It weaves myth into the storyline in an intentionally coarse manner. It challenges and defies the reader at every turn.

Split Tooth is not an easy read despite how beautifully it’s written or the passages of poetry that shorten its 189 pages. It’s stated bluntly, simply, so that you have no choice but to confront the issue at hand even amid her flowing prose of poetry. Despite the almost carefree, child-like attitude of the protagonist, she doesn’t pull her punches or gently whisper euphemisms when it comes to trauma and sexual assault. The language Tagaq uses in terms of trauma is significant and intentional.

I previously stated that I didn’t know what to expect from this book, and that theme continued on through every page that I read. The pregnancy only takes place two-thirds of the way through the book, so it’s not even a significant part of the story, and the birth of these celestial children plays a more significant role. Possibly, I might have drawn this conclusion from “she knows…the raw, amoral power of the ice and sky,” but I think you could forgive me for not making the connection. One line in the blurb, however, especially buried the lede: “When she becomes pregnant, she must navigate all this.” It’s “this” I take issue with because nowhere in that little snippet did it tell me that said pregnancy would be the resultant progeny of the Northern Lights-you read that right-after It takes the girl by force. It’s done purposefully and with skill so that the reader can’t help but draw parallels to how normalized sexual abuse is in our own societies. Trauma does play a significant role, specifically sexual trauma-mixed vividly in the prose and more abstractly through the lines of poetry-but Tagaq does a frighteningly good job of normalizing sexual assault within the lines of the book through the bright-eyed lens of the protagonist. Or rather-it was so oversimplified that it did not prepare me for the beautiful and devastating journey I was about to embark on. The blurb that promised a story woven around myth and a girl dealing with trauma and pregnancy in rural Nunavut during the 1970s had me pulling out my wallet.

A flip through at the combination of poetry, prose and illustrations made my interest keener. I was browsing a small bookstore in Whistler, British Columbia last winter when I spotted the cover faced out on the shelf: the forbidding white fox against the black background. I didn’t know what to expect when I picked up Split Tooth by Inuk author Tanya Tagaq. Content Warning: Sexual abuse, rape, substance use

Split tooth book review