Pieces

I’ll admit, I braced myself for *Pieces* to tip into either misery porn or a too-easy redemption arc. Instead, it walked a razor’s edge between brutality and hope in a way that felt painfully real. Carmen’s first-person sections hit like a punch to the gut—Benson’s writing doesn’t flinch from the logistics of homelessness (the humiliation of period poverty, the calculus of which adult to trust), but it’s the *small* details that wrecked me: how Carmen hoards ketchup packets like treasure, or the way she practices a fake phone number in her head to recite if social workers ask. Gallucci’s performance sells these moments without melodrama; her Carmen sounds like a kid who’s had to grow up too fast, her voice low and controlled until it isn’t, and then it’s devastating. The dual POV could’ve been a liability, but Gallucci distinguishes Ollie’s sections with a lighter, almost breathless cadence that underscores his sheltered worldview. Their romance isn’t insta-love; it’s a slow, wary dance where trust is a currency neither can afford to waste. My two critiques: The middle act drags slightly during Ollie’s subplot about college applications—it’s thematically necessary (contrast, privilege), but the pacing stumbles. And while the ending avoids cliché, it *does* lean a bit too hard on a late-stage reveal that feels engineered for emotional impact rather than organic to the story. Still, the audiobook’s production is flawless—no jarring edits, no distracting background noise—just two kids’ voices, raw and real, fighting to be heard.