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Toby
Barlow's new book is a novel. It's also an epic poem. It's
a love story, a crime thriller, and a werewolf story, too.
Throw out everything you think you know about any of those
things.
Barlow's
book, Sharp Teeth, is nothing less than a bold literary
experiment that rewrites the rules into free-verse poetry.
It's evocative, ferocious, and frequently funny—a pop-culture
fusion drink that's jacked up on its own juices. It's a dark,
compelling nightmare that reads like a gritty dream.
The story's
motley cast of characters centers around Anthony, a city dogcatcher
who meets the girl of his dreams. What he doesn't know is
that she's really a dog—literally. She's part of an ancient,
secret race of shape-shifters, but she's trying to kick the
life. Her old pack has plans of its own, though, and soon
she and Anthony get swept up in them without even realizing
it. There's murder, conspiracy, betrayal, and a really intense
bridge tournament.
Barlow
writes in images, which makes his decision to write his novel
as poetry rather than prose perfect. Sharp Teeth reads
like a hip graphic novel written in words instead of pictures.
Envision, stringing down a page in short lines, what might
otherwise be a stereotypical man-meets-woman-in-bar scenario:
"In the corner of the bar/Anthony notices/a woman, dark hair,/with
nicer shoes than this place deserves/sitting alone./She seems
slightly familiar to Anthony./But she isn't./Not yet."
The novel's
female protagonist remains nameless throughout—no mean
feat considering Barlow has to refer to her as "she" and "her"
and 'the girl" for 308 pages. She is the beautiful, unattainable
ideal, which lends a poignant melancholy to her relationship
with Anthony.
The novel's
other characters feel more real because they don't carry the
symbolic weight of "the girl." They defy convention—even
the conventions Barlow creates for himself—making them
a compelling collection to follow.
Barlow
even redefines what it means to be a werewolf. ""So get this
straight/it's not the full moon./That's as ancient and ignorant
as any myth./The blood just quickens with a thought as discipline
develops/so that one can self-ignite/reshaping form, becoming
something rather more canine/still conscious, a little hungrier./It's
a raw muscular power,/a rich sexual energy/and the food tastes
a whole lot better."
But if
Barlow's re-envisioned rules seek to take the old and twist
it new, he also proves artful at capturing images that readers
might find familiar. "It's a habit of late/when he washes
the dishes/she comes up from behind,/her arms wrapping around
him/resting her cheek on his back and/quiet, still, he inhales
the moment,/feeling the depth of her invisible smile/in every
breath."
Sharp
Teeth is, itself, quite sharp. Barlow knows how to write
a thriller, full of twists and turns and transformations right
up to the end. This extraordinarily ambitious project could've
resulted in a real mutt, but instead, it shows a pedigree
that remains hip and smart and brilliant.
(May,
2008)
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