Comme toi

I’ll admit: I approached *Comme toi* skeptical of yet another ‘missing girl’ story, but Lisa Jewell’s take feels *alive* in a way most thrillers don’t. The audiobook’s power hinges on Manon Jomain’s narration—her voice is the perfect vessel for this tale of quiet devastation. She doesn’t *perform* the characters so much as *inhabit* them, especially Ellie’s mother, whose voice wavers between steely determination and the brittle edge of hysteria. The production is impeccable: no jarring edits, no overdone sound effects, just the raw, unsettling rhythm of a woman’s mind unspooling. Jewell’s structure—alternating between past and present—could feel gimmicky, but here, it’s surgical. Each timeline peels back another layer of denial, and Jomain’s pacing ensures the reveals land like gut punches. That said, the middle act sags slightly under the weight of its own ambiguity. Jewell teases connections between characters that, for a stretch, feel more confusing than intriguing (a minor critique, but one that had me rewinding a few times). And while the ending *works*, it’s not the knockout punch some might expect—this is a story more interested in psychological scars than neat resolutions. Still, the audiobook’s strength is in its *mood*: the way Jomain’s delivery makes even mundane details (a half-drunk cup of tea, a lingering stare) feel ominous. If you love thrillers that prioritize atmosphere over action, or narrators who can turn a whisper into a threat, this is your next listen. Just don’t start it before bed—Ellie’s absence has a way of seeping into your own thoughts long after the audio stops.