The Radium Woman

I’ll admit: I approached *The Radium Woman* skeptical that a book written for teens in 1939 could hold my attention today. But within minutes, Enid Otun’s narration—measured yet electric—had me hooked. She doesn’t just read Doorly’s words; she *embodies* Curie’s relentless drive, her voice dropping to a growl when describing the male scientists who dismissed her, then softening with wry tenderness during Curie’s letters to her husband, Pierre. The production is clean, with no distracting edits, but the real star is how Otun handles the book’s emotional whiplash: one moment, you’re laughing at Curie’s stubbornness (she once carried a jar of radium in her pocket *for fun*), the next, you’re gut-punched by the cost of her obsession. That said, the book isn’t without flaws. Doorly’s 1930s perspective occasionally romanticizes Curie’s self-sacrifice in ways that feel outdated—her radiation poisoning is framed as tragic but almost noble, a trope modern listeners might bristle at. And while the brevity is a strength, some historical context (like the political climate of pre-WWI Europe) gets glossed over. Still, the audiobook’s power lies in its refusal to sand down Curie’s edges. Otun’s delivery makes even the denser scientific passages compelling, and the final hour—covering Curie’s later years—is devastating in its quiet honesty. If you’ve ever rolled your eyes at “inspirational” women’s biographies, this is the antidote: a portrait of genius that’s messy, human, and utterly alive.