The trees grew because I bled there Collected stories

In these eight short stories, LaRocca examines the fracturing and decay of love and connection by forces both internal and external. The title story features elements of control and body horror; in "Where Flames Burned Emerald as Grass," a father on vacation is faced with an impossible choice: let his daughter leave forever with a stranger or watch her die; "Please Leave or I'm Going to Hurt You" features an adult man revealing his deeply taboo feelings to the only man he's ever loved; a woman schemes to be rid of her ailing mother in "I'll Be Gone by Then." LaRocca's sharp, incisive writing shines a bright light on the disgust, pain, and trauma wriggling under conventional behavior and polite speech; this rising star of the horror genre should be an autobuy for libraries where horror circulates well. This collection is deeply unsettling, beautifully crafted, and difficult to put down once it's started. Recommend to readers who enjoy the author's other work as well as Kealan Patrick Burke's Blanky (2017), The Iliac Crest by Cristina Rivera Garza (2017), or The Hole by Hye-Young Pyun (2017).

In this collection of eight horror shorts, LaRocca (Things Have Gotten Worse Since Last We Spoke) displays his signature style of rendering grotesque and brutal subject matter in exquisite prose. It starts strong, with the one-two punch of emotional heavy hitter "You Follow Wherever They Go" followed by "Bodies Are for Burning," which takes readers into the disturbing mind of a woman whose thoughts are consumed by a desire to light the people around her on fire. The standout is the title story, in which a toxic relationship takes a mental and physical toll on the involved couple. LaRocca falters slightly with "You're Not Supposed to Be Here," which is reminiscent of the Saw movie franchise, and the lackluster "Where Flames Burned Emerald as Grass." Still, the visceral depictions of unhinged psyches ("Suddenly, the thought arrives to me like a canine beckoned by a whistle. I imagine pressing a lighter against the small child's index finger, holding the flame there until her pink skin bursts open and crinkles like a tube of blood sausage") and unflinching body horror throughout will please LaRocca's fans--and ought to earn him some new ones. (Mar.)