Black and Blue

Tamala Shelton’s narration is the secret weapon of this audiobook, turning Gorrie’s memoir from a compelling read into an immersive punch to the gut. Shelton’s voice—warm but unyielding, with a cadence that shifts from weary exhaustion to fiery defiance—captures the duality of Gorrie’s experience: the pride of a woman who loved her job despite its horrors, and the betrayal of a system that never loved her back. The pacing is brisk, mirroring the exhausting cycle of microaggressions and bureaucratic gaslighting Gorrie endured, but it’s the specific moments Shelton nails: the quiet devastation in Gorrie’s voice when recalling being called a ‘troublemaker’ for reporting abuse, or the icy detachment when she describes the ‘investigation’ into her own complaints. If there’s a misstep, it’s in the audiobook’s occasional over-reliance on police lingo (acronyms piled on acronyms) that might lose listeners unfamiliar with Australian law enforcement. And while Gorrie’s anger is justified, a few more moments of reflection—rather than reaction—could’ve added depth to the latter half. Still, this is a vital listen. Shelton’s performance elevates Gorrie’s story from confession to indictment, and the audiobook’s production—clean but never sterile—lets the weight of the words sink in without distraction. I finished it in two sittings and spent the next day furious. Mission accomplished.