Sharp Teeth

Barlow’s first book has been billed as a sort of literary novelty: a verse novel about werewolves. Told in blank verse, we’re supposed to be taken aback by the lyricism of poetry abutting the viciousness of lycanthropic rampage. But really, the “verse novel” aspect is probably Sharp Teeth’s least interesting hook. It disappears from the reader’s mind after the first couple of pages, and reads exactly like prose. In other words, there doesn’t seem much use for it other than as a clever marketing tool—or a way to get this novel noticed in literary circles. But those who would be scared off by the prospect of reading an entire novel in verse shouldn’t avoid it, because it’s quite good.

The plot is a pretty standard hard-boiled mystery, other than the man-wolves. Lark, the ambitious leader of a pack who runs his gang like a business, is suddenly thrown out on his own when a wilder, looser band of werewolves catches them unawares and slaughters the lot of them. This single action sets into motion the rest of the novel—a female werewolf finds shelter and love with a dog catcher but plots revenge, a cop investigates some disappearances and gets caught up in the maelstrom.

Barlow interweaves all of the plotlines the way good mysteries do, wrapping them around deeper questions of loyalty, trust and love. And the writing is pitch-perfect—“The heart is a bloody thing”—even if we’re hesitant to call it poetic.