Trell

I’ll admit: I hit pause three times in the first hour. Not because *Trell* is poorly made—quite the opposite—but because Turpin’s performance is so *relentless* in its intimacy. There’s a scene where Trell confronts her boyfriend in a diner, and the way Turpin’s voice drops to a venomous whisper, then snaps into a laugh that’s 90% rage? I actually flinched. That’s the kind of audiobook this is: one that doesn’t let you look away, even when you want to. Lehr’s background in investigative journalism shines in the book’s structure—he weaves court transcripts and flashbacks without ever losing momentum, though the timeline jumps *occasionally* feel abrupt in audio form. (A minor gripe: a chime or subtle audio cue between shifts would’ve helped.) The pacing is otherwise masterful, building to a climax that’s less about the murder itself and more about the systemic forces that made it inevitable. My biggest critique? The ending lands with a thud of realism rather than catharsis, which might frustrate listeners craving resolution. But that’s also what makes *Trell* linger. It’s not a story about justice served; it’s about justice *denied*, and Turpin’s final, exhausted sigh says more than any epilogue could. If you loved *The Hate U Give*’s emotional rawness or *I’ll Give You the Sun*’s lyrical grit, this is your next listen—but brace yourself. Turpin’s performance is a full-body experience, and Lehr’s writing doesn’t offer easy outs. The production quality is flawless (no distracting edits or volume dips), but the real star is the way the audiobook *sounds* like a confession, a eulogy, and a warning all at once.