Zombie

I’ll admit: *Zombie* left me deeply unsettled—and not always in the way I expected. Oates has a knack for crawling inside the minds of troubled young men, and Quentin P. might be her most disturbing creation yet. The novel’s structure, told through fragmented perspectives (parents, teachers, the accused himself), keeps you guessing, but the real horror isn’t the *if* but the *how much*. Bocci’s narration amplifies this unease. His voice is smooth, almost hypnotic, which makes the moments of violence—both physical and psychological—hit even harder. There’s a scene midway through, where Quentin’s internal monologue shifts from defensive to downright sinister, and Bocci’s delivery sent chills down my spine. That said, this isn’t a flawless listen. The pacing drags in the second act, where Oates’ repetitive exploration of Quentin’s family dynamics starts to feel like wheel-spinning. And while the ambiguity is intentional, the ending may frustrate listeners craving resolution. Still, the audio production is crisp, with no distracting edits, and Bocci’s performance ensures even the slower sections maintain tension. If you’re drawn to stories that probe the limits of empathy—where the villain might also be the victim—this is a haunting, if polarizing, pick. Just don’t expect to walk away feeling clean.