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Milk Teeth: The literary hit of the summer
From the author of the award-winning Saltwater comes a beautifully told love story set across England, France and Spain.
A girl grows up in the north of England amid scarcity, precarity and the toxic culture of heroin chic, believing that she needs to make herself smaller to claim presence in the world.
Years later, as a young woman with unattainable ideals, she meets someone who calls everything into question, and is forced to confront episodes from her past. Their relationship takes her from London to Barcelona and the precipice of a new life, full of sensuality. Yet she still feels an uneasiness. In the sticky Mediterranean heat, among tropical plants and secluded beaches, she must decide what form her adult life should take and learn how to feel deserving of love and care.
A girl grows up in the north of England amid scarcity, precarity and the toxic culture of heroin chic, believing that she needs to make herself smaller to claim presence in the world.
Years later, as a young woman with unattainable ideals, she meets someone who calls everything into question, and is forced to confront episodes from her past. Their relationship takes her from London to Barcelona and the precipice of a new life, full of sensuality. Yet she still feels an uneasiness. In the sticky Mediterranean heat, among tropical plants and secluded beaches, she must decide what form her adult life should take and learn how to feel deserving of love and care.
272 pages, Paperback
First published July 1, 2022
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 872 reviews
December 26, 2022
one of these days, i’m gonna find myself in barcelona or in therapy. either way, blame this book.
December 28, 2022
this one’s for the ~no plot just vibez~ girlies
reads like an A24 coming of age film starring florence pugh
reads like an A24 coming of age film starring florence pugh
July 3, 2023
TW eating disorder
honestly i was just bored the whole time and a bit shocked it was so focused on and ed without any mention of it on the blurb?? like it was a main part of the story so weird that it wasn’t
we don’t know anything about their relationship so why should i care whether they stay together or not?? there was nothing telling me why she even liked him
the miscommunication was annoying and not in a normal people way but purely irritating
nothing happened
i didn’t feel anything for either character
honestly i was just bored the whole time and a bit shocked it was so focused on and ed without any mention of it on the blurb?? like it was a main part of the story so weird that it wasn’t
we don’t know anything about their relationship so why should i care whether they stay together or not?? there was nothing telling me why she even liked him
the miscommunication was annoying and not in a normal people way but purely irritating
nothing happened
i didn’t feel anything for either character
January 25, 2024
THE perfect book to read for girlies in their 20s. no one can change my mind. this book is so beautifully written and i devoured every word and every page!!!
September 10, 2023
another book about a young woman in her 20s figuring life out and being self-destructive (do i read anything else? it’s hard to believe) - but what stands out about this one is the writing. so heartbreakingly beautiful and melancholic - the way andrews uses language is so masterful.
it’s a hard read with how relatable it is, especially in terms of diet culture/disordered eating - but a beautiful book nonetheless.
the descriptions of a spanish summer truly transport you there - you can feel the sticky, suffocating heat radiating off the pages. i did good deciding to read this during the 2023 uk heatwave.
it’s a hard read with how relatable it is, especially in terms of diet culture/disordered eating - but a beautiful book nonetheless.
the descriptions of a spanish summer truly transport you there - you can feel the sticky, suffocating heat radiating off the pages. i did good deciding to read this during the 2023 uk heatwave.
July 25, 2022
Following her debut, Salt Water, this is Jessica Andrews’ second child to fly the nest. When you love a debut, it always feels a little wobbly in the buildup to book number two. Do we have a one trick pony or a … prancing show horse? I can officially confirm Milk Teeth is proof that Jessica is a fucking stallion.
I’m not gonna drop the horse talk because I don’t know where that’s come from and I’m also scared of horses. Instead, let’s get on with Milk Teeth.
Here we’ve got an unnamed female protagonist who had a very average yet happy upbringing in the north of England. She’s also been surrounded by diet culture, including miss “oh wow that’s so lovely” Cassie from Skins and being taught that “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”. Reader, I can confirm Kate Moss must not have 1. eaten almond croissants or 2. experienced any joy when she infamously said this.
Our unnamed and heartbreakingly relatable protagonist skkkrt-ed through school and it’s webs of appearance guilt, before escaping to the big city of LDN for “new beginnings”. Quelle surprise that everything is pretty much the same, but more expensive and with more people. Although, one of the people is a arty, angular male named who provided a lot of horn over these pages, but then slowly shape-shifted into a controlling shadow.
Sex scenes are magnificent. Dissociation during these sex scenes are heartbreaking, but still magnificent. The diet culture discussed was equally devastating and hilarious, and I urge any 90s babies to read for these parts alone. The food descriptions are luxurious and feel like oil painting feasts - because believe it or not, a lot of people with disordered eating love love love food. Additionally, the changes in foodie opinions in different cultures is beautifully represented. The friendships were stupidly realistic, with drifting apart, with parties that make your eye twitch thinking about now, and with so much love and dependency.
I would give this book six stars if it was possible. Buy it, read it, and scribble all over it because doing so felt genuinely therapeutic. I’ve cried writing this fucking review - that’s how good it is.
If you can’t tell, a massive new fave.
I’m not gonna drop the horse talk because I don’t know where that’s come from and I’m also scared of horses. Instead, let’s get on with Milk Teeth.
Here we’ve got an unnamed female protagonist who had a very average yet happy upbringing in the north of England. She’s also been surrounded by diet culture, including miss “oh wow that’s so lovely” Cassie from Skins and being taught that “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”. Reader, I can confirm Kate Moss must not have 1. eaten almond croissants or 2. experienced any joy when she infamously said this.
Our unnamed and heartbreakingly relatable protagonist skkkrt-ed through school and it’s webs of appearance guilt, before escaping to the big city of LDN for “new beginnings”. Quelle surprise that everything is pretty much the same, but more expensive and with more people. Although, one of the people is a arty, angular male named who provided a lot of horn over these pages, but then slowly shape-shifted into a controlling shadow.
Sex scenes are magnificent. Dissociation during these sex scenes are heartbreaking, but still magnificent. The diet culture discussed was equally devastating and hilarious, and I urge any 90s babies to read for these parts alone. The food descriptions are luxurious and feel like oil painting feasts - because believe it or not, a lot of people with disordered eating love love love food. Additionally, the changes in foodie opinions in different cultures is beautifully represented. The friendships were stupidly realistic, with drifting apart, with parties that make your eye twitch thinking about now, and with so much love and dependency.
I would give this book six stars if it was possible. Buy it, read it, and scribble all over it because doing so felt genuinely therapeutic. I’ve cried writing this fucking review - that’s how good it is.
If you can’t tell, a massive new fave.
January 7, 2024
girly pop considered every single option except therapy (terrible mistake)
September 15, 2022
Horrifically bad writing. I was literally convulsing as Jessica Andrews smashed me over the head with re-hashed versions of the same overblown metaphors:
I told myself the scrabbling way in which I lived was more real and yet I didn’t feel solid at all. I got snagged on everything, my knees black with bruises, twigs and leaves caught in my hair.
I thought I had chosen London as the place where I would make my own life, but its edges were sharp and cruel and I got caught on them, bloodying my ankles and wrists.
And nonsensical similes:
The music is thick with joy and it presses into me like wet sand.
The streets are viscous with heat and piss, bodies spilling from doorways, wrapped in sickly tendrils of weed.
And combinations of the two:
You held a flame between your fingers and I wanted to swallow you, but I was afraid of the taste of my own desire, like bleach and petrol, peaches dipped in salt. You knotted your want into a rope and threw it to me. I shivered in the dawn, counting dead stars, then I reached out my hands and took it.
Midway through the novel comes this unnervingly meta moment:
'I'm finished,' says Isaac and I pull his exercise book towards me. I asked him to describe his favourite hobby and he has written about eating pizza.
‘I love pizza because it is cheesy and tomatoey,’ he reads. 'It is chewy and stringy and soft.'
‘Can you write a simile?' I ask him. ‘If you had to compare pizza to something, what would you compare it to?'
He thinks for a while, chewing the end of his pen. ‘Pizza is like a soft, warm bed,' he writes, and I smile.
But sadly it isn't a true moment of self awareness; Andrews continues to use her creative writing powers for evil, referring to the love interest in the second person like the whole novel is a self-conscious creative writing exercise that got out of hand.
Not only does Andrews describe the world she's created in garish (read "vivid and lyrical"?) unnatural gradients and hues, but the characters of this world speak this way too. The love interest writes her a message at one point:
It has just rained and the sky is the colour of a cantaloupe melon. The clouds are bruised lemons and I'm sitting beneath an orange tree. I'm writing in my journal, wondering who collects the oranges when they fall from the trees and what happens to them afterwards.
👏 Block 👏 his 👏 number. 👏
The best moments were those focused on the protagonist's history and inner conflict with disordered eating. At one point her well-intentioned, poetic but unintuitive boyfriend attempts to sooth her by dismissing her attitude towards food as "not a big deal."
It is a big deal but I don’t know how to explain it. I want you to know how integral it has been to the way I move through the world, how I learned to push shame and anger deep into by body and yet speaking about it brings it into the present, when all I want is to leave it behind.
If you would like to experience Milk Teeth without suffering through all 248 pages of it, you can read my abridged version below.
I am itchy with want. You took my mottled shell in your gentle fingers and I slid out, wanting. I know I am not supposed to put my need in you but it spills from my lips and bursts over your body, soaking you in want. Wanting tears through me and I give into it [sic]. My wanting came off me like a stink. We let our wanting spill out of us, drowning everything in its path. My body is a desperate animal, throbbing with constant need but perhaps I could learn to be unashamed of needing and wanting, to see it as living instead. The end.
I told myself the scrabbling way in which I lived was more real and yet I didn’t feel solid at all. I got snagged on everything, my knees black with bruises, twigs and leaves caught in my hair.
I thought I had chosen London as the place where I would make my own life, but its edges were sharp and cruel and I got caught on them, bloodying my ankles and wrists.
And nonsensical similes:
The music is thick with joy and it presses into me like wet sand.
The streets are viscous with heat and piss, bodies spilling from doorways, wrapped in sickly tendrils of weed.
And combinations of the two:
You held a flame between your fingers and I wanted to swallow you, but I was afraid of the taste of my own desire, like bleach and petrol, peaches dipped in salt. You knotted your want into a rope and threw it to me. I shivered in the dawn, counting dead stars, then I reached out my hands and took it.
Midway through the novel comes this unnervingly meta moment:
'I'm finished,' says Isaac and I pull his exercise book towards me. I asked him to describe his favourite hobby and he has written about eating pizza.
‘I love pizza because it is cheesy and tomatoey,’ he reads. 'It is chewy and stringy and soft.'
‘Can you write a simile?' I ask him. ‘If you had to compare pizza to something, what would you compare it to?'
He thinks for a while, chewing the end of his pen. ‘Pizza is like a soft, warm bed,' he writes, and I smile.
But sadly it isn't a true moment of self awareness; Andrews continues to use her creative writing powers for evil, referring to the love interest in the second person like the whole novel is a self-conscious creative writing exercise that got out of hand.
Not only does Andrews describe the world she's created in garish (read "vivid and lyrical"?) unnatural gradients and hues, but the characters of this world speak this way too. The love interest writes her a message at one point:
It has just rained and the sky is the colour of a cantaloupe melon. The clouds are bruised lemons and I'm sitting beneath an orange tree. I'm writing in my journal, wondering who collects the oranges when they fall from the trees and what happens to them afterwards.
👏 Block 👏 his 👏 number. 👏
The best moments were those focused on the protagonist's history and inner conflict with disordered eating. At one point her well-intentioned, poetic but unintuitive boyfriend attempts to sooth her by dismissing her attitude towards food as "not a big deal."
It is a big deal but I don’t know how to explain it. I want you to know how integral it has been to the way I move through the world, how I learned to push shame and anger deep into by body and yet speaking about it brings it into the present, when all I want is to leave it behind.
If you would like to experience Milk Teeth without suffering through all 248 pages of it, you can read my abridged version below.
I am itchy with want. You took my mottled shell in your gentle fingers and I slid out, wanting. I know I am not supposed to put my need in you but it spills from my lips and bursts over your body, soaking you in want. Wanting tears through me and I give into it [sic]. My wanting came off me like a stink. We let our wanting spill out of us, drowning everything in its path. My body is a desperate animal, throbbing with constant need but perhaps I could learn to be unashamed of needing and wanting, to see it as living instead. The end.
August 15, 2022
Even though I was very underwhelmed and frustrated with Andrews's first novel Saltwater, I wanted to give this one a try. It had received some favourable reviews and I did think that there was capacity within Saltwater for Andrews to mature as a writer, and get rid of her creative school writing tics and annoying propensity for endless nonsensical similes. Unfortunately, rather than casting off her irritating writing style, she appears to have really doubled down on it. I do find this writing incredibly meaningless and annoying - it's Instagram writing, all style (poor, superficial style) and no substance at all. This reads like a blend of Rupi Kaur and Lana Del Rey (but without any of Del Rey's self-reflexive, ironic genius). HOW MANY LAVENDER SUNSETS< BURNT CITRUS CLOUDS< AVOCADO BRUISED SEAS AND VIOLET SKIES MUST WE ENDURE??
I personally find this kind of writing style incredibly clumsy, ugly and embarrassing, but I am sure this will appeal to many people. I am going to meanly throw out some real clunkers here though as a taster... :
" I am itchy with want, on the soles of my feet and between my breasts. I am not the kind of person who falls in love easily. I am not the kind of person who lets myself curl up softly in the folds of someone else, but you took my mottled shell in your gentle fingers and I slid out, wanting. " ew what
"I want you to go and feel the sun split your skin, to move away from the yellowing bruise of your dad's death...I watch you wheel your suitcase onto the train in your black boots and dirty black jacket, black curls falling into your eyes like an alley cat."
"The chalky crusts of the days build up inside me." what
"I imagine us walking the old streets, eating oranges beneath a violet sky. I picture days spilling into wine-dark nights, mopeds backfiring, the sun trapped in our skin." there is A LOT of this
"I don't know exactly what I am doing here but I am lost between the sour shock of your thighs. I know I am not supposed to put my need in you but it spills from my lips and bursts over your body, soaking you in want." this surely must win an award for worst sex writing in a novel this year
"We lay in the wet grass in the park, catching stars on the ends of our eyelashes. My new friends said things like, 'This park has a bad heart,' or 'the sky is falling down,' and I knew what they meant, lacing my fingers through theirs and running through the lavender dawn, our long coats flying out behind us.' ha hahahahahahaaaa hahaaaaa haa what
sorry for the mean review but this book did actually considerably cheer up my covid convalescence by being so hilariously bad. so it might be worth checking it out for the comedy value
I personally find this kind of writing style incredibly clumsy, ugly and embarrassing, but I am sure this will appeal to many people. I am going to meanly throw out some real clunkers here though as a taster... :
" I am itchy with want, on the soles of my feet and between my breasts. I am not the kind of person who falls in love easily. I am not the kind of person who lets myself curl up softly in the folds of someone else, but you took my mottled shell in your gentle fingers and I slid out, wanting. " ew what
"I want you to go and feel the sun split your skin, to move away from the yellowing bruise of your dad's death...I watch you wheel your suitcase onto the train in your black boots and dirty black jacket, black curls falling into your eyes like an alley cat."
"The chalky crusts of the days build up inside me." what
"I imagine us walking the old streets, eating oranges beneath a violet sky. I picture days spilling into wine-dark nights, mopeds backfiring, the sun trapped in our skin." there is A LOT of this
"I don't know exactly what I am doing here but I am lost between the sour shock of your thighs. I know I am not supposed to put my need in you but it spills from my lips and bursts over your body, soaking you in want." this surely must win an award for worst sex writing in a novel this year
"We lay in the wet grass in the park, catching stars on the ends of our eyelashes. My new friends said things like, 'This park has a bad heart,' or 'the sky is falling down,' and I knew what they meant, lacing my fingers through theirs and running through the lavender dawn, our long coats flying out behind us.' ha hahahahahahaaaa hahaaaaa haa what
sorry for the mean review but this book did actually considerably cheer up my covid convalescence by being so hilariously bad. so it might be worth checking it out for the comedy value
Shelved as 'dnf'
August 21, 2022DNF @ 20%
This was so dull and the prose so self conscious that I couldn’t bear to pick it back up.
This was so dull and the prose so self conscious that I couldn’t bear to pick it back up.
January 28, 2023
really wanted to like this book but most pages felt like a chore to get through. the writing is full of sparkly words that don’t really mean anything and the same metaphors are slammed again and again. not to mention the relationship between the protagonist and her boyfriend - this couple has the worst communication skills in the world?! like just TALK to eachother.
every chapter ending with her “itching with want”, “soaking you in want”, “filled with want” we get it, you want. i’ll take Sally Rooney’s ill communicating characters over this any day, at least they seem real.
every chapter ending with her “itching with want”, “soaking you in want”, “filled with want” we get it, you want. i’ll take Sally Rooney’s ill communicating characters over this any day, at least they seem real.
August 31, 2022
Oh such melodrama …. this is such a self-consciously, pretentious novel. Whilst the writing can be evocative of strong feelings and quite beautifully descriptive, such is it’s repetition that in this case it becomes increasingly cloying, lessening any empathy you may have for the unarmed woman.
The lead character is constantly at a loss for the language to describe her all consuming emotions. As such, the text is annoying repetitive and is literally littered with the following phrases:
I don’t know
It’s nothing
I don’t want to talk about it
In the end all we have is an annoying 28 year old behaving like a child. Disappointing.
The lead character is constantly at a loss for the language to describe her all consuming emotions. As such, the text is annoying repetitive and is literally littered with the following phrases:
I don’t know
It’s nothing
I don’t want to talk about it
In the end all we have is an annoying 28 year old behaving like a child. Disappointing.
May 22, 2022
Jessica can do no wrong. This book was just as breathtaking as her first.
May 18, 2023
insanely corny i wanted to reach into the book and curbstomp the narrator
June 16, 2023
jessica andrews is so right, I DO want to run away to Barcelona and leave all my problems behind
October 18, 2022
how do I get my therapist to read this book, so I won't have to explain myself during my sessions anymore?
asking for a friend
asking for a friend
May 17, 2023
1.5
WTH. What was the point of this annoying OVERWRITTEN attempt to be clever.
Unnamed protagonist with body image issues is remembering her past life and is now over-analyzing her current one.
300 irritating pages of fretting over “wanting too much while afraid of not wanting”;afraid of not asking for what you want; afraid of verbalizing , then internally verbalizing everything …..OMG.
Too much waffling. Why did I carry on reading in the hope it would ever come to something.
If you enjoy a book in which every other sentence is an overwritten flowery, cheesy metaphor or simile, then this is the one for you.
Random extract from the book:
“We sat outside on wooden crates and watched the sky curdle. You held a flame between your fingers and I wanted to swallow you, but I was afraid of the taste of my own desire, like bleach and petrol, peaches dipped in salt. You knotted your want into a rope and threw it to me. I shivered in the dawn, counting dead stars, then I reached out my hands and took it.”
WTH. What was the point of this annoying OVERWRITTEN attempt to be clever.
Unnamed protagonist with body image issues is remembering her past life and is now over-analyzing her current one.
300 irritating pages of fretting over “wanting too much while afraid of not wanting”;afraid of not asking for what you want; afraid of verbalizing , then internally verbalizing everything …..OMG.
Too much waffling. Why did I carry on reading in the hope it would ever come to something.
If you enjoy a book in which every other sentence is an overwritten flowery, cheesy metaphor or simile, then this is the one for you.
Random extract from the book:
“We sat outside on wooden crates and watched the sky curdle. You held a flame between your fingers and I wanted to swallow you, but I was afraid of the taste of my own desire, like bleach and petrol, peaches dipped in salt. You knotted your want into a rope and threw it to me. I shivered in the dawn, counting dead stars, then I reached out my hands and took it.”
July 27, 2023
Another (unironic) tumblr-esque manic pixie dream girl-novel. The main character is anorexic and depressed, but in a hot way. Men tell her things like: “You have a sadness deep inside you and that is what makes you beautiful” (p. 193). LOL.
I hate that every novel like this is compared to Rooney’s when they’re nothing alike apart from being love stories with the main characters being young European women. This novel had none of the tenderness, self-awareness or cleverness that I associate with Rooney. Don’t pick this up if that’s what you’re looking for. Do pick up if you want to wallow in romanticized mental illness.
I hate that every novel like this is compared to Rooney’s when they’re nothing alike apart from being love stories with the main characters being young European women. This novel had none of the tenderness, self-awareness or cleverness that I associate with Rooney. Don’t pick this up if that’s what you’re looking for. Do pick up if you want to wallow in romanticized mental illness.
June 16, 2022
4.5/5 s t u n n i n g
September 5, 2022
Flawless, want to read it again and again,… also feel like I indirectly bagged a ton of Barcelona tips and I am not mad about it.
February 6, 2024
this was insanity. i was devastated and inconsolable after reading this.
let me establish first that this is for the girls who give a fuck! i have never read a book filled with so much longing it's sickening. you don't know what it means to want and what wanting really is if you haven't read this book. the yearning!!!!! the longing!!! the wanting!!!!!!! seep into every word and every page, i was choking on it (as i should). there's so much repression of desire and beauty that, as the reader, i felt suffocated (as the author intended).
and you know how when you read a line or two from a book and it resonates completely with the experience of the life you're living and it perfectly captures what you cannot describe before? well, this entire book is just that. as i said, it was insanity— to read your experiences worded with a violent tenderness and to realize that your suffering is not singular nor special. there is this deep ache of wanting throughout the novel that makes it so compelling to read about because it is so putrid and ferocious.
the writing makes it all so raw, too. Andrews has a competent grasp on the tiny nuances of the English language that makes me think she either reads or writes poetry on the side. she knows which words to use and how to use them effectively, and then knows what words and sentences should come right after for maximum impact of words and their meanings. the imagery in this novel was heartbreaking with its depiction of disparities and its ability to render cities in both tender and harsh lights. the atmosphere was pretty solid and impenetrable. the alternating chapters of childhood and present day only reinforced the novel's strengths for me, as the childhood and girlhood chapters were so poignant and always say something about the character's present day thoughts. the narration felt smooth to me even though i barely have sense of the passage of time in the novel because of the voice and structure. the time didn't matter anyway because it wasn't that kind of story. so yes, this novel is very dear to me because it's been so long since i've genuinely connected with a book. i've just realized that this review has really poor structure but whatever idc idc this is my favorite book and i cannot do it justice no matter how long i spend writing this review. genuinely contemplating rating this 5 stars because of its personal impact to me idk yet we'll see in the next few weeks
let me establish first that this is for the girls who give a fuck! i have never read a book filled with so much longing it's sickening. you don't know what it means to want and what wanting really is if you haven't read this book. the yearning!!!!! the longing!!! the wanting!!!!!!! seep into every word and every page, i was choking on it (as i should). there's so much repression of desire and beauty that, as the reader, i felt suffocated (as the author intended).
and you know how when you read a line or two from a book and it resonates completely with the experience of the life you're living and it perfectly captures what you cannot describe before? well, this entire book is just that. as i said, it was insanity— to read your experiences worded with a violent tenderness and to realize that your suffering is not singular nor special. there is this deep ache of wanting throughout the novel that makes it so compelling to read about because it is so putrid and ferocious.
the writing makes it all so raw, too. Andrews has a competent grasp on the tiny nuances of the English language that makes me think she either reads or writes poetry on the side. she knows which words to use and how to use them effectively, and then knows what words and sentences should come right after for maximum impact of words and their meanings. the imagery in this novel was heartbreaking with its depiction of disparities and its ability to render cities in both tender and harsh lights. the atmosphere was pretty solid and impenetrable. the alternating chapters of childhood and present day only reinforced the novel's strengths for me, as the childhood and girlhood chapters were so poignant and always say something about the character's present day thoughts. the narration felt smooth to me even though i barely have sense of the passage of time in the novel because of the voice and structure. the time didn't matter anyway because it wasn't that kind of story. so yes, this novel is very dear to me because it's been so long since i've genuinely connected with a book. i've just realized that this review has really poor structure but whatever idc idc this is my favorite book and i cannot do it justice no matter how long i spend writing this review. genuinely contemplating rating this 5 stars because of its personal impact to me idk yet we'll see in the next few weeks
November 1, 2022
READING VLOG
I'm reminded of the ways in which I first began my love for reading. The craft of sentences. How one word sits to the next. How unexpected lyricism erupts in the middle of a voice, in a swift flaunt.
Andrews could go two ways for people: that one vsco girl tumblr poet who still sees the world in 2008 Instagram sepia or an emerging voice trying hard and true in making reading a rich experience for future Urban Outfitters readers.
With unironic uses of stars and constellations that propel plot and navigate our narrator, I'm not quite sure how many filtered sunsets I needed to read through to get to any meaning whatsover.
I would've definitely appreciated this when I was younger, but there's still a small part of my soft-grunge early internet self that appreciates works of art like this, style over substance, early Sofia Coppola films that erect emotions out of the mundane. You know the ending could've came sooner, but you were there for the vibes because you have your tote bag docs cold brew latte Koss Porta Pro headphones and that one Cigarettes After Sex song on loop that EVERYONE knows but you FEEL more than anyone and you have sTyLe but in actuality look like your entire Tiktok fyp.
Not to entirely bash the book, in its late Lana Del Rey tendresse, I think the themes of language, voice, and how trapped they are in the body are compelling. In all the ways we try to voice things out of the body, exorcising them through all our guilts, dissatisfactions, traumas and then some, what is that very next step? How do we admit our bodies to bend in order to love better, speak better, love ourselves better? What do we trap for sick game and how can we let things go with less and less regret?
This is for those with teen angst, those in first-love relationships, those surfing along the honeymoon waves, and everyone stuck in suburban sensationalism thinking they know and feel everything after watching a single Youtube video essay on internet culture.
I'm reminded of the ways in which I first began my love for reading. The craft of sentences. How one word sits to the next. How unexpected lyricism erupts in the middle of a voice, in a swift flaunt.
Andrews could go two ways for people: that one vsco girl tumblr poet who still sees the world in 2008 Instagram sepia or an emerging voice trying hard and true in making reading a rich experience for future Urban Outfitters readers.
With unironic uses of stars and constellations that propel plot and navigate our narrator, I'm not quite sure how many filtered sunsets I needed to read through to get to any meaning whatsover.
I would've definitely appreciated this when I was younger, but there's still a small part of my soft-grunge early internet self that appreciates works of art like this, style over substance, early Sofia Coppola films that erect emotions out of the mundane. You know the ending could've came sooner, but you were there for the vibes because you have your tote bag docs cold brew latte Koss Porta Pro headphones and that one Cigarettes After Sex song on loop that EVERYONE knows but you FEEL more than anyone and you have sTyLe but in actuality look like your entire Tiktok fyp.
Not to entirely bash the book, in its late Lana Del Rey tendresse, I think the themes of language, voice, and how trapped they are in the body are compelling. In all the ways we try to voice things out of the body, exorcising them through all our guilts, dissatisfactions, traumas and then some, what is that very next step? How do we admit our bodies to bend in order to love better, speak better, love ourselves better? What do we trap for sick game and how can we let things go with less and less regret?
This is for those with teen angst, those in first-love relationships, those surfing along the honeymoon waves, and everyone stuck in suburban sensationalism thinking they know and feel everything after watching a single Youtube video essay on internet culture.
May 12, 2024
No plot, all vibes sad girl but turn it into second person word salad. This salad is full of nonsensical, overwrought similes and metaphors. I didn't even feel like I knew the characters at the end, or why I should care about them. Nothing feels concrete at all, it just feels like some weird dream sequence and the constant present/past switches every handful of pages don't help. I don't even know what this book is trying to accomplish. The ending is..well nothing basically. I could have used it as a random example of poor writing and it wouldn't have remotely been a spoiler. I don't think you actually could post a spoiler for this book because nothing happens. What was the point of any of this? I'm so confused about the hype.
TW: eating disorders
TW: eating disorders
February 3, 2023
Unsatisfactorily frustrating, I spent the entire novel wanting to understand more about the protagonist’s past life, her relationship with her mum, the depth/nature of her eating disorder and the reason for her inability to actually TALK to her boyfriend (and/or why they seemed to be unable to communicate at a functional level). There were just too many unresolved issues to make this an even partially enjoyable read.
And if these had been addressed, perhaps I would have been more sympathetic to her and her life choices.
Instead I just found her irritating.
In terms of writing style, the author sure outdid herself with metaphors and similes - these just became tedious. Not a fan.
And if these had been addressed, perhaps I would have been more sympathetic to her and her life choices.
Instead I just found her irritating.
In terms of writing style, the author sure outdid herself with metaphors and similes - these just became tedious. Not a fan.
February 16, 2024
In seinen Beschreibungen von Barcelona, vom Essen, von der Hitze dieser Stadt, in all diesen Details wird ein so tiefes Gefühl von Frausein unter dem Druck des Male Gaze und Diet Culture und wieviel Platz darf man einnehmen, was darf man wollen vermittelt... man ist völlig drin in dieser namenlosen Protagonistin.
January 15, 2024
It took me a while to get used to the writing style and time jumps. That said I really loved this book. I can relate to the protagonist and the feelings and thoughts she has every day. Having grown up with skinny culture I also think about food, eating and my weight every day. Multiple times even. I too think I don't deserve good things happening to me because I am not worthy enough. I too have a difficult relationship with my mother, feeling all her pain and trauma, thinking everything is my fault while acknowledging that she also caused me pain. A raw protagonist in a raw world.
July 17, 2022
4.5*
jessica andrews' remarkable debut saltwater, is a book that changed my life. i will forever be grateful to her divine prose and her incredible ability to capture parts of my life, childhood and adulthood that were so familiar it were as if they came from my own mind. when i heard her next book, milk teeth, was due out this year i honestly cried. there has never been an author so transformative whose work seems to encompass exactly where i am in my life and exactly what i need at the time. i am beyond grateful to sceptre for sending me an advance copy of her equally as gorgeous, brutally honest and emotional follow-up.
much like its predecessor, milk teeth is a novel that forgoes traditional form structure and all barriers of language. much of andrews' skill lies in her ability to subvert our expectations and challenge us with devastatingly sharp, sporadic sentences laden with rich, lyrical images, metaphors and motifs that immediately disarm us emotionally. the bulk of the novel follows an unnamed narrator, as she embarks on a new relationship with a phd student. written from a first-person perspective, andrews' use of the direct address, "you," symbolises a new leap in her work, as not only are we looking inward on the protagonist and her internal monologue, but we are also observing the people around her as the relationship progresses. eventually, the two move to barcelona, where a fresh environment unlocks a new sense of buried fears, particularly regarding body image and food. as the two continue to navigate unsteady waters, can they trust each other fully to open up and show the deepest, darkest parts of themselves uncensored?
parts of milk teeth are certainly not easy to read. the lavish, rich descriptions of food are almost instantly matched with darker, poignantly realistic depictions of disordered eating and body image. throughout, aspects of class are highlighted and much of andrews' prose is deeply relatable and smarting. she ensures that sympathy and empathy are in equal abundance for both characters, who are as kind to each other as they can be cruel. on the surface, milk teeth is another novel that deploys the millennial concerns of miscommunication, toxicity and two people who simply do not belong together - yet andrews' take feels fresh, invited and magnetic.
i could wrap myself in andrews' language again and again and i still would not get enough. some sentences, paragraphs are so descriptive and beautiful it almost makes you want to cry. and i did cry in a few places. some aspects are reminiscent of saltwater, from the parental / child relationship to the distinct northern voice, but it feels like milk teeth goes further as andrews' wades into fears, darkness and uncharted territory without resolution. milk teeth feels raw, honest and devastating. andrew's has achieved the impossible - matching an incredible debut with the same energy, candidness and beauty that beguiled audiences in the first place. she is a talent that will never be compared.
jessica andrews' remarkable debut saltwater, is a book that changed my life. i will forever be grateful to her divine prose and her incredible ability to capture parts of my life, childhood and adulthood that were so familiar it were as if they came from my own mind. when i heard her next book, milk teeth, was due out this year i honestly cried. there has never been an author so transformative whose work seems to encompass exactly where i am in my life and exactly what i need at the time. i am beyond grateful to sceptre for sending me an advance copy of her equally as gorgeous, brutally honest and emotional follow-up.
much like its predecessor, milk teeth is a novel that forgoes traditional form structure and all barriers of language. much of andrews' skill lies in her ability to subvert our expectations and challenge us with devastatingly sharp, sporadic sentences laden with rich, lyrical images, metaphors and motifs that immediately disarm us emotionally. the bulk of the novel follows an unnamed narrator, as she embarks on a new relationship with a phd student. written from a first-person perspective, andrews' use of the direct address, "you," symbolises a new leap in her work, as not only are we looking inward on the protagonist and her internal monologue, but we are also observing the people around her as the relationship progresses. eventually, the two move to barcelona, where a fresh environment unlocks a new sense of buried fears, particularly regarding body image and food. as the two continue to navigate unsteady waters, can they trust each other fully to open up and show the deepest, darkest parts of themselves uncensored?
parts of milk teeth are certainly not easy to read. the lavish, rich descriptions of food are almost instantly matched with darker, poignantly realistic depictions of disordered eating and body image. throughout, aspects of class are highlighted and much of andrews' prose is deeply relatable and smarting. she ensures that sympathy and empathy are in equal abundance for both characters, who are as kind to each other as they can be cruel. on the surface, milk teeth is another novel that deploys the millennial concerns of miscommunication, toxicity and two people who simply do not belong together - yet andrews' take feels fresh, invited and magnetic.
i could wrap myself in andrews' language again and again and i still would not get enough. some sentences, paragraphs are so descriptive and beautiful it almost makes you want to cry. and i did cry in a few places. some aspects are reminiscent of saltwater, from the parental / child relationship to the distinct northern voice, but it feels like milk teeth goes further as andrews' wades into fears, darkness and uncharted territory without resolution. milk teeth feels raw, honest and devastating. andrew's has achieved the impossible - matching an incredible debut with the same energy, candidness and beauty that beguiled audiences in the first place. she is a talent that will never be compared.
February 20, 2022
Milk Teeth by Jessica Andrews was my most anticipated read of 2022, the moment I heard Andrews had written/was working on a new novel I practically squealed with excitement. When a copy of Milk Teeth was in my postbox on Friday morning I honestly felt like I’d won the lottery and had to explain to my parents who were looking at me with rather great levels of concern what this book was and why I was so worked up over it. So I’m extremely grateful to the publishers for sending this copy my way.
In 2020 I read Saltwater and it’s sat with me ever since, its lyrical beauty has held me captive since reading and I’ve been craving more of Andrews’s painfully honest prose since I finished it. So, when Milk Teeth arrived I quickly polished off what I was reading so I could jump straight into it and waste no time.
Milk Teeth was everything that I had expected it to be and so, so much more. Andrew’s lyrical writing is back, the short page long chapters made for easy reading, and each chapter flicked between a non-chronological order, similar to Saltwater, which showcased our female protagonists' childhood up north, life in London, Paris, and time in Barcelona. A story set between two cities but written with such smoothness you’re wrapped up in the narrative and taken on a journey through our main character's life that the location and change in the timeline aren’t difficult to keep up with at all.
The heat of Barcelona and the warmth of the romance and emotions between our two main characters juxtapose so well with the coldness of London and the fear and loneliness felt as well as the sadness, anxiety and negative but entirely overpowering view and perception of food, body image, and eating.
Milk Teeth is a story of loneliness, belonging, identity, and overall love - and how we’re deserving of it.
I can’t praise this book highly enough and it’s certainly one that I’ll be revisiting. A book hasn’t tugged on my heart like this since Open Water - if you’re a fan of Open Water then I can almost guarantee you’ll adore Milk Teeth as well. It’s out in July this year so get the pre-orders in.
In 2020 I read Saltwater and it’s sat with me ever since, its lyrical beauty has held me captive since reading and I’ve been craving more of Andrews’s painfully honest prose since I finished it. So, when Milk Teeth arrived I quickly polished off what I was reading so I could jump straight into it and waste no time.
Milk Teeth was everything that I had expected it to be and so, so much more. Andrew’s lyrical writing is back, the short page long chapters made for easy reading, and each chapter flicked between a non-chronological order, similar to Saltwater, which showcased our female protagonists' childhood up north, life in London, Paris, and time in Barcelona. A story set between two cities but written with such smoothness you’re wrapped up in the narrative and taken on a journey through our main character's life that the location and change in the timeline aren’t difficult to keep up with at all.
The heat of Barcelona and the warmth of the romance and emotions between our two main characters juxtapose so well with the coldness of London and the fear and loneliness felt as well as the sadness, anxiety and negative but entirely overpowering view and perception of food, body image, and eating.
Milk Teeth is a story of loneliness, belonging, identity, and overall love - and how we’re deserving of it.
I can’t praise this book highly enough and it’s certainly one that I’ll be revisiting. A book hasn’t tugged on my heart like this since Open Water - if you’re a fan of Open Water then I can almost guarantee you’ll adore Milk Teeth as well. It’s out in July this year so get the pre-orders in.
July 3, 2024
sticky sunshine, spanish heat, feeling untethered, falling in love, and struggling with body image—this was a beautiful story about finding yourself. honestly this was no plot, all vibes, and i too would forgo therapy if i knew there was a solution waiting for me in barcelona loll.
to me, i would describe this as a sort of second coming-of-age novel? it gets that bit of your late 20s when you realize your choices are becoming ever more important. 3.5 stars, the narrator's a bit passive, but it's well-written.
to me, i would describe this as a sort of second coming-of-age novel? it gets that bit of your late 20s when you realize your choices are becoming ever more important. 3.5 stars, the narrator's a bit passive, but it's well-written.
October 18, 2023
2.5 stars
At first I thought that Ms Girl (the main character is unnamed) was one of the most relatable characters I had ever come across and that this book was a delightful interrogation of the young female experience and I loved the first half but at about 60% I started to get really sick of Mrs Ungrateful and her Chronicles of Complaining.
The premise of the book is that our unnamed main character has met this really wonderful guy that she is falling in love with, he is the first good thing that has ever happened to her, her life has been really shit thus far. Her Dad is a total deadbeat alcoholic, her mother tried her best but was ultimately too stressed and exhausted to make up for the atrocious father, she has struggled with an eating disorder all her life, was molested as a child and has been treated terribly by every boyfriend she has ever had. All of this has resulted in an anxiety disorder and some really intense self-hatred. She doesn’t have any super close friends or anyone that she can talk to about how terrible she feels about everything all the time and how lost she feels as a girl in London in her early twenties, she doesn’t express any of this to her lovely new boyfriend either. He moves to Barcelona and asks her to come see him, often, and for very long periods of time, and she does.
And here’s where my problems lie because oh my god, these two people would rather die than have open communication with each other. The book consists of about a million interactions that go exactly like this:
*character one either seems unhappy about something*
Character Two: “Whats wrong?”
Character One: *has an intense monologue inside their head about why they did not like what just happened and how they feel, all of it is totally understandable* “nothing.”
Character Two: *upset that character one wont communicate with them and thinks they’re unhappy because they hate them* “okay.”
Another frequently occurring one is when they talk about what theyre going to do about the fact that they live in different countries.
Boy: *finally breaking DAYS long tension* “do you want to stay with me in Barcelona”
Girl: *says to herself in her head that she is literally obsessed with him and would do anything to stay with him in Barcelona* “what do YOU want to do?”
Boy: *thinking that she wants to leave him and go back to London and that he would fucking kill himself if she did that because he loves her* “what do YOU want to do??”
Girl: “I don’t know.”
Boy: “Let’s just talk about it later.”
And then the cycle repeats itself. Can you see how that would get old???
Miss Gurl moves to one of the best cities in the world with her wonderful boyfriend, is very obviously upset and pissed off the entire time and when he asks why, refuses to communicate with him and gets super annoyed with him over it. And when he finally stops trying after MONTHS and says that maybe they need some space she AGREES and then runs off for a week to cry and CHEATS ON HIM. All my sympathy has gone out of the window. You can’t ruin your own relationship and then get upset that your relationship is ruined, you’re a fucking idiot. And then, after all that, the book ends with the suggestion that they’ll get back together and a bit of an attitude change from her but without any real closure.
The writing was mostly very good but got a bit repetitive, there are only so many long winded descriptions of spanish food that I can take, and was a bit waffly sometimes, I skim read the last twenty pages cus it was just taking far too long to get to the damn point.
Overall, okay, the beginning was pretty 5 stars but it slowly made its way down to mid-range.
At first I thought that Ms Girl (the main character is unnamed) was one of the most relatable characters I had ever come across and that this book was a delightful interrogation of the young female experience and I loved the first half but at about 60% I started to get really sick of Mrs Ungrateful and her Chronicles of Complaining.
The premise of the book is that our unnamed main character has met this really wonderful guy that she is falling in love with, he is the first good thing that has ever happened to her, her life has been really shit thus far. Her Dad is a total deadbeat alcoholic, her mother tried her best but was ultimately too stressed and exhausted to make up for the atrocious father, she has struggled with an eating disorder all her life, was molested as a child and has been treated terribly by every boyfriend she has ever had. All of this has resulted in an anxiety disorder and some really intense self-hatred. She doesn’t have any super close friends or anyone that she can talk to about how terrible she feels about everything all the time and how lost she feels as a girl in London in her early twenties, she doesn’t express any of this to her lovely new boyfriend either. He moves to Barcelona and asks her to come see him, often, and for very long periods of time, and she does.
And here’s where my problems lie because oh my god, these two people would rather die than have open communication with each other. The book consists of about a million interactions that go exactly like this:
*character one either seems unhappy about something*
Character Two: “Whats wrong?”
Character One: *has an intense monologue inside their head about why they did not like what just happened and how they feel, all of it is totally understandable* “nothing.”
Character Two: *upset that character one wont communicate with them and thinks they’re unhappy because they hate them* “okay.”
Another frequently occurring one is when they talk about what theyre going to do about the fact that they live in different countries.
Boy: *finally breaking DAYS long tension* “do you want to stay with me in Barcelona”
Girl: *says to herself in her head that she is literally obsessed with him and would do anything to stay with him in Barcelona* “what do YOU want to do?”
Boy: *thinking that she wants to leave him and go back to London and that he would fucking kill himself if she did that because he loves her* “what do YOU want to do??”
Girl: “I don’t know.”
Boy: “Let’s just talk about it later.”
And then the cycle repeats itself. Can you see how that would get old???
Miss Gurl moves to one of the best cities in the world with her wonderful boyfriend, is very obviously upset and pissed off the entire time and when he asks why, refuses to communicate with him and gets super annoyed with him over it. And when he finally stops trying after MONTHS and says that maybe they need some space she AGREES and then runs off for a week to cry and CHEATS ON HIM. All my sympathy has gone out of the window. You can’t ruin your own relationship and then get upset that your relationship is ruined, you’re a fucking idiot. And then, after all that, the book ends with the suggestion that they’ll get back together and a bit of an attitude change from her but without any real closure.
The writing was mostly very good but got a bit repetitive, there are only so many long winded descriptions of spanish food that I can take, and was a bit waffly sometimes, I skim read the last twenty pages cus it was just taking far too long to get to the damn point.
Overall, okay, the beginning was pretty 5 stars but it slowly made its way down to mid-range.
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