Drowning Instinct

I’ll be honest: *Drowning Instinct* is not an easy listen. But the best books rarely are. From the first chapter, Kathleen McInerney’s narration pulls you into Jenna’s head with a chilling precision—her voice is flat where it needs to be, trembling when Jenna’s control slips. There’s no melodrama here, just the quiet horror of a girl who’s convinced she deserves nothing better. The production is clean, but the real star is the way McInerney handles the nonlinear timeline, making Jenna’s fragmented memories feel like a puzzle you’re desperate to solve. Bick’s writing is razor-sharp, but the book’s biggest strength—and its most polarizing trait—is Jenna herself. She’s not likable. She makes terrible decisions. And yet, you *understand* her in a way that’s rare in YA fiction. The romance (if you can call it that) with Mitch is a masterclass in unease—it’s seductive and repellent in equal measure, and the audiobook’s intimacy makes it even more unsettling. My only critique? The ending feels abrupt, like Bick yanked the rug out from under you just as you thought you’d found solid ground. And the secondary characters, while vivid, sometimes blur together in the audio format. But those flaws don’t diminish the impact. This is a book that *hurts*, in the best possible way—like pressing on a bruise to remind yourself you’re still alive.