Comedy, horror, and eroticism walk claw-in-hand in Soraya E. Quinn’s Teeth. I was lucky to grab an ARC of this novelette and devoured it in one sitting before returning to it again in preparation for writing this review. The perfect read for horror fans who enjoy a self-aware, biting humour (and “biting” is the operative word) that focuses on themes of monstrous transformation as an expression of disability and difference, Teeth packs a punch in a personal serving size. Those who’ve enjoyed Lee Mandelo’s The Woods All Black are likely to appreciate how Quinn marries graphic sex and violence, but where Woods has a historical setting and serious tone, Teeth has its tongue firmly planted in its contemporary cheek.
God fucking dammit, I’d gored another AA chairperson.
One of the most impressive things about Teeth is how well Quinn balances story, voice, and social commentary. Teeth‘s protagonist, Lex, suffers from PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder)–a real and debilitating condition that Quinn reimagines in a fantastic context. As part of Lee’s PMDD, she transforms into an anthropophageous werecreature with a history of unfortunate, fatal encounters with AA chairpeople. In the wake of Lee’s latest kill (and her attempt to conceal it), a handsome trans man and member of her support group catches her in the act, but just as Lee mentally prepares to deal with him, he reveals that they share an unexpected connection. The majority of the novelette concerns 
Lex’s newfound relationship, as well as her navigation of PMDD, her transformations, and her explorations of both gender and the erotic. Although the novelette is a self-contained story that will completely satisfy, the ending left me hopeful for more, and perhaps longer, stories featuring Lex’s bloody adventures.
The writing is most remarkable for its commitment to Lex’s voice, as well as its ultraviolent, vibrant style. There’s shades of Rodriguez’s Planet Terror and Stone’s Natural Born Killers to the over-the-topness of the work, a willingness not only to embrace camp, but to take camp to bed and elope with it for a Vegas honeymoon. Rather than undermining the serious topics Quinn engages with, this paradoxically brings a down-to-earth feel to Lex’s story and her struggles. Too often, works that treat social issues (TM) can feel like afterschool specials or public service announcements, and however important the message, it can be undermined by a clinical, psychobabble approach that feels detached from the art of a piece. In contrast, Teeth‘s treatment of disability, gender, and race, feels fully embedded in the narrative. The humour on display is the kind one can typically only achieve when writing from experience about realities that demand humour as a form of survival. Despite the fantastical elements and gory details of Lex’s story, she emerges as fundamentally real and sympathetic.
Although enjoyable for horror readers, Teeth is also deeply erotic. I’m not myself much of a reader of erotica, but here it feels well done, and I suspect those more invested in erotic literature from the perspective of fans will find much to enjoy here. Monsterfuckers in particular should rejoice, and in the tradition of much queer monsterfucker literature, Quinn uses monstrous transformation and monsterfuckery to explore transness and gender. This one slips, slices, and squishes.
Teeth draws a striking portrait of its protagonist–or rather, given the story’s voiceyness, it might be more accurate to say that Lex paints a striking self-portrait through the novelette. She’s a fun main character to follow and, despite the occasional murder (and unless you’re an AA chairperson), she’s someone it’s undeniably fun to root for. The romantic and horrific elements aren’t so much well balanced as they are intrinsically entangled. Personally, I can’t wait for more, whether that means more about Lex, or simply more of this calibre of work from Soraya E. Quinn.
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