Writing the Unthinkable: How Transgressive Fiction
Lets Us Explore What We Can’t Say Out Loud
By Eric LaRocca
I’m of the mindset that many readers are too comfortable, too cozy (and therefore woefully unchallenged) when selecting the kinds of works they decide to read. This occurs even within the horror genre, with readers who are well versed in the work of more mainstream, marketable writers like Stephen King and Michael McDowell steering clear of the more transgressive work of authors like Jack Ketchum and Richard Laymon. Naturally, there’s nothing wrong with knowing your limitations and setting firm boundaries. However, I often wonder if some are so disinclined to testing their comforts that they miss out on reading some truly phenomenal fiction simply because of a label. The literature I’m referring to provides no easy answers and does not serve to comfort the reader. This kind of fiction is aggressive, confrontational, disruptive, and disconcerting. But if savored with an open and clear mind, transgressive literature can provide a truly transcendent experience for the reader even if they have doubts upon reading the first page.
Based on the early reactions I’ve already received for We Are Always Tender with Our Dead, I realize that this novel is going to be deeply polarizing, like most of my previously published work. I recognize the fact that many folks are going to DNF the novel simply because of the graphic torture and the “gratuitous” sexual violence. Of course, as I stated before, there’s nothing wrong with knowing your limits and realizing that you cannot carry on reading a particular book if it’s too upsetting, too triggering. Life’s too short to spend all your time suffering, after all. However, I commend the folks who pick up the book and make the attempt at the very least, regardless of whether or not they finish the book. Their willingness to engage meaningfully with the text shows me that they are eager to be tested, confronted, and dared with the kind of literature they pursue. I admire readers who are adventurous, who are excited at the prospect of a challenge. Transgressive literature is inherently disobedient. Perhaps even a little dangerous if executed with aplomb and verve. I’ve always believed that transgressive literature is one of the most honest and deeply intimate genres because of the frank, sometimes deeply uncomfortable way in which more unsavory matters are discussed. Transgressive horror fiction allows us, as authors and readers, to revel in our innermost obsessions, our most private fetishes and demons.
Hogg by Samuel R. Delany is one of the most difficult, most viscerally upsetting books I’ve ever encountered. The sexual violence and the depravity are relentless and almost become uncomfortably repetitive after a while. Perhaps that’s the whole point of the book? I’m still not sure to be truthful, even years after my first encounter with the text. Delany once mentioned in an interview how transgressive fiction forces the line of respectability to be challenged. I think what he meant by this was that if you read about depravity and degeneracy in a work of fiction, perhaps you’re more inclined to realize certain aspects of humanity you had once vilified and looked down upon are not so questionable after all. Delany is an openly queer man, and I think much of his assessment about the potency of transgressive fiction stems from the fact that he came of age in an era when homosexuality was condemned. When you think about it, being gay is a deeply transgressive act. It’s a political act, in fact. Not because homosexuality is inherently political, but rather because our rights as queer people are constantly being legislated away by those in power. Disturbing and truly vile books like Hogg remind us that there are other far more serious forms of depravity and degeneracy in the world. Of course, Delany’s masterpiece is only one example. There are countless others. I think of De Sade’s The 120 Days of Sodom or Baise-Moi (Rape Me) by Virginia Despentes or The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks. These are deeply affecting works written by some of the most insightful and prescient authors in the arena of transgressive literature. Because of its shocking, confrontational nature, transgressive fiction is capable of shifting the cultural landscape, inspiring major reforms and setting new trends for fiction in general.
While transgressive horror literature indeed allows the line of respectability to be shifted slightly as Delany once argued, I believe it also encourages us to better understand others, the intricacies and complexities of our shared humanity. Transgressive fiction, more than anything, allows us to empathize with others and provide grace for those who are suffering, who are maligned or disenfranchised. A common complaint from readers about transgressive literature (and specifically my work in that area) is that most of the text centers around this perception of “shock value.” “Everything was shocking and obscene. There’s no substance.” I always smirk when I read responses like that because it inevitably makes me think of famed science-fiction and fantasy author Harlan Ellison. He once received very similar criticisms for his most seminal work, I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream. His response was simple. “Precisely,” he said to the critic. “That’s the point.” Sometimes there is no calculated intention other than to shock, to disrupt, to confront the reader. However, there’s validity to that. If a book disturbed you to the point where you had to set it down (or throw it across the room), then it’s safe to say that the work in question succeeded in what it was attempting to do. I think transgressive horror is one of the last genres where authors are encouraged to write about the messy, unsavory, disgusting parts of life. It’s expected, in fact. There’s something powerful about that, there’s something deeply rewarding about a genre that knows exactly what it is and makes no apologies. To quote a lyric from Britney Spears: “Baby, what you see is what you get.”
If you’re eager to read more transgressive fiction, I highly recommend any of the literature published by smaller presses like Schism Press and Apocalypse Party. I also highly recommend the following ten works:
—Hogg / Samuel R. Delany
—The 120 Days of Sodom / The Marquis de Sade
—Baise-Moi / Virgina Despentes
—The Wasp Factory / Iain Banks
—Frisk / Dennis Cooper
—Blood and Guts in High School / Kathy Acker
—Story of the Eye / Georges Bataille
—Crash / J.G. Ballard
—The Necrophiliac / Gabrielle Wittkop
—Cows / Matthew Stokoe
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Eric LaRocca (he/they) is a 3x Bram Stoker Award® finalist and Splatterpunk Award winner. He was named by Esquire as one of the “Writers Shaping Horror’s Next Golden Age” and praised by Locus as “one of the strongest and most unique voices in contemporary horror fiction.” LaRocca’s notable works include Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke, Everything the Darkness Eats, and At Dark, I Become Loathsome. He currently resides in Boston, Massachusetts, with his partner.
