Yoga

I’ll admit: I approached *Yoga* skeptical of yet another white man’s spiritual quest. But Carrère disarms you immediately by mocking his own pretensions. The book opens with him at a meditation retreat, meticulously observing his breath—until news of the *Charlie Hebdo* massacre reaches him, and his carefully constructed calm collapses. That whiplash between serenity and chaos becomes the audiobook’s heartbeat. Laber’s performance is crucial here. He nails Carrère’s voice—erudite but self-lacerating, with a rhythm that feels like a confession over coffee. When Carrère spirals into obsession over a lover or rages at the absurdity of grief, Laber’s delivery tightens just enough to convey the mania without melodrama. My only critique? The production occasionally smooths over Carrère’s fragmented style; some sections (like his abrupt shifts between retreat notes and personal crisis) could use more audible texture—maybe a slight tonal shift or pacing variation—to mirror the book’s disjointedness. And while the philosophical tangents are fascinating, they sometimes stall the narrative momentum, leaving you waiting for the next emotional explosion. Still, this is a rare audiobook that *needs* to be heard, not just read. Carrère’s prose is already intimate, but Laber’s voice—especially in the raw, unguarded moments—makes it feel like eavesdropping on a therapy session. If you’ve ever rolled your eyes at wellness culture or wondered how anyone meditates through real pain, this is your audiobook. Just don’t expect to leave it feeling peaceful.