Grim Tidings

I’ll admit, I side-eyed the premise at first—another reaper love story? But *Grim Tidings* won me over by treating its supernatural elements with the mundane gravity of a DMV line. The narration is a standout, though not without quirks. The performer’s Darcy is a masterclass in world-weary sarcasm, her voice dripping with the kind of exhaustion you’d expect from someone who’s been doing the same soul-crushing job for centuries. Elias, by contrast, gets a stiffer, almost militaristic cadence that sells his rigid adherence to protocol. Where the performance stumbles slightly is in the romantic tension; the narrator’s shift from snark to sincerity occasionally feels abrupt, as if they’re not entirely sure whether to lean into the comedy or the pathos. It’s a minor gripe, but in a story where the emotional beats hinge on those transitions, it matters. Borison’s real triumph is the worldbuilding. The afterlife here isn’t fire and brimstone—it’s fluorescent lighting and mandatory training seminars. The horror isn’t in the ghosts (though there are a few genuinely unsettling set pieces) but in the system itself: the way souls get lost in the paperwork, the way Darcy’s rebellion is less about saving lives and more about reclaiming her own agency in a role that’s stripped her of it. The pacing drags slightly in the middle during a subplot involving a haunted motel (the audiobook could’ve trimmed 30 minutes here without losing much), but the payoff—a third-act confrontation that’s equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking—makes it worth the slog. If you love your horror with a side of biting satire and your romance with a healthy dose of ‘we’re both terrible at our jobs,’ this is your next listen. Just don’t expect neat endings; like any good bureaucratic nightmare, some threads are left dangling by design.