girls who defy gender norms. The arrival of a regional officer, Lafont, with his soldiers does little to comfort the villagers.
Instead, the girls see how quickly suspicion can become a weapon. Meanwhile, Charlotte begins to heal emotionally, even as the group of girls remains on edge.
When Clara and Joséphine learn that Hélène is still trapped in a violent household, they orchestrate another dangerous rescue. Hélène’s escape further escalates the stakes.
Someone discovers their secret, and soon a bloody message and signs of intrusion threaten the fragile safety they’ve built. Forced to split up, Clara and Joséphine send Charlotte and Hélène toward the south, hoping they’ll find safety in Marseille.
The two friends remain behind to mislead their pursuers. In this darkening world, the true nature of the Beast begins to emerge.
Joséphine and Clara uncover chilling evidence suggesting that the Beast is not a mythical creature, but rather a human—or humans—disguised in animal skins and trained to kill. The attacks follow a pattern: they target girls considered sinful or rebellious.
The girls infiltrate a secretive official’s home and gather proof that the killings began before any public reports—suggesting a state-sanctioned cover-up. They find claw-like weapons, cryptic journal entries, and a disturbing mask used to terrify victims.
The “Beast,” they realize, is a tool of patriarchal power, used to silence dissent and enforce rigid gender expectations. Back in the village, Mémé, Clara’s grandmother and their only adult ally, is arrested under accusations of witchcraft.
Clara and Joséphine risk everything to free her, recruiting a band of unlikely allies including the outcast Eugénie and a spirited boy named Louis. Together, they expose the machinery behind the myth.
But as they prepare for a confrontation with those responsible, Joséphine’s emotional burdens nearly break her. Clara helps her find strength again, reminding her that their survival itself is an act of resistance.
The girls no longer see the Beast as something to be feared—but something they must become. As protectors of the vulnerable, they refuse to be preyed upon.
The novel closes with the girls not as victims or fugitives, but as fierce symbols of transformation, ready to create a new kind of legacy.
Characters
Joséphine
Joséphine serves as the fierce, emotionally complex heart of the novel. Her journey is one of raw survival and a deepening sense of justice born from personal loss and generational trauma.
Orphaned and shaped by abandonment, she carries the emotional scars of having lost her family and now finds herself compelled to protect others — not out of obligation, but because no one once protected her. Initially, her bravery manifests in impulsive, often reckless acts of compassion, like rescuing Charlotte and confronting predators.
But as the story unfolds, Joséphine’s strength evolves into a colder, more calculated form of resistance. Her descent into emotional collapse in Chapter 30 marks a turning point: she breaks not from weakness, but from the unbearable accumulation of grief, rage, and guilt.
By the end, she emerges as a symbol of reclamation — embodying the very “beast” the patriarchal world fears, turning terror into a weapon against oppressors. Her final transformation is both literal and symbolic: she becomes a protector cloaked in the myth of monstrosity, choosing justice over vengeance, and wielding fear as a tool for liberation.
Clara
Clara’s arc is equally integral, serving as both a foil and complement to Joséphine. Where Joséphine burns with restless fury, Clara is steady, resourceful, and rooted in fierce loyalty.
Her motivations are shaped by her bond with Joséphine and a quiet longing for freedom — not just from societal expectations, but from the unrelenting burden of caretaking and sacrifice. Clara navigates danger with calculated cleverness, whether in disguises, heists, or confrontations with power.
Her pragmatic mind is balanced by a deeply romantic soul, which is subtly revealed in her growing feelings for Joséphine. This romantic tension is never allowed to fully blossom in a traditional sense, as the dangers they face constantly eclipse personal desire.
But it adds a poignant undercurrent to their interactions. Clara’s most transformative moment comes when she joins Joséphine in fully embracing their roles as “beasts” — not as murderers or monsters, but as wild, ungovernable forces of change.
Her arc is about shedding the expectation to heal others and instead choosing who and what she wants to fight for.
Charlotte
Charlotte begins as a symbol of innocence violated — a girl brutalized by her own father and initially too traumatized to speak. However, as the narrative progresses, she transforms into a symbol of resilience and rebirth.
Her silence early on is not passive; it is heavy with pain, guilt, and a fear so deep it shapes the decisions of others. Through the sanctuary provided by Joséphine and Clara, Charlotte gradually reclaims her agency.
By the time she departs for Marseille, she is no longer merely a survivor of abuse but someone who has chosen a new life. Her resilience, though quiet, contributes to the story’s theme of intergenerational healing.
She shows that survival, when paired with compassion, can blossom into hope. Her departure is bittersweet, marking both a success in Joséphine and Clara’s mission and a painful goodbye to childhood illusions.
Hélène
Hélène’s journey is marked by delayed awakening and reluctant courage. Initially portrayed as a figure trapped in grief and denial, she believes both her siblings are dead and continues to live under her father’s abusive control.
Her character illustrates the complexities of abuse — not all victims are able or ready to break free immediately. When finally confronted with the truth, Hélène experiences a jarring shift.
She accepts rescue not out of eagerness but a belated recognition of horror. Her journey to the south, and her later letter in the epilogue, suggests a healing arc in progress.
Hélène’s role is crucial in depicting that escape and recovery are rarely clean or immediate. They require time, space, and trust, all of which she eventually receives.
Mémé
Mémé stands as the spiritual backbone of the story — a grandmother figure who embodies wisdom, defiance, and unwavering support. Her acceptance of the girls’ cause without hesitation, even when it puts her life at risk, speaks volumes about her moral compass and love.
Accused of witchcraft and imprisoned, Mémé becomes a living representation of the cost of dissent in a world ruled by fear and superstition. Yet even in captivity, her spirit does not break.
Her eventual release and elevation to a local heroine reinforce the novel’s message that elder women, often dismissed or demonized, hold radical strength. Mémé is a matriarch of resistance whose influence quietly ripples through the younger generation.
Eugénie
Eugénie enters the story in its latter half but becomes one of the clearest embodiments of feminist rebellion. Ostracized for her appearance and perceived “masculine” strength, she is a literal outcast turned warrior.
Her rage is unapologetic, her power physical, and her alliance with Joséphine and Clara underscores the theme of reclaiming space. Eugénie’s participation in the final trap for the Beast makes her not just an ally, but an avenger.
Her presence also expands the story’s scope — showing that monsters are fought not only through cunning and stealth but also through brute, unashamed force. She offers a different form of femininity: wild, aggressive, and still deeply compassionate.
Louis
Louis might appear at first as comic relief — a prankster boy in a world full of death — but he quickly proves to be one of the story’s emotional anchors. His loyalty and cleverness offer a refreshing contrast to the violent and controlling men elsewhere in the novel.
Louis’s willingness to support the girls without dominating or questioning their leadership provides a rare model of healthy masculinity. He is the kind of boy who not only survives but helps others survive — without needing to be the hero.
His character arc, while quieter, reinforces the idea that men can be allies when they listen, adapt, and uplift rather than control.
The Priest / The Beast
The antagonist priest, ultimately unmasked as the current Beast, represents institutional evil cloaked in sanctity. His character embodies the horror of corrupted authority — someone who uses religion, fear, and performance to commit calculated atrocities.
His disguise as the Beast and his use of the mask and claws reflect the theme of constructed monstrosity. He is not a mythical creature but a man
weaponizing myth to uphold patriarchy, silence rebellion, and punish defiance.
His death at Joséphine’s hands is both literal justice and symbolic exorcism — a purging of evil masquerading as moral power. As a character, he exemplifies the narrative’s core warning: that the real monsters often wear the robes of righteousness.
Themes
Patriarchy and Gendered Violence
Inside We Are the Beasts, lies a searing critique of patriarchal violence — both in its overt brutality and in its insidious social enforcement. The novel begins with the abuse of Charlotte by her father and expands to reveal a pattern of violence directed at women who defy submission or fail to conform to idealized norms.
These acts are not isolated; they form part of a systemic pattern justified by the myth of a supernatural beast. The “beast,” as it turns out, is a construct — a disguise worn by powerful men to eliminate girls and women deemed unruly, impure, or subversive.
Violence becomes not just physical but ideological. It is codified by religion, maintained by silence, and accepted by a society that benefits from conformity.
Joséphine and Clara’s realization that the beast is a man in costume underscores how gendered violence is often masked by legends or institutional authority. By confronting both the literal and metaphorical beasts, the novel critiques a world in which girls are blamed for their own victimization while men hide behind myths and power.
This theme also extends into the societal impulse to label defiant women as witches or monsters. Mémé’s arrest on charges of witchcraft and the branding of Joséphine and Clara as dangerous girls reflect how fear of female autonomy translates into persecution.
Gigi Griffis uses this thematic thread to expose how patriarchy demonizes resistance. It weaponizes morality, religion, and tradition to maintain control over female bodies and identities.
Sisterhood and Found Family
The novel places profound emotional weight on the bonds formed between girls and women. It constructs a world where survival depends not on individualism but on solidarity.
Joséphine and Clara’s friendship is more than a personal connection; it is a mutual lifeline in a hostile environment. Their decision to protect Charlotte, and later Hélène, from abuse represents an act of radical care that transcends biological ties.
The relationships among these girls serve as a direct counter to the violence of the patriarchal world. Theirs is a chosen family, built on shared trauma, resilience, and a determination to protect one another at all costs.
These bonds are not romanticized as perfect or effortless. Instead, the novel explores the emotional toll of constantly having to save others and the fatigue that comes with being responsible for others’ survival.
The girls persist despite quiet doubts, exhaustion, and fear. The evolution of their relationship — especially as Clara and Joséphine face danger, betrayal, and romantic uncertainty — reflects the depth of their emotional commitment.
Mémé’s support further extends this found-family structure across generations. The story shows that sisterhood is not bound by age but by shared struggle.
Ultimately, the novel presents sisterhood as both resistance and refuge. In a world designed to isolate and break women, bonds of care and loyalty become transformative acts of rebellion.
The Beast as a Symbol of Systemic Oppression
While initially portrayed as a supernatural threat, the Beast is soon revealed to be a manufactured terror. It is a physical disguise worn by men to murder, intimidate, and control.
This revelation is not simply a plot twist. It functions as a devastating allegory for how societies create monsters to justify violence.
The Beast in We Are the Beasts is not a creature of folklore but a tool of ideological violence. It becomes a mask behind which religious extremism, misogyny, and political control hide.
The use of the Beast to punish “rebellious” girls — those who resist their fathers, speak out, or live independently — reflects how patriarchy invents threats to validate its enforcement mechanisms.
Even the absurdity of men dressing as women to bait the Beast highlights how gender itself becomes performative under oppressive systems. Through the Beast, the novel explores how fear is orchestrated and weaponized.
The townspeople are manipulated into believing in an external danger so that they fail to recognize the internal rot — the men who use fear to maintain dominance. The Beast also becomes a mirror: it reflects what society truly fears — female autonomy, defiance, and truth.
When Joséphine and Clara adopt the wolf pelts at the novel’s end, they reclaim the imagery of the Beast. They transform it from a symbol of fear into one of power.
They no longer run from the monster; they become it — not to harm, but to protect. The story proposes that liberation sometimes requires embracing the very symbols used against you and turning them into tools of justice.
Trauma, Memory, and the Persistence of Grief
Trauma shapes the lives of nearly every character in the novel. It is not treated as a passing event but as a haunting force that reshapes identity and perception.
Joséphine’s childhood home, filled with the memories of her dead family, is more than a physical space. It is a graveyard of unresolved grief and guilt.
Her return to this space, and her decision to hide Charlotte there, shows how past trauma bleeds into present action. Rather than recover or escape, the characters often have to function within the boundaries of their pain.
Charlotte’s muteness, her nightmares, and her guilt all reflect the psychological aftermath of domestic violence. Similarly, Clara’s longing for freedom and her exhaustion with always having to fight illuminate the emotional toll of caregiving under constant threat.
The theme of trauma is also collective. Entire communities are traumatized by fear, rumor, and violence, even as they perpetuate those very forces.
Memory plays a key role in this dynamic. The girls remember the faces of the dead, the weight of past losses, and the names of those erased by “the Beast.”
These memories fuel their desire for justice. But they also threaten to consume them.
Joséphine’s eventual breakdown is not a sign of weakness. It is a moment of reckoning — a collapse under the weight of years of unprocessed horror.
Yet the novel doesn’t end in despair. It suggests that healing is not the absence of pain but the ability to act in spite of it.
The fight continues — not because they have moved on, but because they remember.
Reclamation of Identity and Power
We Are the Beasts is ultimately a story about reclaiming power in a world designed to render girls powerless. The characters must disguise themselves, infiltrate systems, and weaponize their intelligence to subvert authority.
Joséphine and Clara’s use of noble disguises to spy on officials exemplifies this theme. They adopt the appearance of privilege to expose corruption, turning the tools of the elite against them.
The Beast costume itself becomes a site of reclamation. Once a symbol of terror, it is worn at the end not by villains but by the girls who survive.
Their transformation into “beasts” is not about becoming monstrous but about asserting control over a narrative that once painted them as victims or threats.
The novel also explores how knowledge is power: stolen documents, secret diaries, and letters give the girls leverage against their oppressors. Through these acts, identity becomes both fluid and political.
The girls are shepherdesses, witches, nobles, fugitives, and finally warriors — roles imposed upon them or chosen by them as circumstances shift.
Importantly, their power does not lie in strength alone but in community, strategy, and moral clarity. The novel rejects the idea that power must corrupt.
Instead, it imagines a form of power rooted in protection, truth, and resistance. When the girls create a network to help other abused girls escape, they rewrite what it means to hold power.
It is no longer about dominance but liberation. Gigi Griffis leaves readers with the message that identity is not a cage but a weapon — one that can be sharpened, reclaimed, and used to carve out a freer future.