Spring

I went into *Spring* expecting another pretentious, self-satisfied literary experiment, but Ali Smith left me flat-footed—this is a book that demands your attention and rewards it with sharp, surprising insight. Adjoa Andoh’s narration is the reason this audiobook works as well as it does; she navigates Smith’s labyrinthine sentences with the ease of a seasoned performer, but it’s her ability to switch registers mid-paragraph—from caustic humor to devastating vulnerability—that makes the experience unforgettable. That said, the book’s biggest strength is also its biggest flaw. Smith’s digressions into art history and philosophy can feel like a trampoline jumping: exhilarating for a chapter, exhausting by the midpoint. The political tangents, while sharp, occasionally veer into sloganeering, and the abrupt tonal shifts between whimsy and tragedy sometimes land as jarring rather than clever. The pacing is inconsistent, too. The first half crackles with energy, but the second half sags under the weight of its own ambition, leaving Brittany’s storyline—and her connection to Richard—feeling undercooked. Still, Andoh’s performance alone makes this worth a listen, especially for fans of narrators who treat prose like music. If you’re game for a book that feels like eavesdropping on a genius mid-conversation, *Spring* will reward you. If you prefer your fiction more disciplined, you might find yourself flipping ahead—just don’t skip the Mansfield interlude. It’s the best part of the book, and Andoh sells it like a sermon.