Baby Teeth by Zoje Stage
My rating: 4/5 cats
this is the story of a seven-year-old girl named hanna who loves her daddy SO MUCH that she doesn’t want anyone else taking up any of his time or attention. so, obviously, her mom’s gotta go. like, go in a “not be breathing anymore” way.
in what is either a chilling declaration of intent or a genius marketing strategy, the author has dedicated this book to her father, which cracked me up.
because that’s the best way to appreciate this book, as the blackest comedy center wrapped up in a thin horror candyskin. it’s compared to We Need to Talk About Kevin, which i haven’t read, and The Dinner, which i have read and did not like, but i’m not sure these books are all playing to the same crowd. because while, yes, they all have “kids doing reprehensible things” at their center, it’s carried out in different angles of approach. there’s a world of difference between The Bad Seed and gus van sant’s Elephant, even though they hold hands over the “kids do the murderyest things” campfire. We Need to Talk About Kevin, from what i understand, is an earnest attempt to understand what drives a child to orchestrate a school shooting, an exploration of parental guilt and culpability. The Dinner is just nihilism on parade where everything is shitty in different ways and who even cares about anything? whereas this book has the following note-to-self:
Maybe it had been a mistake, trying to set Mommy on fire. If only she’d known how long it took for things – or people – to fully ignite.
it’s not a fun campy romp, but it’s also not an incisive psychological examination of sociopathy. it’s a back-and-forth POV between an exhausted, reluctant mother and a deeply manipulative little girl whose refusal to speak, although she does not lack the physical means, is at the center of their rift. each is frustrated by their inability to communicate, to be understood, trapped in the house with each other all day in a silent battle of wills, until daddy comes home with his smiles and his loving indulgence of hanna’s silence, seemingly inexhaustible because he only has to trot it our for an hour or two a day. fuck that guy, basically.
it’s a strong, if somewhat predictable, offering in the “creepy kids” genre. hanna is perfectly menacing, and her voice and reasoning skills are usually appropriate to her age, Every win for Hanna was a you-lose for Mommy, but there are a few moments that seem a little too much for a seven-year-old:
Sometimes she wished she could remember being in Mommy’s tummy. Were they both really happy then? When their blood was all jumbled up and they shared a mystery?
the more childish the voice, the creepier it is.
suzette is a great dramatic counterpoint to hanna, and since the “creepy kid” is the constant in books like this, it is the parent’s reactions that determine where the book goes, so it’s all on her. which is a pretty constant theme in the book, along with parental breaking points.
It was hard to pour endless love into someone who wouldn’t love you back. No one could do it forever.
we do get insight into how this mother-daughter relationship has soured; the contributing misunderstandings, resentments, the unfulfilled hopes, plus suzette’s own poor excuse for a maternal role model and a life narrowed by illness in which she basically went from sickbed to marriage bed, so is more dependent on her husband than is seemly:
For a moment she was transported to the early days. The early nights. When he was everything. When she was someone. When the two of them were enough. And having a child meant the exponential increase of their love, because they wanted more ways to express it. Now they knew how a child divided them, as individuals, and a couple.
but really, this is all about a tiny monster, the people who love her, and why they totally should not.
fun creepy fun.
