Cleopatra și Frankenstein [Cleopatra and Frankenstein]

I’ll admit: I approached *Cleopatra și Frankenstein* skeptical of yet another ‘young artist finds herself in New York’ narrative. But within 20 minutes, Irena Stoenescu’s narration had me hooked—not just on the story, but on *how* it was being told. Her Cleo is a revelation: a chaotic, brilliant, often infuriating 24-year-old whose voice oscillates between cocky bravado and heartbreaking insecurity. Stoenescu nails the British-accented snark (think Fleabag meets a chain-smoking art student), but it’s her rendering of Frank that’s the real surprise. She doesn’t just *do* an older man’s voice; she embodies the careful, calculated way he speaks, as if every word is a chess move. Their scenes together are magnetic, even when the relationship isn’t. The audiobook’s pacing is where it stumbles slightly. Mellors’ prose is rich—sometimes *too* rich for audio. There are moments, especially in Cleo’s introspective tangents about art or her mother, where the narration feels like it’s wading through molasses. A tighter edit (or a nudge for Stoenescu to pick up the tempo) might’ve helped. That said, the production shines in its quieter moments: the way Stoenescu lets silence hang after a cutting remark, or how the ambient noise of the city fades in and out like a character itself. My other critique? The ending. Without spoilers, it lands with more of a whimper than a bang—ambiguous in a way that feels evasive rather than profound. But maybe that’s the point: love, like art, is often unfinished. Still, this is an audiobook that *demands* to be experienced in one greedy listen. It’s messy, pretentious at times, and utterly alive—just like its protagonists. If you’ve ever been young, broke, and convinced your bad decisions were actually *art*, you’ll recognize yourself in Cleo. And if you’ve ever loved someone who felt like a beautiful mistake, you’ll feel this story in your bones.