Eric LaRocca has come out of his cocoon at last.
All the previous novels I've read by LaRocca were like a pupa stage, but in this novel he has emerged. Fully imago as this wonderful, terrible mothman. Vast unblinking eyes reflecting your headlights back at you as you go down a lonesome road in the middle of the night. Big fluffy wings that look like they're very good at hugging but also hiding dark secrets and horrible claws. His voice, a cacophony of terrible screams that tell you about a future calamity in Italy where a sinkhole will unleash a giant undead elephant that eats babies.
Go Mothman LaRocca! Splatter the roofs of quiet neighbourhoods with the guts of your enemies! Fly to your destiny ....and to the world's end.
So yes, I liked this book.
Actually I loved this book. I adored it. I laughed, I cried, I cheered, I gagged. A fun Saturday night, I must say.
This novel is so quick but so disgusting that it enthralled me and stayed with me after I read it. Walking for miles with me, staring at me just out of my peripheral vision. Hoping I would let it eat a squirrel.
They Were Here Before Us has a head full of bad spiders and it is utterly, truly, free. Not the price. No you pay for it. And you keep paying after you finish it. Maybe forever. But free in its design.
It's airy. Easy. It's light. Less like a novel and more like a release.
Certain stories just feel like they slipped out into the world almost completely untranslated from the idea that birthed them. Most books are a labour of transformation. You can see how difficult it was for the author. Every sentence constructed with care. Like the ideas needed to be brought into our world in some kind of elaborate decompression suit, otherwise the sheer weight of reality would crush their fragile forms.
But some books feel like the author opened a window and a frothing, ugly, alien bat just came waltzing in. Took off his jacket and hat like Grandpa Simpson and started dancing while singing "Hello my Baby, Hello my Honey, Hello my Rag-Time Gal!" This book is like that bat crawling in the window. Singing his rabid secrets. Foam drooling from his jaws. Head tilted and neck broken.
What a wonderful gift to give to readers.
They Were Here Before Us invites you to breathe that free air of lunacy. Don't just touch that grass. Taste it. Roll in it. Lawnmower man or The Great God Pan? Only Wendy knows for sure.
Normal rebellions oppose the authority of man. Great rebellions oppose the authority of reality.
Eric LaRocca has delivered a great rebellion.
A call to the fierce love of nature and against the tyranny of sanity, logic and rationality.
In the eyes of nature that which is called sanity perverts providence. That which is called logic and rationality devastate the spirit of humanity. All laws and rules are inherently unjust, unbalanced. Our real cage is civility. And we are the ones holding the door closed. Imprisoned by our fears. Our desires. Our pride. Our expectations. It's such a perfect trap.
And madness sets us free.
Y'understand? Sometimes things gotta fall apart to work properly. You gotta chop down the biggest tree to let the garden grow. Destroying order is sometimes the only way to bring nature in balance.
In this book Eric LaRocca writes about the hidden chaos of nature. A chorus of divine anthropomorphism. Where bugs that eat our corpses love us in death as we have never been loved in life, where forbidden monkey lust goes twisted and wrong, where meerkats murder children and nature takes revenge on sadistic killers and WHAT THE HELL IS THAT BALLOON?!!
It's a wonderful collection of brain-worms that burrow deep into your unconscious and hug tight in your thickest, chewiest flesh. Nestled in with the smell of grandma and your accordion lessons.
Eric LaRocca understands that nature is both wonderful and the most cruel, terrifying thing in the universe. It horrifies us, because it can be so beautiful, so free and so monstrous. And yet it feels like home. It's more familiar than our own lives.
Every single defining human trait is a part of nature and comes from nature. Our love, our sense of wonder and hope and our tears and our never-ending blood-lust and quest for the destruction of all who would oppress us. That's not just human. That comes from billions of years of the hunt. It predates us. It transcends us. And through it we transcend. When we are all gone, those ancient emotions, those drives that define us will carry on. In other flesh, in other forms. Until the sun burns out. Maybe even longer.
Eric LaRocca sees us in everything, from the birds to the bugs to the wild animals, because everything has elements of humanity. The birdies, the puppies, the kittens, and the fungal infections that eat the face of children.
It's all us.
Our ancestors, our kin. And we are all it.
We are the sweet, cuddly, snuggle-buns, so fuzzy and cute. Gathered together in front of the fire for warmth and community to protect against the night. And we are also the monsters endlessly circling those fires. Our eyes like the moon reflected on a lake. Shimmering white pools. Our hunger eternal, our teeth forever searching for a throat.
It's no wonder we're so afraid of the dark and the wild. We know what's out there. And it is ourselves.
This novella is Eric LaRocca at his most free. His most fluid. His most wild. It is full werewolf. He abandons structure and sanity and embraces something feral. Something wicked. Something fun. Something more coherent than coherence. Something that was ancient when the sharks were young.
Nature understands the value of breaking things to create new designs, new opportunities. Nature appreciates the inherent worth of desolation and decomposition. And so does writing. So does storytelling. So does art. And so does Eric LaRocca.
Every LaRocca novel bends the laws, breaks the rules, and people get quite upset about it. How he takes his freedom from the prison of our polite society and revels in a little chaos.
I appreciate it and encourage him to go further.
Some people grow up facing oppression their whole lives and they either idolise their cage or start to see the value in severing chains. Not just the big, ugly, obvious chains. But all the little ones. Where society dictates what is worthy of being discussed and what is not. How the taboos that seemingly protect us from being offended are often just the status quo creating excuses to squash conversations that threaten its order.
That disgusting people and dismaying the righteous and rending the arbitrary laws of morality in art is not just fun. But an inherent good. A noble act. A great kindness. And an ancient tradition.
For if the status quo has hurt so many, so badly, how can offending it be wrong?
And so every celebration against the status quo, every forbidden song, every dance for death and heartbreak and butchery is like a crack in their great dam. A harbinger for a flood.
A cleanse.
And as the prison of civility crumbles, the moon eyes wait for our fires to go out. And feral teeth hunger for supple flesh in the dark.
A return to nature and to the wild things that were here before us. 9/10