A Heian-era mansion stands abandoned, its foundations resting on the bones of a bride and its walls packed with the remains of the girls sacrificed to keep her company.
It’s the perfect wedding venue for a group of thrill-seeking friends brought back together to celebrate a wedding.
But a night of food, drinks, and games quickly spirals into a nightmare as secrets getbdrwgged out and relationships are tested.
But the house has secrets too. Lurking in the shadows is the ghost bride with a black smile and a hungry heart.
And she gets lonely down there in the dirt.
I don’t say this often—or lightly—but Nothing But Blackened Teeth is one of those books you are either going to love with everything in you, or loathe with your entire soul. I’ve seen no middle ground on this one, and sadly, those who hate it seem to be in the majority.
I personally find the hate this book receives to be undeserved. I fall firmly into the camp that absolutely adores this 124-page novella with every fiber of my being. When I decided to give this a reread a few days ago, I went back and looked at the short little review I typed up on Goodreads the first time around. I loved it so much that I said it belonged alongside The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, Hell House by Richard Matheson, and Drawing Blood by Poppy Z. Brite. After this reread, I stand by that.
When I read this for the first time, I experienced an author who truly loves language—the way words feel as you take them in, one after the other, as they lodge themselves into the nooks and crannies of your mind. There is a rhythmic flow to Khaw’s writing as she chooses words and then plays with the way they connect to one another. I think the reason I love this book as much as I do is because this gorgeous writing wraps itself around a group of petty, spiteful, deeply unlikable characters who have no business being friends, let alone gathering together to explore a haunted house and a culture they have no respect for—an experience not all of them will survive. The contrast is so stark that I can’t help but be completely enthralled by it.
While I’m on the subject of language, I want to briefly mention how much I appreciate the seamless way Khaw incorporates Japanese without feeling the need to translate or explain every word outside of the natural context already provided. All too often, those explanations pull me right out of the story, and I’m grateful that never happens here.
I don’t know how often I’ll pull this off the shelf to revisit this beautifully written piece of horror, but I do know that when I do, I’ll embrace the experience and happily lose myself in the ebbs and flows of the prose as I once again walk the halls of that house.
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