Il sorriso di Angelica

I’ll admit, I approached *Il sorriso di Angelica* skeptical—how many times can Montalbano’s Sicily feel fresh? But Camilleri flips the script here. The thief isn’t just a criminal; they’re an *artist*, and the crimes unfold like a series of taunts, each one more infuriatingly precise than the last. The joy is in watching Montalbano, usually so instinctive, forced to play by someone else’s rules. Venturiello’s performance is masterclass-level: his Montalbano growls with frustration, but his delivery of the thief’s cryptic notes? Chillingly smooth, like a blade sliding between ribs. The pacing is relentless, though I’ll warn you—the middle act sags *just* slightly as Camilleri indulges in one too many philosophical asides about order and chaos. Still, the payoff is worth it, especially in audio, where Venturiello’s timing turns even the driest procedural beats into dark comedy. My only real critique? The sound mixing occasionally muffles the quieter lines—annoying when you’re trying to catch every clue. And while the ending is clever, it hinges on a reveal that might feel *too* neat for some. But these are quibbles. What lingers is the sheer *fun* of it: a mystery that’s less about blood and more about brains, narrated by someone who understands that Montalbano’s genius isn’t just in solving crimes, but in making you *feel* the weight of every wrong turn. If you’ve ever loved a villain who outsmarts the hero (for a while, at least), this is your next listen.