The 7th Canon

I’ll admit, I rolled my eyes when I saw *another* legal thriller, but *The 7th Canon* hooked me in the first chapter—and not for the reasons I expected. This isn’t a whodunit; it’s a *why*-dunit, and Dugoni’s real talent is making you question who *deserves* justice in a world where the line between victim and villain blurs. The defense attorney, Paul Madriani, is a compelling mess: a lapsed priest with a sharp legal mind and a drinking problem, defending a man he’s not sure is innocent. The courtroom scenes crackle, but the real drama happens in the shelter’s back rooms and the Tenderloin’s alleys, where Cronin’s narration takes on a gravelly urgency. His performance is *exceptional*—especially when voicing the accused priest, Father Thomas, whose quiet despair feels painfully real. That said, the pacing stumbles in the middle. Dugoni’s detours into Madriani’s personal life (ex-wife drama, a conveniently timed new love interest) feel like obligatory thriller beats, and a subplot involving a corrupt cop never quite lands with the same impact as the core mystery. The production, though, is flawless: Cronin’s delivery is so immersive that even the slower sections hold your attention, and the subtle use of sound design (a distant siren here, a creaking floorboard there) adds texture without distracting. The ending? Brutal and satisfying, but don’t expect neat resolutions—this is a story about broken people, not heroes. If you love thrillers with moral ambiguity and narrators who *inhabit* their roles, this is a standout. Just be prepared to sit with the discomfort.