I love this book on so many levels.
In an age when there is so much writing, so many movies, streaming series, cable series, TV shows, video channels, books, comic books, podcasts, et al, and so many authors trying to assert themselves against a tidal surge of proliferation, or getting by teaching writing, I feel like too much of today’s over-promoted media darlings that take all the awards suffer from authors working too hard to prove how well they write and lose sight of the fact that they, as people, are not great, and don’t have much of anything to actually say.
‘Cotton Teeth’ is the exact opposite of that. It’s a literary version of buying a full brick of firecrackers, lighting the fuse, and holding tight as every pack explodes in your hand. This book brought me inside it’s covers and made me feel more than my entire reading list of ‘chart topping hits’ and ‘breakout must-reads’ did all year long, combined.
Sure, the book is a collection of triggers, but it’s the periphery that triggered me, not the bold language or knuckle dusting confrontations, the things that make today’s bubble wrapped safe spacers leave one star reviews for Henry Miller and Ernest Hemingway. Instead, I found myself somehow hating that I wasn’t there to intervene when Glenn was facing the worst days of his life. Or reading a passage about climbing into bed with his still sleeping father, an alien experience I’ve never known and never will. Or the petty way the rest of humanity acts towards each other, so casually pushing everyone else aside as they plow through their banality, no matter the casualties or consequences left in their wake.
Glenn lays bares the interwoven complexity of the human experience, turning to face head on all the conflict that society en masse works so hard to try to escape. It’s brave, endearing, and unforgettable. The irony, of course, is that ‘Cotton Teeth’, and it’s predecessor, ‘Rodeo in Joliet’, his first book which is also a must read, (and seriously, fuck you, Glenn, for being that good the first time out of the gate) is brilliant for illustrating the same failings of society that will hold no value for the text’s greatness, and keep it from being the literary classic that it is.