Cherry Baby

I’ll admit: I went into *Cherry Baby* expecting another quirky, feel-good Rowell romance, and instead got my emotional windpipe squeezed. This book is *angry*—in the best way. Cherry’s voice is a masterclass in unreliable narration, not because she lies, but because she’s so brutally honest with herself (and us) about the ugliest parts of love and motherhood. The scene where she drunkenly texts her husband a list of grievances? Lowman’s delivery had me cringing and cheering in the same breath. Her performance makes Cherry’s contradictions feel visceral: the way her voice cracks on ‘I miss you’ but hardens on ‘I don’t know if I still like you.’ That said, the audiobook isn’t without flaws. The middle act drags slightly—Cherry’s stasis starts to mirror the plot’s, and even Lowman’s energy can’t fully mask the repetitive cycle of self-sabotage. And while the supporting cast (especially Cherry’s acerbic best friend) pops in print, some secondary characters blur together in audio, their voices lacking distinctiveness. Still, the final act lands like a gut punch, and the production’s minimalist approach (no frills, just Lowman and Rowell’s words) ensures the focus stays on Cherry’s jagged, glorious unraveling. If you’ve ever resented the myth of the ‘strong female lead’ who has it all together, this is your audiobook. Just maybe don’t listen while folding laundry—trust me, you’ll need to pause and scream into a pillow.