Dalla stessa parte mi troverai

I’ll admit: I hit pause three times in the first hour. Not because *Dalla stessa parte mi troverai* is poorly made—quite the opposite—but because Dalila Cozzolino’s performance lands like a gut punch when she voices Mira’s father’s letters. There’s a moment around the 45-minute mark where Cozzolino’s tone drops into this chilling, almost affectionate monotone, mimicking the way abusers weaponize calm. It’s unsettling in the best way, the kind of narrative choice that makes you realize this isn’t just *about* the past; it’s *haunted* by it. The audiobook’s structure is its secret weapon. Mira jumps between timelines—her father’s fascist activism in the ‘70s, her own disillusioned adulthood—but Cozzolino’s vocal shifts (softer for young Valentina, gravelly for the older version) keep it from feeling disjointed. That said, the production isn’t flawless. The occasional background hiss during archival audio clips (a deliberate choice, I think) sometimes muddies the narration, and I wished for more breath between chapters to digest the heavier sections. Still, the raw honesty of Mira’s writing—like her unflinching account of her mother’s complicity, or the way she describes the banal domesticity of extremism (meeting fascists over *torta della nonna*)—makes this a standout. It’s not an easy listen, nor should it be. But if you’ve ever wondered how ideology warps love, or how daughters survive the legacies they’re handed, this audiobook will leave you changed. Just maybe not comfortable.