La veggente di via de' Toschi

I approached *La veggente di via de’ Toschi* expecting a standard historical whodunit, but Minarelli has crafted something far more unsettling. The clairvoyant at its heart—Elena, a woman whose visions are as much curse as gift—is a magnetic figure, flawed and fiercely intelligent. Giuliani’s narration elevates her from page to ear with a voice that’s equal parts gravel and honey; when Elena describes her premonitions, Giuliani’s tone drops into a sultry, almost incantatory murmur, while the fascist bureaucrats who dismiss her get a nasal, clipped delivery that drips with disdain. The audiobook’s production is top-notch, with background noise that feels organic—a rattle of a tram in the distance, the hum of a radio tuned to a fascist broadcast—but it’s never overdone, and the balance keeps the listener anchored in Bologna’s claustrophobic atmosphere. That said, the middle act drags. The investigation unfolds at a glacial pace, and by the hour mark, I found myself flipping ahead in the audio to reassure myself the story hadn’t stalled completely. The payoff, when it arrives, is worth the wait, but the journey is uneven. Still, Minarelli’s unflinching portrayal of how a regime weaponizes fear against the vulnerable gives the book a resonance that lingers. If you’re after a thriller that’s as much about the weight of history as it is about solving a crime, this one’s a slow burn with teeth.