Tag Archives: Sharp Teeth

Toby Barlow’s “Sharp Teeth”

As you might have gathered from previous blog posts, I really loved the free-verse narrative of Toby Barlow’s award winning “Sharp Teeth.”  (Thank you, Super Smart Art Girl, for lending it to me.)

This isn’t exactly a werewolf novel.  Am I a horror-hound-pedant if I point out that the monsters depicted are … weredogs?  (I actually do get annoyed when Internet commentators get too upset when the infected from “28 Days Later” are referred to as “zombies.”  Big deal.)

This is a great horror read, whether you enjoy poetry or not.  Barlow does something both creative and effective — he employs poetry to perfectly capture the fluid, stream-of-consciousness thought processes of his characters.  It works.  Think about it — do we think in complete sentences, or are thoughts more like images, phrases and feelings?

And it’s a first-rate horror yarn.  We’ve got packs of weredogs vying for control, both within their own ranks and throughout Los Angeles’ crime scene.

Barlow does a great job juggling multiple points of view, and crafting a really decent horror story.   The most ambitious plan concocted by a weredog alpha is actually pretty scary.  So, too, is a She-dog’s intimidation of a former oppressor.

Casting the main human protagonist as dogcatcher (really!) was darkly humorous.  We even have a satisfying, if brief, explanation for the monsters’ origins that totally works.

And the best part of the book is … a little hard for me to describe.  Barlow seems to perfectly capture the clanlike or packlike mentality of the weredog villains and anti-heroes.  You actually can feel for them, because he captures their feelings and point of view so capably.

The poetry itself is often quite beautiful.

This is a great read that I cheerfully recommend.

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“Words, those simple clumsy clay blocks …”

Perhaps being free of language is a blessing for dogs.

“Why do you say that, why do you always have to hurt me?”

Since dogs are continually surprised when

those soft and easily broken tools called words

fail them time and again. 

“I love you.”

Words, those simple clumsy clay blocks

that one hopes will support such enormous walls.

“I do, I love you.”

Words, those small weak things

that come tumbling out of men.

          —  from Toby Barlow’s “Sharp Teeth”

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“Dream trains”

“Morning.”

Soft kiss, like dream trains coupling at the station.

Soft kiss again, like pleasure should be.

“Hey,” she says, “How do you, um …”

“Excuse me?” kiss on neck, ear,

there, where the current hits the soul.

— from “Sharp Teeth,” by Toby Barlow

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