Proprio come te

Roberto Accornero’s narration is the secret weapon of this audiobook, transforming what could’ve been a run-of-the-mill middle-age crisis story into something richer. His interpretation of Lucy—equal parts weary and wickedly observant—feels like eavesdropping on a friend’s late-night rant about her ex, or a work colleague’s brutal but hilarious take on the dating pool. There’s a warmth to his delivery that makes Lucy’s misfortunes feel less like a cautionary tale and more like the kind of mess you can’t look away from, even though you know you should. I don’t think I’ve heard a narrator handle Hornby’s blend of cynicism and heart so effortlessly; Accornero doesn’t tip into caricature, even when Lucy’s self-sabotage reaches farcical levels. That said, the audiobook isn’t without its hiccups. The production sometimes feels overly polished, which dulls the edges of Hornby’s more unhinged moments (like Lucy’s disastrous attempt to hook up with her daughter’s orthodontist). The pacing also stutters in the final third, as if the story’s momentum got tangled in Lucy’s second-guessing. Still, these are minor quibbles for a performance that otherwise nails the book’s tone—wry, tender, and just a little bit vicious. If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to laugh at your own life while simultaneously wishing you could rewind to the part where you didn’t humiliate yourself, this audiobook is your therapy session with a side of sparkling prose.