Book Review: Cubatooth - Kobo and BookBub Reviews
Cubatooth is an audacious blend of historical fiction, crime drama, political satire, and supernatural horror. Set primarily during Prohibition, the novel creates an alternate version of American history populated by corrupt politicians, ruthless bootleggers, ambitious journalists, federal agents, and a mysterious creature whose influence stretches back to the Spanish-American War.
The story begins decades before its principal action. Newspaper magnate Tobias Krohly recognizes that conflict in the fictional Caribbean nation of San Mara could benefit both his publishing empire and his political ambitions. He sensationalizes reports of revolution, Spanish military activity, and a blood-drinking winged creature known locally as “the Angel from Below.” Krohly converts the legend into a more marketable American monster story, calling i t the “Manbat.” As the novel progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish manufactured propaganda from genuine supernatural danger.
The central storyline takes place in the 1920s. Sophie Cruz, a determined young journalist, obtains intimate letters associated with President Warren G. Harding. Those letters could expose a national scandal, but they also attract the attention of people willing to threaten, rob, and kill to recover them. Sophie’s pursuit of the truth brings her into contact with Donte Carmello, an aspiring criminal whose difficult childhood, frightening physical transformation, and growing ruthlessness form another major strand of the novel.
Sophie is one of the book’s strongest characters. She is intelligent, resourceful, stubborn, and remarkably courageous, but she is not presented as invulnerable. She must navigate racism, sexism, professional exploitation, and physical danger while trying to establish herself in a newspaper business dominated by powerful men. Her complicated relationship with the press is especially compelling. Journalism can expose corruption, but it can also distort facts, manufacture enemies, and destroy lives. Sophie gradually learns that possessing the truth does not necessarily mean she will be permitted to publish it.
Tobias Krohly is equally memorable. Charismatic, vulgar, manipulative, and frequently funny, he is a newspaper tycoon who sees public events primarily as material to be shaped. His influence reaches into politics, entertainment, law enforcement, and organized crime. Krohly’s encounters with President Harding are darkly comic, but they also demonstrate how easily wealth and media power can influence the historical record. The novel’s portrait of him may be exaggerated, yet its observations about sensational journalism and manufactured outrage feel strikingly contemporary.
Donte Carmello’s journey gives the book much of its emotional and moral complexity. He begins as a wounded, insecure young man seeking money, respect, and independence. His physical scars and unconventional appearance contribute to his isolation. As he moves deeper into organized crime, however, the desire to overcome humiliation becomes a hunger for power. The supernatural element surrounding him can be interpreted both literally and metaphorically: the monster may be real, but it also represents appetite, corruption, addiction, and the gradual surrender of one’s humanity.
Alexander Sorondo’s prose is highly distinctive. It is energetic, irreverent, densely descriptive, and filled with unusual metaphors. The dialogue often carries the rhythms of hard-boiled crime fiction, while the narration shifts between historical detail, grotesque comedy, and sudden violence. Some scenes are genuinely frightening; others are almost absurdly funny. The action sequences—particularly Sophie’s desperate defense of herself inside a telephone booth—are vivid, chaotic, and cinematic.
That stylistic intensity may also be the novel’s greatest challenge. The prose can be crowded, with long sentences, abrupt fragments, rapid changes in perspective, and extended digressions. The large cast and nonlinear structure require close attention. Readers looking for a straightforward gangster story or a conventional historical thriller may initially find the book disorienting. It asks the reader to accept uncertainty and piece together connections gradually.
Those willing to meet it on its own terms, however, will discover an inventive and unusually ambitious novel. Beneath its criminals, monsters, political scandals, and dark humor is a serious examination of who controls history. Newspapers, politicians, police officers, criminals, and witnesses all possess different portions of the truth, but the person with the printing press often determines which version survives.
The ending brings the novel’s major themes together without explaining away all its mysteries. Sophie ultimately recognizes that when powerful institutions refuse to publish the truth, independent publication may be the only remaining answer. The final return to San Mara is eerie and effective, suggesting that the forces unleashed decades earlier—greed, political manipulation, violence, and perhaps something genuinely monstrous—remain alive.
Cubatooth is strange, intelligent, profane, and fiercely original. It will appeal most strongly to readers who enjoy unconventional historical fiction, Prohibition-era crime stories, political satire, and supernatural horror. It is not an effortless read, but it is a memorable one.
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