Too Bright to See

I’ll admit: I wasn’t prepared for how *loud* this quiet book would feel. Jax Jackson’s narration as Bug is a revelation—not performative, but *lived-in*, like eavesdropping on a kid’s late-night thoughts. Their voice cracks just slightly during Bug’s most fragile moments (the scene where they try on Moira’s dress in the thrift store *destroyed* me), and the pauses feel intentional, like Bug is figuring out the words in real time. Lukoff’s sections as the uncle, by contrast, are smoother, almost hypnotic, which makes the ghost’s sudden anger or sorrow land like a gut-punch. The production team deserves credit for the audio’s tactile quality: when the uncle’s voice echoes, it’s not a cheap reverb effect, but something more organic, like memory itself. That said, the pacing stumbles in the middle. The ghost’s backstory drags slightly, and Bug’s internal monologues about gender—while crucial—sometimes repeat beats we’ve already absorbed. I also wished the ending lingered more; the resolution with Moira feels rushed after such careful buildup. But these are quibbles. What stays with me is how the audiobook *sounds* like grief and possibility at once: the way Bug’s breath hitches when they’re lied to, the way the uncle’s laughter fades into static. It’s not just a story about being seen—it’s about the terror and relief of seeing *yourself*.