Twice Splatterpunk Award winner and thrice Bram Stoker Award finalist, prolific queer horror writer Eric LaRocca regrets to inform us that he failed miserably in handling the subject matter with delicateness and sensitivity. From the foreword, We Are Always Tender with Our Dead (Burnt Sparrow, #1) shows that tenderness has nothing to do with LaRocca's narrative.
Inspired by Goethe's quote (all beginnings are delightful;) "the threshold is the place to pause", Burnt Sparrow #1 is the manifestation of a threshold, a doorframe or a windowsill where its inhabitants have paused at the point of no return, observing with dread the tragedies unfolding throughout the history of this godforsaken place. The story starts with a news article reporting the death by fire of a queer couple, and the indication of a third person possibly being involved in the crime. Shortly after, we read a diary entry by Ruppert, a seventeen-year-old, suggesting he committed a hideous act he doesn't regret, making the reader wonder if there is a connection between both events. Needless to say, LaRocca's novels are deceptively linear. Misery seems to be widespread in this sulphur-smelling town, as Hell itself has built its threshold on top of Burnt Sparrow, New Hampshire.
Surprisingly, this novel reads as an angst-filled, claustrophobic, coming-of-age story, and despite the initial lack of character development in Burnt Sparrow #1, Ruppert's characterisation is on point (which cannot be said about the whole cast). We spend some time learning about the town, its history and inhabitants. His father is distant, jobless, and static. Ruppert is a sensible closeted queer boy who reads Proust and Steinbeck, the personification of angst teen, orphaned on his mother's side, grappling with growing up under his estranged father's care. For the past few years, after his wife's death, Ruppert's father has become numb, until a massacre takes place on Christmas Day 2003, when a dozen Burnt Sparrow residents are shot. The killers had no face, no nose, no mouth. We are introduced to the town Elders, representing a shaman-like congregation, perhaps suggestive of indigenous North Americans, and the Esherwood, the Burnt Sparrow patrons.
The novel progresses, and much of the background information is given in bits and pieces. Here, LaRocca questions morality, small-town power dynamics, queerness, desire, xenophobia and much more. Some of these enquiries are explored in a "horror" language, meaning you'll be disgusted. There are numerous trigger warnings and a list in the foreword. However, the violence often felt gratuitous, with no noticeable intention (including necrophilia, incest, rape). Ruppert meanders most of the novel, questioning and philosophising about everything around him, offering depth and a sense of disquiet. I daresay it has a tint of gothic.
After the massacre, the Elders and Mr Esherwood take the prisoners under their "care" and order the killed resident's corpses to remain on the spot where they were killed, creating job opportunities for the body-watchers. Ruppert and his father start working, preventing the corpses from being moved by fauna or foe. I won't spoil what happens, but I was expecting more. From this point Ruppert meanders endlessly and not much happens. It is fairly common for the first book of a series to set the scene for the remainder, however, Burnt Sparrow #1 felt unbaked. There are still too many loose threads to cast a full judgement, but this was not a strong first book of a series. It failed to engross me. Burnt Sparrow could work for others that are in it for the gore, the disgusting, the violent. Unfortunately, it wasn't for me.
Disclaimer: I received an Advance Reader Copy (ARC) of this book from the publisher Titan via NetGalley in exchange for an honest and unbiased review. All thoughts and opinions expressed are my own.