I finished this book moments ago, and my thoughts are a bit incomprehensible.
There's this kind of ache in my stomach, an imperial affliction, as I realize that in the past four hours I've spent on this book, no one else in this house and this winter quiet was as deeply affected as I was, and no one else can or will share in this. It's that kind of the book. It's the kind of book that becomes brands that become all of your insides.
And most of me is raging because I can't make up how I feel about this story. It's mad. It's legend colliding with reality. It's a fairy tale dependent upon and desponded by real life.
Teeth is not the love story that it's marketed as, but rather (as hannah readily confesses to) it's about family and a reckoning one's own self. It's about making mistakes and owning up to them and dashing out romantic unreality from one of the most unreal books I've ever read.
Read this, if only for the juxtaposition, and the consistently gorgeous and gutting (haha fish) writing.