The Lincoln Highway

I approached *The Lincoln Highway* expecting another coming-of-age yarn, but Towles delivers something far more ambitious: a novel that’s equal parts *The Great Gatsby* and *Stand by Me*, with the emotional punch of a punch to the gut. Ballerini’s narration is the secret weapon here—he doesn’t just read Towles’ words; he inhabits them. His Emmett is all raw teenage vulnerability masked by a front of macho bravado, while Ireland’s Duchess and Graham’s Duke are deliciously unpredictable, their voices dripping with the kind of menace and charisma that makes you lean in closer. The pacing is masterful, too, with the first half zipping along like a stolen getaway car before slowing to a melancholic crawl in the second, as the consequences of the Watson brothers’ decisions sink in. That said, the sheer sprawl of the story became a double-edged sword for me. By the time the audiobook’s midway point hits (around the 9-hour mark), I found myself craving a little more focus—there are tangents about hobos, jazz musicians, and a mysteriously missing suitcase that, while charming, sometimes threatened to derail the emotional core. And while Ballerini’s performance is nearly flawless, I occasionally wished the supporting narrators had shared the spotlight more evenly. Still, these are minor quibbles. By the time you reach the final act, with its explosive confrontation and quietly devastating aftermath, you’ll be too invested to care. *The Lincoln Highway* is the kind of audiobook that lingers long after the last chapter ends, a reminder that the best stories aren’t just heard—they’re lived.