Towers

I’ll admit, I went into *Towers* expecting another *Mad Max* meets *Neuromancer* mashup, but what I got was far more interesting—and frustrating, in the best way. Schott’s worldbuilding is *relentless* in its specificity: the towers aren’t just a setting, they’re a character, their humming energy shields a constant reminder that freedom is a myth. The story unfolds through a fractured timeline, jumping between the initial collapse and the present-day power struggles, and while the structure takes a chapter or two to gel, it pays off by the midpoint. The real standout is how the book treats its villains—not as mustache-twirling monsters, but as people who genuinely believe their cruelty is necessary. That moral ambiguity keeps you second-guessing who to root for. Natalie Duke’s performance is *excellent*, though not without quirks. Her pacing is deliberate, almost claustrophobic, which mirrors the characters’ trapped existence—but at times, the slower delivery makes the exposition-heavy sections drag. (A minor gripe: her male voices occasionally veer into caricature, especially for the gruffer characters.) The sound production is crisp, with no distracting edits, though I wish the ambient effects—subtle tower hums, distant alarms—had been used more sparingly to heighten tension rather than as a constant backdrop. Where *Towers* stumbles slightly is in its third act, where a few convenient revelations feel rushed compared to the methodical buildup. Still, the ending lands with a gut-punch that lingers, making this one of the more haunting cyberpunk listens I’ve encountered this year. If you love your dystopias *personal* rather than epic, give this a shot—but don’t expect easy answers.