Last Night at Chateau Marmont

I’ll admit, I approached *Last Night at the Chateau Marmont* skeptical it could escape the shadow of *The Devil Wears Prada*—but Weisberger surprises by swapping devilish bosses for the devil of sudden fame, and Merritt Wever’s narration sells every second of it. Wever’s Brooke isn’t a wide-eyed ingénue but a woman whose voice grows increasingly frayed as her husband, Julian, spirals into the kind of self-destructive behavior that only a five-star hotel can enable. Her performance is particularly brilliant in the scenes where Brooke’s professional detachment (she’s a therapist, after all) cracks under the weight of Julian’s antics. You can *hear* the eye-roll in her delivery when she recounts his latest PR disaster, and it’s that specificity that makes the audiobook feel like a confessional. That said, the novel isn’t without its stumbles. The secondary characters—Julian’s bandmates, the sycophantic industry hangers-on—often blur into a single note of smugness, and Weisberger’s satire occasionally tips into caricature. A subplot involving a tabloid journalist feels undercooked, like a missed opportunity to deepen the story’s critique of media complicity. But the audiobook’s production is flawless: the sound mixing ensures Wever’s voice remains crisp even during the novel’s more chaotic scenes (a riotous poolside confrontation, a drunken 3 a.m. phone call), and the pacing never drags, despite the 12-plus-hour runtime. If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to watch someone you love become someone you don’t recognize—while the world cheers—this is your front-row seat. Just don’t expect a happy ending wrapped in a bow.