Giving a Voice to the Faceless: A Guest Post by Eric LaRocca

This is a terrifying (and thrilling) start to a brand-new trilogy from the author of Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke and At Dark, I Become Loathsome. Read on for an exclusive essay from Eric LaRocca on writing We Are Always Tender with Our Dead.

Dehumanization Explored in We Are Always Tender with Our Dead

I faced a considerable amount of backlash when I first published my novella, Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke, in June 2021. As an author of transgressive fiction, I never expect my writing is going to be universally beloved by the public. In fact, I would detest that. I welcome the criticisms and discussions surrounding my work and I heartily encourage readers to discuss what works for them, what doesn’t. However, the online response to that novella in particular became so vitriolic and malicious that I noticed a disturbing parallel between what I had written and what was playing out in front of me in real time. It’s amusing to think about people behaving poorly online in response to a book dedicated to exploring the concept of characters behaving poorly online. People (especially in online communities) are so quick to strip others of their identity, their worth, once they’ve performed what they perceive to be an egregious, unforgivable act. (Even something as innocuous as writing a book they didn’t care for.) The tragedy anchoring my new novel (We Are Always Tender with Our Dead) centers around a mass shooting perpetrated by a family of faceless murderers in the small, isolated town of Burnt Sparrow, New Hampshire. In addition to serving as a meditation on the impact of gun violence in smaller communities, a great deal of the book also ruminates on the question of punishment for those who committed the wrongdoing. More to the point, the novel illustrates our collective inclination to dehumanize those who we perceive as “evil” or simply “wrong.” I don’t necessarily think this is a book about “cancel culture”; however, I definitely think my subconscious was preoccupied with that issue while I was writing the novel. I’m afraid there are no easy answers or explanations in this book. I’m intrigued by the idea of leaving a novel with more questions than answers upon closing the final chapter. Of course, I realize some readers might find that insufferable and instead wish to know everything; however, I’ve always appreciated the ambiguity, the open-endedness of uncertainty. Regardless, I hope some readers will appreciate the questions I’m analyzing and dissecting throughout the course of the text. This novel was written at a very low point in my life, when I was tending to my invisible wounds from the backlash of my first published novella and hoping that I still held a place in the public’s heart to publish more material. Superior books often help you see the world a little differently than you did before you began reading. When you close this book, I hope you find yourself unsure, doubtful and wondering if the person who just passed by you on the street had a face or not…