The Iceman Cometh

I’ll admit: I approached *The Iceman Cometh* skeptical of yet another ‘simpler times’ memoir. But Pelle’s narration disarmed me within minutes. Her voice has this uncanny ability to toggle between the wide-eyed curiosity of a child (‘*Why* does the iceman’s block leave wet rings on the floor?’) and the dry humor of an adult looking back (‘Of course the one time we had extra coal, the furnace chose to die’). The production is clean—no frills, just Pelle’s intimate delivery, which suits the material. You’re not *listening* to a story; you’re eavesdropping on a confession over coffee. The standout moments are the ones that *shouldn’t* work on audio but do: Pelle’s imitation of her mother’s exasperated sigh when the iceman is late, or the way she stretches the word ‘*cold*’ to mimic a Chicago winter seeping through the walls. My only critique? The pacing stumbles slightly in the middle during a tangent about schoolyard games—it’s charming but feels like a detour from the tighter, more urgent scenes of family survival. And while Pelle’s performance is stellar, I wished for *just* a hint of ambient sound (a distant horse’s clip-clop, a furnace groan) to deepen the immersion. Still, this is a rare audiobook that makes history *physical*—you’ll swear you can taste the stale crackers her family ate to stretch a meal. If you’ve ever rolled your eyes at ‘back in my day’ stories, this one might change your mind.