Bite Marks

Toby Barlow sure has some Sharp Teeth

By John Hood

If you had told me last week that one of the hottest books in the land would be a neo-noir, post-Goth murder/love combo about werewolves, I would’ve ripped out your fur. Had you said it’d be written in free verse, I’d’ve pounded you into a poem. I mean, really, fuckin’ lycanthropic poetry? I thought sure that shit went out with full moons and dames named June.

But Toby Barlow’s Sharp Teeth (Harper $22.95) is not only one of the hottest books in the land, it’s also by far the most ferocious. And get this: It hasn’t got a goddamn thing to do with poetry.

Unless, that is, you count all the white space that takes up the pages of his Slipstream Fiction debut. But whereas those pansy poets of yore used white space to hide behind what they were afraid of saying, Barlow’s ultra-violent whiting reveals the black and the blue of the way we live now. And the way we die.

This being about lycanthropes, there’s gonna be some bite, and since the bite of a werewolf has long been known to be lethal, there’s gonna be some consequence. But Barlow’s fable goes so far beyond the fanglorious precedents of the genre, and far above a mere bloodletting. No, here the bites end up working like a salve for what ails all of us, and the marks that they leave behind become our future.

Take my word for it, and then take a few of his — ’cause even in a quick Q&A, you can tell the storyteller knows which end of the tale to begin, and he’s not afraid to wag it out either.

Homer or Virgil?

Technically speaking, they go by “Homer’s” and “Virgil’s.” And while Virgil’s probably earns a billion dollars more than Homer’s, I don’t think you can stand there and say that any BBQ made way up in New York City can possibly — in any way, shape or form — be better than BBQ made down in Jackson, Miss. So, yes, Homer’s, hands down. [1215 High St., Jackson, Miss. 39202; for more information, call 601-355-4020.]

Eliot or Pound?

Baudelaire. Whitman. Carson. Bukowski. Acker. (Tom Waits, Townes Van Zant, Nick Cave.)

Chandler or Ellroy?

Ross McDonald comes up fast in the final length to make for a stunning three-way photo finish. Dashiell Hammett watches from the bleachers, sipping on his gin and lime juice before going and cashing in his bets. He wins $110 that day, which he goes and spends that night befriending a blonde named Lottie at the bar of the Saratoga Star Hotel. As the band plays on, they dance together to “Two Stars over Albany,” “Renssellear Redux” and “Canoe Canoodle.” In the morning, he will wake up all alone and without his watch.

Fante or West?

Nathanial West, ’cause Lillian Hellman told me he was a peeping Tom.

Hockney or Ruscha?

Joseph Borofsky (the Corcoran Gallery show, Washington, D.C., winter 1985) and Gary Panter (the Clementine Gallery show, New York City, spring 2008).

Wolf Parade or Wolf Eyes?

Cat Power.

The Wolf Man Chaney or the Wolf Man Freud?

Freud! Freud! Freud! “Freud would often chat about his friends and family with the patient, known as the ‘wolf man.’ He even loaned him money. The only thing he didn’t do for ‘the wolf man’ was actually cure him.”

The Company of Wolves or Wolf?

Brotherhood of the Wolf.

The Howling or Underworld?

101 Dalmatians.

Cujo or Dog Soldiers?

Mommy Dearest.

Wagner the Wehr-Wolf (1847; G. W. M.Reynolds) or Werewolf Women of the SS (Rob Zombie)?

Wagner the Wehr-Wolf, as my nanny used to say: A penny spent on a penny-dreadful is a penny well spent.

The Wolf Man (Del Toro) or Never Cry Werewolf (Kevin Sorbo)?

I don’t think this is a fair comparison. For starters, as the medical reports clearly show, Del Toro really is a werewolf.

According to The Essential Guide to Werewolf Literature, Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould’s The Book of Werewolves (1865) opined that werewolves were people with mental disorders, not tools of Satan, while Rev. Montague Summers’ The Werewolf (1933) put forth the notion that werewolves existed and were a personification of Christian evil — which side do you ally (if any)?

To completely deny the existence of any monster is to deny the existence of our own identity, as every monster is merely a mirror. Conversely, to try and place any monster within the confines of a theological order is only a vain attempt to bring the fundamental chaos of life into perfect order through mere acts of taxonomy, and good luck with that.

PETA or ASPCA?

PETA, because I respect the moderate and sensible principles they espouse, and also because they get beautiful women to pose in the nude. (I’m only human.)

Toby Barlow reads from Sharp Teeth, at 8 p.m. Thursday, May 1, at Books & Books, 265 Aragon Ave., Coral Gables. For more information, call 305-442-4408 or visit www.sharpteeththebook.com