Happiness Falls

I’ll admit: I picked up *Happiness Falls* expecting a twisty mystery, but what I got was far more unsettling—a family drama that uses a disappearance as a pressure cooker for long-buried resentments. Angie Kim’s writing is *so* specific in its observations (the way Eugene’s mother ‘smiles like a hostage,’ or how his sister’s guilt manifests in compulsive Googling) that the characters feel uncomfortably real. The audiobook’s strength lies in Rike Schmid’s performance, particularly her handling of Eugene’s selective mutism—she doesn’t just *tell* us he’s not speaking; she makes you *feel* the strain of his silence in the way she stretches pauses or lets other characters’ voices overwhelm the space. That said, the pacing stumbles in the middle. Kim’s detours into Eugene’s philosophical musings about language and truth (fascinating as they are) sometimes halt the momentum, and Schmid’s cadence in these sections can feel overly deliberate, as if she’s lecturing rather than narrating. The ending, too, may frustrate listeners craving resolution—this is a book more interested in emotional fallout than neat answers. But if you’re here for a story that lingers like a bruise, one that asks how well we ever *really* know the people we’re supposed to love unconditionally, this audiobook will haunt you long after the last chapter. Just don’t expect to walk away feeling *happy*—‘Happiness Falls’ is a misnomer if there ever was one.