The Virgin Suicides

I went into *The Virgin Suicides* expecting a morbid curiosity piece—after all, how many books start with five teenage girls taking their lives? But Eugenides crafts something far more unsettling: a story about the way we mythologize loss, even when we’re the ones left behind. Landrum’s narration is the reason this audiobook works as well as it does. His voice has a smoky, introspective quality that perfectly suits the novel’s tone, making the boys’ collective fixation feel both tender and disturbing. He doesn’t overact; instead, he lets the words do the work, which is crucial for a story that thrives on ambiguity. The production is clean, but the real magic is in Landrum’s ability to shift between reverence and unease—one minute he’s lingering on a memory of Cecilia’s suicide attempt, the next he’s whispering the Lisbon sisters’ names like a plea. That said, the audiobook isn’t without its flaws. The story’s nonlinear structure can feel disjointed at times, especially in audio form where it’s easy to lose track of the timeline. And while Landrum’s voice is a great fit, his occasional shifts into higher registers for the Lisbon sisters sound a bit jarring—almost as if he’s trying too hard to differentiate the characters. But these are minor quibbles. The heart of *The Virgin Suicides* lies in its atmosphere, and Landrum nails it. This isn’t a book you listen to for answers; it’s a book you listen to for the experience—one that’s as beautiful as it is heartbreaking.