Parallel Lines

I’ll admit, I approached *Parallel Lines* skeptical that St. Aubyn could pull off this high-wire act—juggling so many disparate lives without the structural scaffolding of his *Melrose* novels. But within minutes, Cumberbatch’s narration had me hooked. His ability to pivot from dry, arch humor (listen to how he delivers the line about ‘the existential dread of a well-stocked fridge’) to raw vulnerability (the scene where the heiress calls her father’s voicemail is *devastating*) makes this audiobook feel like a one-man play. The production is impeccable, too: the slight echo added to phone calls, the way background noise fades when a character’s focus narrows—it’s all there, but never showy. That said, the novel isn’t without its stumbles. The teenage arsonist’s storyline, while darkly funny, occasionally feels like St. Aubyn trying too hard to shock, and the final act’s convergence of fates leans a bit too heavily on coincidence for a writer usually so precise. But these are quibbles. What lingers is the way the audiobook *moves*—like a runaway train you can’t look away from, even when it veers into uncomfortable territory. Cumberbatch’s performance ensures you’ll laugh at things you shouldn’t, then feel guilty for it, which is exactly what St. Aubyn wants. If you love audiobooks that balance cerebral wit with emotional wallop—and narration that turns prose into theater—this is your next listen.