The Clockwork Murders

Terrence Scott Miller’s narration is the grease that keeps Francom’s clockwork plot running smoothly. His Holmes is a delightfully smug and razor-sharp detective, dripping with arrogance that never feels overwrought, while his Watson is the perfect foil—a measured, curious voice that grounds the story in warmth. Miller’s performance shines especially in the technical descriptions; he modulates his tone to make even the most complex steampunk contraptions sound intriguing, not like a dry instruction manual. His pacing is relentless, which works most of the time, but I’ll admit the final act’s breakneck speed left me wishing for a breath before the denouement. That said, Francom’s world feels so vivid you can almost smell the oil and coal dust in the air, and the mystery itself is a masterclass in misdirection. The reveal pulled me up short—I’d convinced myself I’d cracked the case hours earlier, only to realize I’d been tracking the wrong culprit entirely. If I have one quibble, it’s that the supporting cast occasionally blurs together, with too many mustache-twirling villains and one-dimensional society types. Still, Miller’s narration elevates even the flimsiest character to a presence you can’t ignore. By the final chapter, I was left wanting more, which is the best kind of mystery.