Valse macabre

François Hatt doesn’t just read *Valse Macabre*—he haunts it. His voice, a rasp that could belong to a man who’s seen too much, gives Nora Kelly’s archaeological expertise and Smithback’s hard-boiled cynicism a raw, lived-in authority. The narration’s pacing is a masterclass: Hatt drags out the silences before a revelation like a filmmaker stretching a heartbeat before a jump cut, and his command of tone—switching from dry humor to guttural panic—makes even the most convoluted plot threads feel urgent. That said, the book’s biggest gamble—its reliance on occult lore—might leave skeptics cold. Preston’s obsession with the macabre occasionally teeters into overkill, with too many scenes of characters staring into mirrors or hearing whispers in empty rooms, as if the author’s trying to out-Stephen King Stephen King. The audio production itself is flawless, with no tinny echoes in the subway chase scenes or muffled dialogue in the museum heists. If you crave thrillers that don’t just entertain but actively unnerve, this is your nightmare. If you prefer your mysteries to keep one foot in reality, tread carefully—Preston’s world here is gleefully, unrepentantly unhinged.