Making a Spectacle of Florida: Interrogating the Allure of the Dangerous, the Macabre, and the Bizarre in Florida Tourism Through Karen Russell’s Swamplandia!
Isabella Caraballo
Introduction
At the very bottom of the United States' east coast lies the Florida peninsula, both geographically and arguably, somewhat culturally detached from the rest of the country. Alongside and counter to its historic allure, Florida slithers its way into people's minds, internationally, as a bizarre, macabre, and seemingly dangerous place. With Miami and Orlando routinely being among the most visited cities in the world, there is no shortage of fascination with gator wrasslin, kitschy roadside attractions, or ‘how-is-this-allowed?’ theme parks of Florida (“US States & Cities”). Such cultural conceptions and activities have made their way into Florida literature. Karen Russell’s Swamplandia! is riddled with hyperbolic, satirized –or not– depictions of what tourists are sure to encounter in the depths of Florida. After Hilola Bigtree, the matriarch and headlining gator wrestler, dies unexpectedly, the Bigtree family’s gator themed park, Swamplandia!, is left floundering. Thirteen-year-old Ava Bigtree ventures out into the feral Florida swamp to save their park – and home. Meanwhile, her father, The Chief, withdraws from reality; her little sister, Ossie, has a passionate affair with a ghost; and her older brother, Kiwi, delves – quite literally – into the World of Darkness.
As the novel suggests, beyond the quirky, other-worldly attractions and people that onlookers would describe as plain “weird,” there is a more sinister reality of Florida tourism that relies on the voyeurism of danger, the allure of the macabre, and enchantment with the bizarre. In the novel, as the Bigtree family’s hapless father-figure, The Chief, elucidates to his thirteen-year-old daughter, Ava, “What the tourists paid to watch… was an unequal fight. A little seesaw action: death/life,” casting Florida as a place where people can come to flirt with death (Russell 19). Swamplandia! equates Florida’s landscape with danger and as a portal to the darker parts of imagination, effectively luring tourists to the edge of humanity and allowing them to dip their toes in the murky waters–literally and figuratively. With its unique intersection of cultures and diverse landscapes, Florida lends itself to being perceived as a fantastical escape and a formidable realm. But Swamplandia! has it both ways, while refusing to accede to either ends of the myth: the novel both reinforces and critiques the stereotypes of Florida as a place to dabble in danger and experience the macabre and bizarre by satirizing and over-exaggerating Florida’s attractions, landscape, and people.
Russell’s depictions of Florida set against the backdrop of real Floridian culture compels readers to recognize the duality of the state – the authentic quirky culture and the artificial predatory stereotypes corporations crafted to infatuate tourists. The transition from midcentury roadside attractions to Carpathian corporations symbolizes the paradoxical nature of Florida tourism in which outsider stereotypes of danger and the macabre can ultimately create that reality.
1. Swamplandia!
Swamplandia! casts the Bigtree family and their theme park on the edge of society, an almost other-worldly setting. The theme park and Bigtree family home sit deep in the Ten Thousand Islands, a remote part of the Everglades off the southwest coast of Florida. The Bigtree family’s Swamplandia!, the number one gator-themed park in the area, is a classic, midcentury roadside (and waterside!) attraction for tourists. From their billboard taunting “COME SEE ‘SETH,’ FANGSOME SEA SERPENT AND ANCIENT LIZARD OF DEATH!!!,” to their appropriation of Native American culture as a tribe complete with “The Chief” in the absence of “a drop of Seminole or Miccosukee blood in [them],” their park embodies the kitschy, garish themes of midcentury Florida tourism (Russell 6). They leverage tourists’ thirst for blood – for death – in their billboards picturing the gaping jaws of a 10 foot “primordial monster” and their unequivocally Floridian gator wrestling shows (Russell 6). Tourists flock four times a day to watch the matriarch, Hilola Bigtree, perform her famous dive into a pit of 98 gators, that is until she dies. Ava recalls the disappointment when the tourists find out her mother, Hilola, did not die in a gruesome spectacle:
I think they were hoping to hear that Hilola Bigtree had been attacked by her gators. They were after a hot little stir—bones crushed, fangs closed around a throat, and an unlucky vent of blood. It was interesting to watch the tourists’ reactions when I said the words ‘ovarian cancer.’ Cancer was banal enough that they were forced to adjust their response. (Russell 10)
Fig. 1. The menacing jaws of a gator at the entrance of Gatorland, a signature gator attraction. Florida. - Division of Tourism. Entrance to the Gatorland theme park in Orlando, Florida. 20th century. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory. Accessed 30 May. 2025. https://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/92934
Fig. 2. The St. Augustine alligator farm, founded in 1893 is one of Florida’s oldest and most iconic roadside attractions. Man petting an alligator at an alligator farm - St. Augustine, Florida. 1946. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory. Accessed 30 May. 2025. https://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/65113
Fig. 3. The gator pit in the St. Augustine Alligator Farm filled with dozens of ancient, predatorial gators. Zoo Review “Zoo Review: St. Augustine Alligator Farm and Zoological Park.” The Zoo Review, 5 June 2014, https://thezooreviewer.blogspot.com/2014/06/zoo-review-st-augustine-alligator-farm.html.
Florida Memory, the state’s archives, exhibits the fascination with predatorial roadside attractions dating back to the late 1800s. The imposing jaws that greet guests at the entrance of Gatorland (see fig. 1), the man daringly reaching down to pet a gator with its jaws agape (see fig. 2), and the pit teeming with alligators that could strike immediately if anyone falls in (see fig. 3) all evoke a sense of rousing and chilling fear in visitors. These historical and cultural artifacts of Florida tourism and culture expose the wider desire for danger and the macabre. Florida tourism exists in a vicious cycle of capitalizing on desire to flirt with death, and Floridian culture becoming associated with death and danger. The murder of Gianni Versace and the sustained tourism of his mansion illustrate the commodification of death and dark tourism in present-day Florida (Chang; Light). Contrary to Hilola Bigtree’s “banal” death, Versace was an icon, murdered by a serial killer on the steps of his multi-million-dollar mansion, allowing his death to be made a kitschy spectacle in Floridian culture (Stone and Grebenar).
The Swamplandia! tourists’ disinterest in Hilola’s “mundane” death furthermore speaks to the repercussions of stereotyping Floridians as outcasts on the edge of society. It is almost as if native Floridians exist in the cultural imaginary as robots whose sole purpose is to entertain the crowd. The Chief, the patriarch, used to explain this phenomenon to this thirteen-year-old daughter Ava: “‘They act like they think they’re watching robots up here!’ He’d shake his head. ‘Prove to them you can lose, so you can surprise people, honey, and win’” (Russell 19). The ridiculousness of a father explaining to his teenage daughter how to appear weak in front of an alligator to garner the attention from their audience highlights the danger of viewing Floridians as a non-human, invincible species and makes a mockery of Florida’s perceived lack of judgment. Although many Floridians rely on tourism for their livelihood, relegating them to an unhuman category further perpetuates stereotypes of violence, irresponsibility, and lawlessness among Floridians (Harris and Fiske).
This sentiment aligns with the recent “Florida Man” memes that have captured the internet’s attention. These memes reinforce stereotypes of Florida as a place of not only violence, but of quirky, peculiar, and bizarre criminal acts. The notion that Florida is home to more frequent outlandish crime than any other state is largely the result of Florida’s Open Public Records Law, but Robbins posits the phenomenon is also fueled by the internet’s propensity “to easily consume, share, and reshare Florida man content… due to its reputation for being a newsworthy state.” Florida Man news, reinforces and perpetuates Floridian stereotypes of recklessness and violence, while the Chief's lessons expose their damage.
When contextualizing The Chief’s imagined invincibility against gators, Tilikum–an orca held captive in SeaWorld Orlando who killed three people–comes to mind. Much like Swamplandia!, many theme parks around the world are “built on a false sense of trust for captive wildlife” (Carnahan). Dawn Brancheau, like Hilola Bigtree, had performed with orcas for 15 years and rooted her livelihood in trusting relationships with wild animals. The fearlessness exemplified by Floridians and tourists alike exposes the proclivity to flirt with death while in Florida, as though the state is an other-worldly place where the laws of the natural world and natural human instincts are suspended. The Chief remarks, “Weakness was the feather with which you tickled your tourists; your weakness that pinned the tourists to their seats,” revealing his schema of weakness as a tool for entertainment, not a legitimate concern when wrestling a gator (Russell 19). The Bigtrees use weakness–blindfolding themselves or binding their dominant hand–to, in their mind, give the audience the feeling of dabbling in death (Russell 19)—that is, until disaster strikes, as it did for Dawn Brancheau.
2. —>The World of Darkness
Perhaps this attraction to one of society’s greatest taboos, death, manifests its way into culture not only through commodification of tragedies, but through flirting with death and danger–through oneself or others–as well. Both Swamplandia! and World of Darkness allow their patrons to dabble in death and danger by virtue of others being in immediate danger or experiencing a taste of it themselves. The World of Darkness – a rival theme park featuring “rings of Hell, bloodred swimming pools, boiling colas” – makes hyperbolic the apparent obsession, and presence, of danger in Florida (Russell 13).
The novel’s depiction of the World of Darkness reinforces the paradox of Florida’s allure: a lawless, irresponsible, and dangerous place, they seemingly cannot get enough. The park’s “army of teenage janitors,” use of undocumented labor, “seventy-six foot drop from an elevated chute into the first series of domed funnels, pools, and bowls” in the 23-minute “Digestion” experience, and Kiwi’s “linoleum cave… just wide enough to turn a full circle without touching anything, and the windowless fluorescence,” certainly align with tourists’ conception of danger and absurdity in Florida (Russell 80, 85, 121). Although Florida does have statutes regarding child-labor, amusement park rides, and reasonable accommodations that the World is in complete violation of, the novel preys on the outlandish ideas outsiders have of Florida to both criticize and poke fun at the ridiculousness of these notions.
Further, the World of Darkness parodies tourists’ simultaneous fascination with and disparagement of Florida as they scream the World’s catchphrase (as seen on television) “We love the World!” in unison while “slid[ing] down the Tongue” (Russell 120). This cliché depiction of the World’s tourists elucidates the cycle of Florida tourism: Floridians capitalize on tourists’ love of garish, promiscuous culture and experiences, which then perpetuates those ideas outsiders have of Florida. Therefore, Florida both embodies and manufactures (largely for tourists) a sense of danger, macabre, and bizarreness.
The novel suggests that outsiders’ entrancement with unique Floridian culture, particularly as a place of the macabre and absurd, actually results in the destruction and transformation of the environment into what tourists already conceive of Florida: a hellish escape. The novel mirrors reality in that tourism that demands ecological capital, such as a trip to the World of Darkness, but abstains from using profits to conserve the environment has detrimental effects on the natural world (Baloch 5927). Tourism’s encroachment on and commodification of the natural environment in tandem with predatory business practices mocks Disney World’s effect on Florida culture. Where once “tourists were fascinated by the many exotic animals found in Florida roadside attractions,” they now flock to Florida to drink around the world at Epcot or ride Space Mountain (“Florida Memory”).
In the transition from the initial roadside attractions of midcentury Florida, like the St. Augustine Gator Farm and Gatorland (akin to Swamplandia! in the novel), to parks like Disney World (represented by the World of Darkness), we see the carnivalization of Floridian culture. Neither Disney World nor the World of Darkness has anything to do with the natural environment, yet they destroy and prey on it, nonetheless. The World of Darkness boasts “a whole spooling solar system of parking lots…A moat of lava lapp[ing] at the carports,” signifying the sprawl of concrete and destruction of the natural world (Russell 13). The image Russell creates is that of commercialization becoming a beast, destroying everything in its path. Further, this notion of predatorial corporations is reinforced when Kiki “owed the Carpathian Corporation, the World’s parent company, $182.57” (Russell 123).
The “Carpathian Corporation” alludes to the Carpathian Mountains, a place commonly associated with vampires, thus depicting the new era of Florida tourists as blood-suckers and extremely predatorial. Moreover, the reference to a “parent company” critiques the commercialization of Florida culture and offers a stark contrast to the family-owned Swamplandia! In addition, Kiwi’s debt of nearly $200 to the corporation employing him magnifies the exploitative practices of corporations like Disney.
The World of Darkness reveals the broader context of Florida tourism: corporations leverage the desire for macabre and death in Florida to prey on outsiders which consequently becomes outsiders’ perceptions of what Florida is like. The transition from somewhat natural roadside attractions like the St. Augustine Gator Farm or fictious Swamplandia! marks the end of midcentury tourism and the beginning of mass corporations preying, in every way they can, on employees, the environment, and tourists alike.
Conclusion
Karen Russell’s Swamplandia! satirizes the allure of Florida’s quintessential kitschy and macabre midcentury tourism and its erasure at the hands of predatorial corporations. The outlandish depictions of both Swamplandia! and the World of Darkness simultaneously scrutinize and poke fun at Florida as a place and outsiders’ perceptions of it. The bizarre roadside attractions, unique opportunities to dabble in danger, and diverse mix of people and wildlife all result in Florida’s image as a “weird” state but also lure record numbers of tourism year after year. Tourists remain mystified by Florida culture, and Floridians leverage their mystification, thereby helping transform outsiders’ ideas of what Florida is like into a reality— or at least what feels like a reality. The transition from Swamplandia! to the World of Darkness symbolizes the shift from more genuine kitsch culture, as seen with the Bigtrees, to an illusion of magic with a sinister underbelly, demonstrated by the Carpathian corporation. The satirization of the transformation and erasure of authentic culture and environments reminds tourists of their impact and the dangers of stereotyping outside cultures.
Isabella Caraballo is a graduate from the University of Florida with a bachelor's degree in psychology. She was born and raised in Maryland and found her love of Floridian culture living in Gainesville the past four years. In her free time, she enjoys Delaware and Florida beaches, yoga, hiking, and trying new restaurants.
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