Okay, so I need to talk about this book. And I'm going to be honest—I almost didn't write this review because I genuinely don't know how to feel about the experience I just had. Everyone kept telling me Tampa was this bold, unflinching work of dark literary fiction. What they didn't tell me was that I'd spend eight hours feeling like I needed to shower.
But here's the thing. I couldn't stop listening.
The Voice That Made Me Complicit
Kathleen McInerney does something with this narration that I'm still processing. Her delivery is cold. Mechanical, almost. And at first I thought—ugh, this is going to be a slog. But then it clicked. That clinical detachment? That's Celeste. That IS the character. McInerney isn't failing to bring warmth to the performance—she's refusing to, because Celeste Price doesn't deserve warmth.
I was designing wedding invitations while listening to this (the irony is not lost on me), and there were moments I had to stop my mouse mid-drag because of what was coming through my headphones. The narrator handles the explicit content with this razor-sharp precision that makes it somehow worse? Like she's reading a grocery list of horrors. And I mean that as a compliment, I think.
McInerney won an Audie for narration back in 2011, and you can hear why. Even when the material is making your skin crawl, her pacing is impeccable. She never rushes through the uncomfortable parts or lingers where she shouldn't. She just... delivers. Unflinching.
This Is Not A Romance (Obviously, But Also—Obviously)
Look, I read romance. I ugly-cry to romance. I have a spreadsheet tracking my crying sessions. So why did I pick up a book about a predator? Honestly? Because I wanted to understand how a woman writer would tackle this subject when we've seen it handled so badly from male perspectives for decades.
And Alissa Nutting does something fascinating here. She doesn't ask you to sympathize with Celeste. Not once. There's no tragic backstory, no redemption arc, no "but she was damaged" excuse. Celeste is a monster, and the book never pretends otherwise. It's almost satirical in how it mirrors the way society treats attractive female abusers—with confusion, with disbelief, with that gross "where was she when I was fourteen" mentality.
My abuela would have thrown this book across the room. Probably would have prayed for my soul after. But I think she also would have understood why it needed to exist—because we don't talk about female predators the same way, and that silence is its own kind of violence.
The Discomfort Is The Point
I kept waiting for the narrative to give me something to hold onto. A moment of humanity from Celeste. A crack in the armor. It never comes. And that's what makes this book so effective and so hard to recommend.
The audiobook format forces you to sit with every uncomfortable detail. You can't skim. You can't skip ahead. McInerney's voice is in your head, and Celeste's thoughts become your thoughts for eight hours. It's genuinely disturbing in a way that made me pause the book multiple times—not because it was bad, but because I needed to breathe.
Frida and Diego (my cats, for the uninitiated) kept giving me looks while I listened. Like they knew something was wrong. Cats are perceptive like that.
Who Should Listen (And Who Really, Really Shouldn't)
Here's where I struggle. This is brilliant. The writing is sharp, the satire is pointed, the performance is exactly what it needs to be. But I can't in good conscience tell you to listen to this without massive caveats.
If you want dark literary fiction that doesn't flinch—this is it. If you're interested in how we talk about female predators and the double standards around abuse—this is essential. Sing, Unburied, Sing tackles different kinds of violence with that same unflinching clarity—Jesmyn Ward doesn't look away either. If you can handle extremely explicit content that will make you deeply uncomfortable—okay, maybe.
But if you're looking for emotional catharsis? If you need to feel something warm at the end? Skip this. There's no redemption here. No justice that feels satisfying. Just a cold, clinical examination of a monster, delivered in a voice that matches.
My Heart Says No, My Brain Says Wow
I'm giving this a high rating because it accomplished exactly what it set out to do. But I'm also saying: sample first. Know what you're getting into. This book felt like staring into an abyss that was absolutely staring back.
My heart? Untouched. My brain? Spinning. My need for a palate cleanser romance? Urgent.
