Fabbricante di lacrime

I’ll admit, I side-eyed the runtime at first—23 hours is a *marathon* for an audiobook—but *Fabbricante di lacrime* earned every minute. Simonelli’s performance is a masterclass in tonal range; she doesn’t just *read* Nica’s lines, she *embodies* them. The way her voice hardens during Nica’s defensive quips, then softens into something almost fragile when she’s alone with Rigel? Chills. The production quality is impeccable, too—no jarring edits, no awkward pauses—just a seamless, immersive experience that makes the Grave feel like a character itself. That said, this isn’t a flawless listen. The middle act drags slightly, meandering through subplots that, while atmospheric, occasionally test patience. And while the gothic romance vibes are *chef’s kiss*, some of Rigel’s dialogue veers into overly poetic territory, risking eye-rolls if you’re not in the mood for grand declarations. But when it lands—and it *often* does—it’s devastating. The final act’s emotional payoff had me paused mid-commute, staring out the window like a fool. If you love morally gray love interests, heroines who bite back, and prose that reads like a dark fairy tale, this is your next obsession. Just clear your schedule first.