Il colibrì

I’ll admit: I wasn’t prepared for how *unlikable* Marco Carrera would be. Not in the way of a villain, but in the way of a man so deeply mired in self-deception that you want to shake him—and yet, Veronesi makes you *understand* him. The novel’s structure, jumping between timelines, could feel gimmicky, but Gifuni’s narration sells it. His delivery is measured, almost detached, which makes the rare moments of emotional rupture (like Marco’s breakdown in a hotel room) hit like a gut punch. The production is flawless—no distracting edits, no awkward pauses—just a seamless, immersive listen. That said, this isn’t a book for everyone. The pacing in the first third drags; Veronesi lingers on Marco’s mundane routines (his job, his half-hearted affairs) to the point where I found myself checking the time remaining. And while the hummingbird metaphor is brilliant, it’s also *relentless*—by the final act, I wished for a little less symbolism and a bit more narrative momentum. Still, the payoff is worth it. The ending doesn’t tie things up neatly, but it *feels* true, like watching someone finally stop pretending. If you love audiobooks that demand your attention—where the narration isn’t just reading but *performing*—this is a standout. Just don’t expect to like the man at the center of it.