American Mother

I’ll admit: I rolled my eyes at first. *Another* poison-mom story? But *American Mother* hooked me in the first 20 minutes—not with gore, but with the eerie mundanity of Stella Nickell’s crimes. Gregg Olsen structures the narrative like a slow-burn heist film, where the ‘score’ is cold-blooded murder and the ‘crew’ is a single woman exploiting every systemic weakness. Karen Peakes’ performance is *exceptional*—her Stella isn’t a mustache-twirling villain but a neighbor you’d chat with at the PTA, which makes the reveals land like gut punches. The way she voices Stella’s 911 call (calm, almost bored) while her husband convulses? Chills. That said, the middle act drags slightly with procedural minutiae—Olsen’s deep dive into FDA regulations, while fascinating, risks losing listeners who just want the human drama. And Peakes’ male voices (especially Bruce Nickell’s) occasionally veer into distracting territory. But the payoff is worth it: the trial scenes are electric, with Peakes’ delivery of Stella’s testimony a masterclass in audiobook tension. What lingers isn’t the how of the crimes, but the *why*—not just Stella’s motives, but how a town, a company, and a country failed to stop her until it was too late. If you love true crime that’s more *The Staircase* than *Dahmer*, this is your next obsession. Just maybe don’t listen while taking your daily vitamins.