Alissa Nutting's Tampa
by Dennis Mont'Ros
When avant-garde filmmaker Harmony Korine (Kids, Gummo, Spring Breakers) recently announced his next film project, ears perked up. Korine is adapting Alissa Nutting’s salacious 2013 work, Tampa: A Novel.
Nutting’s 2011 short story collection, Unclean Jobs for Women and Girls, featured authentic, complex heroines navigating existence everywhere from deep space to cannibal’s cauldrons. The collection’s sparkling language and deftly-crafted themes garnered the Sixth Starcherone Prize for Innovative Fiction.
At the center of Nutting’s Tampa is the criminally insane middle school teacher, Celeste Price. Celeste is a buxom, mid-20s blonde, married to a handsome and naïve policeman. Celeste’s exploits her husband’s simplicity to pursue sex with her male students. She begins to sneak sleeping pills into her husband’s regimen so she can chase teen boys in her Corvette.
Her machinations become too complicated to manage. Celeste’s husband constantly lobbies for sexual attention. Co-workers become curious about her odd behavior. Her victims’ actions threaten her secret life. Finally, a parent sniffs out a version of the truth, spiraling the situation into violent chaos.
Is Tampa erotic? No. The molestation scenes offer few graphic details. Nutting’s matter-of-fact first person narration peels back the psychology of heartless predation. Most X-rated moments subjugate physicality to afterthought. One encounter ends with Celeste reflecting, “My mind immediately raced forward to after I’d drop Jack off at home – there would be then the additional delight, perhaps an act that would become part of the ritual, of stopping in a parking lot to wipe our fluids off the car seat.” The reader is voyeur of taboo thinking, not sensuality.
Tampa sounds like a postmodern remix of Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, but the works are different in two key respects. Nabokov’s protagonist strategizes at great length to cope with his demented impulses. He is tortured by self-awareness of his vile preferences. Celeste is an unrepentant huntress who doubles down where a less psychotic mind would balk. Secondly, we have the victims and their self-determination. Lolita extorts prizes from Humbert. Nutting’s male characters (young and mature) are zombie-like in their libidinal impulses, with only a moment of hesitation before plunging in.
Tampa is both vulgar and smart. Nutting resists the urge to redeem her protagonist, successfully maintaining cold, reportage-like narration to remind us that school-age boys are victims of Celeste’s manipulations. Where we can certainly give Nutting credit as a writer are the plot surprises, right to the final scene. The grotesque twists compel page-turning. In that, Tampa is orginal and bold. It makes the reader ask, “How do I look at myself for having this book in my hands?” Transgressive fiction fans (think Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club) will empathize with Nutting’s execution, and appreciate the book’s crafty rollercoaster of a read.
Tampa: A Novel has been banned from bookshelves for a good reason. The book won’t interest readers seeking protagonists on a quest for meaning, but will definitely entertain those looking for shock. For most of us, this 150-proof shot of transgressive storytelling will come off better in a theater.
Nutting’s 2011 short story collection, Unclean Jobs for Women and Girls, featured authentic, complex heroines navigating existence everywhere from deep space to cannibal’s cauldrons. The collection’s sparkling language and deftly-crafted themes garnered the Sixth Starcherone Prize for Innovative Fiction.
At the center of Nutting’s Tampa is the criminally insane middle school teacher, Celeste Price. Celeste is a buxom, mid-20s blonde, married to a handsome and naïve policeman. Celeste’s exploits her husband’s simplicity to pursue sex with her male students. She begins to sneak sleeping pills into her husband’s regimen so she can chase teen boys in her Corvette.
Her machinations become too complicated to manage. Celeste’s husband constantly lobbies for sexual attention. Co-workers become curious about her odd behavior. Her victims’ actions threaten her secret life. Finally, a parent sniffs out a version of the truth, spiraling the situation into violent chaos.
Is Tampa erotic? No. The molestation scenes offer few graphic details. Nutting’s matter-of-fact first person narration peels back the psychology of heartless predation. Most X-rated moments subjugate physicality to afterthought. One encounter ends with Celeste reflecting, “My mind immediately raced forward to after I’d drop Jack off at home – there would be then the additional delight, perhaps an act that would become part of the ritual, of stopping in a parking lot to wipe our fluids off the car seat.” The reader is voyeur of taboo thinking, not sensuality.
Tampa sounds like a postmodern remix of Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, but the works are different in two key respects. Nabokov’s protagonist strategizes at great length to cope with his demented impulses. He is tortured by self-awareness of his vile preferences. Celeste is an unrepentant huntress who doubles down where a less psychotic mind would balk. Secondly, we have the victims and their self-determination. Lolita extorts prizes from Humbert. Nutting’s male characters (young and mature) are zombie-like in their libidinal impulses, with only a moment of hesitation before plunging in.
Tampa is both vulgar and smart. Nutting resists the urge to redeem her protagonist, successfully maintaining cold, reportage-like narration to remind us that school-age boys are victims of Celeste’s manipulations. Where we can certainly give Nutting credit as a writer are the plot surprises, right to the final scene. The grotesque twists compel page-turning. In that, Tampa is orginal and bold. It makes the reader ask, “How do I look at myself for having this book in my hands?” Transgressive fiction fans (think Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club) will empathize with Nutting’s execution, and appreciate the book’s crafty rollercoaster of a read.
Tampa: A Novel has been banned from bookshelves for a good reason. The book won’t interest readers seeking protagonists on a quest for meaning, but will definitely entertain those looking for shock. For most of us, this 150-proof shot of transgressive storytelling will come off better in a theater.
