Clay Stafford talks with Eric LaRocca on “Writing Transgressive Literature Without Apology”

Eric LaRocca interviewed by Clay Stafford

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In this bold, unfiltered conversation, horror author Eric LaRocca tells me about the purpose of transgressive fiction, the emotional truths behind unsettling storytelling, and the liberating power of pushing past boundaries. With a career built on polarizing reactions and visceral storytelling, LaRocca shares how discomfort, provocation, and empathy coexist in his work—and why that tension is exactly where his voice belongs. “Eric, I found your book quite immersive.”

“Thank you. That means a lot. I appreciate it.”

“I don't know that it was comforting—it didn’t exactly leave me feeling safe—but it was certainly immersive. Which, I think, was exactly your intention.”

“Yeah, definitely. I'm not interested in comforting readers.”

“And that's where I want to start—writing that challenges rather than soothes. I want to talk about the pleasures and perils of bold, transgressive literature. Most people don’t push boundaries like you do, and I think it’s worth exploring what happens when writers dare to go there.”

“I think so too. One of my favorite transgressive writers, Samuel R. Delany—who’s usually known for science fiction—once said something that really stuck with me. He wrote a book called Hogg, one of the most transgressive things I’ve ever read. In an interview, he said the point of transgressive literature is to move forward the barometer of what’s acceptable—what’s palatable—and I agree. Each time something outrageous is published, it shifts the line. It tests comfort levels. What was once brutal or grotesque becomes more accepted. That’s what I try to do with my work—move the line.”

“What drew you personally to this side of storytelling? What’s the creative reward in pushing those boundaries?”

“I've always been drawn to the dark, the macabre, the unsettling. Even as a kid, my parents noticed I leaned toward the grotesque. I grew up in a small, isolated Connecticut town and spent a lot of time at the library—reading Roald Dahl’s children’s stories first, then his adult work. Hitchcock. Agatha Christie. Poe. Hawthorne. Gothic fiction became a big influence. There’s catharsis in it—especially Gothic literature. It’s emotional, taboo, unconventional. And transgressive fiction builds on that—it’s a burst of energy, a pageantry of the grotesque.”

“You mentioned transgressive fiction as catharsis. Was there a writer who opened that door for you?”

“Clive Barker. In high school, his work showed me what fiction could really do. He was a gateway. From there, I discovered Poppy Z. Brite, Kathe Koja, Dennis Cooper—who’s one of my favorites. His book Frisk is unsettling in a way that stays with you. Bret Easton Ellis, too. That’s how I fell into this netherworld of depravity.”

“Which brings us to something you said earlier—people can be uncomfortable seeing characters doing horrible things. There’s often pushback.”

“Right. There’s this idea that character representation needs to be clean, sanitized. And I get that there’s a spectrum, but I’m interested in the grotesque end. That’s where I live creatively. For a long time, we didn’t see unsanitized horror. It’s coming back, though, and I think it’s wonderful. There’s space now for graphic, messy, problematic characters—and I want to keep exploring that.”

“When you’re writing something deeply unsettling, how do you know whether it’s necessary or if it’s just shock value?”

“Sometimes it is shock value. I think of Harlan Ellison—his story I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream is one of my favorites. He got criticized for being shocking, and he said, ‘Yes, that’s the point.’ It’s supposed to disturb you. I feel the same. I want to provoke people—not harm them—but shake them up. That’s what books can do.”

“Unless someone gets hit in the head with one.”

“Right. But seriously, books have power. Especially transgressive ones. They change perspective. Broaden minds. I don’t want people finishing my book and thinking, ‘That was fine. Three stars.’ I want one star—'This is vile, I hated it’—or five stars—'This is vile, I loved it.’ No middle ground. I want intense reactions.”

“But how do you stay true to that artistic vision when you know it might alienate readers—or publishers?”

“I used to care. A lot. I wanted people to like me. But I’ve grown out of that. Most readers will never truly know me. I’m just a name on a book cover to them. And as for publishers—sure, there’s sometimes compromise. When I worked with Blackstone, there were things in the manuscript they wanted removed—too graphic. I wasn’t thrilled, but I understood. Publishing is a team effort. You have to protect your vision, but sometimes, a little compromise helps the book reach more people.”

“Did cutting those scenes hurt?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t easy. But I made peace with it. I could’ve refused, but then maybe the book doesn’t get out there the same way. You pick your battles.”

“Ever had a moment where you asked yourself, ‘Am I going too far?’”

“Not really. I might check in with my friends—'Will this upset people?’—but ultimately, I want to provoke. That’s my nature.”

“And when you refuse to play it safe, what’s the emotional reward for you?”

“Hearing from readers—especially young readers—who say, ‘Thank you for showing this.’ That’s the reward. Seeing themselves reflected, unsanitized, gives them permission to write their truth. That’s what Clive Barker and Dennis Cooper did for me. To be that for someone else is everything.”

“But the downside is that distribution becomes a hurdle. Big publishers don’t always embrace transgressive work.”

“Exactly. It’s niche, and publishers can be risk-averse. I was lucky—Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke went viral. Tiny indie press, but the book blew up. You can’t predict what hits. But transgressive fiction can struggle to find a wide audience.”

“Have you faced blowback?”

“Definitely. Especially online. People get upset. But that’s part of the job. You can’t write this kind of work and expect universal praise.”

“Have those moments ever made you second-guess your creative direction?”

“In quiet moments, sure. I’ll ask, ‘Did I cross a line?’ But it always comes back to: Do I want to write bold, honest work? Or do I want to write what sells? And there’s no wrong answer. Sometimes you need to pay the bills. I’m experimenting more now. I’ve got a book coming out with Saga Press—it’s still horror, still me, but more restrained. It’s okay to explore your range.”

“For writers who want to take risks, but are scared of backlash—what would you say?”

“Have a strong support system. Loved ones you can lean on. That’s everything. If transgressive writing is in your heart, it can be life-changing—but it’s not for everyone. You need grounding.”

“And when you’re writing these brutal characters, do you still feel compassion for them?”

“Absolutely. That’s something I’ve heard from readers—that there’s empathy in my work. Even when it’s violent and ugly. I try to understand my characters, even when they’re doing terrible things. That empathy needs to be there—or else it’s just gore. At Dark, I Become Loathsome is a brutal book, but I cared deeply for Ashley. He’s obsessed with horrible things, but I felt for him. That feeling matters.”

“I felt it too. Even amid the darkness, there was this little candle of hope. You never snuffed it out entirely.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“What do you hope readers carry with them when they close the book?”

“A deeper understanding of humanity. Of themselves. The people I write about—they exist. And we’re losing compassion. We’re losing grace. I want readers to reflect. Think about grief, trauma, sexuality. I don’t write with a moral message in mind—but maybe, as Delany said, the line moves a little. Maybe compassion enters the chat. That’s the hope.”

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Clay Stafford is a bestselling writer, filmmaker, and founder of Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference, The Balanced Writer, and Killer Nashville Magazine. Subscribe to his newsletter at https://claystafford.com/.

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 strongest and most unique voices in contemporary horror fiction.” He currently resides in Boston, Massachusetts, with his partner.

https://ericlarocca.com/