Sometimes I Lie

I’ll admit, I side-eyed the ‘unreliable narrator in a coma’ premise at first—it’s a trope that can feel gimmicky. But *Sometimes I Lie* pulls it off because of how deeply the audiobook commits to the bit. Stephanie Racine’s performance is the lynchpin: she doesn’t just *read* Amber’s lies, she *embodies* them. There’s a scene early on where Amber ‘confesses’ to her sister in a flashback, and Racine’s voice drops to this honeyed, almost seductive tone—only for the next chapter to reveal it was all fabrication. That whiplash? *Chef’s kiss.* The production leans into the audio medium’s strengths, using silence and breath to mimic the disorientation of a fractured mind. When Amber’s thoughts spiral, Racine’s delivery does too, her cadence speeding up until it’s almost breathless. That said, the timeline jumps can feel *too* deliberate at times. The ‘after’ sections, set in the hospital, drag slightly in the middle—Feeney’s clues are clever, but the audiobook’s pacing stumbles when it over-relies on Amber’s internal monologue. And while Racine nails the protagonist’s voice, some secondary characters (like the husband, Paul) blend together tonally, which muddies a few reveals. Still, the payoff is worth it. The final act lands like a gut punch, and in audio, it’s even more devastating because you’ve *heard* every lie, every hesitation, every moment Amber’s voice cracked under the weight of her own deceit. If you love thrillers that mess with your head—and your heart rate—this is a top-tier pick. Just maybe don’t listen before bed.