Audiobook Sample
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- Title: Know My Name: A Memoir
- Author: Chanel Miller
- Narrator: Chanel Miller
- Length: 15:26:55
- Version: Abridged
- Release Date: 24/09/2019
- Publisher: Penguin Audio
- Genre: Biography & Memoir, Non-Fiction, Memoir, Social Science, Women
- ISBN13: 9.78E+12
There are books you listen to, and then there are books that listen to you – that echo in the hollow spaces of your experiences and reshape how you move through the world. Chanel Miller’s ‘Know My Name,’ read by the author herself, is firmly in the latter category. As someone who has spent years collecting stories in far-flung corners of the world, I can say this is one of those rare narratives that transcends its specific circumstances to become universal in its humanity.
I first pressed play on this audiobook while driving through the winding roads of Northern California, not far from where Miller’s story unfolded. The landscape outside my rental car window – that particular golden California light filtering through eucalyptus trees – became forever intertwined with the timbre of her voice. There’s an intimacy to hearing trauma narrated by the person who lived it that no actor could replicate. Miller’s performance is remarkably controlled yet vibrantly alive, her voice alternating between the crisp precision of a courtroom and the raw vulnerability of a private diary.
What struck me immediately was Miller’s mastery of language – her ability to transform pain into something almost sculptural in its beauty. The prose frequently took my breath away with its lyrical precision. When she describes the way trauma fractures time (‘The past wasn’t behind us, it was beneath us’), I had to pull over to absorb the weight of that observation. There’s a quality to her writing that reminds me of the most moving travel literature – that ability to make the personal feel expansive, to chart internal landscapes with the same care one might map uncharted territory.
Having sat with families in Oaxaca as they shared painful histories, I’ve learned that the most powerful testimonies often emerge in quiet moments rather than dramatic ones. Miller understands this instinctively. Some of the most devastating passages come in her descriptions of mundane details – the way her mother’s hands trembled making tea, the particular smell of the courtroom bathroom where she cried. These sensory details build a world so vivid you don’t just hear about her experience, you inhabit it.
The audiobook format proves particularly potent for this narrative. Hearing Miller’s measured breathing during difficult passages, the subtle catches in her voice when describing the trial, creates an unparalleled emotional immediacy. There’s a moment where she recounts reading her victim impact statement – hearing her voice strengthen with each sentence is more powerful than any dramatic reading could be. It’s the difference between watching a storm through glass and standing out in the rain.
Miller’s background as a visual artist informs her narrative approach. She has an extraordinary ability to zoom in on a telling detail (the way her assailant’s boat shoes looked on the stand) then pull back to reveal systemic injustice. The structure mirrors the way trauma operates – fragmented yet cohesive, circling key moments with increasing clarity. Her dark humor surfaces unexpectedly, like flowers growing through cracks in concrete, particularly when skewering the absurdities of the legal system.
For all its harrowing content, what lingers isn’t the brutality but the breathtaking resilience. Miller’s description of rebuilding her life has the quiet power of watching someone relearn a beloved craft after injury – tentative at first, then with growing confidence. The final chapters, where she reclaims joy and creativity, shimmer with hard-won light. I found myself thinking of something a healer in Peru once told me: ‘The deepest wounds make the most sacred spaces.’ Miller transforms her trauma into such a space – one that shelters others while remaining distinctly her own.
If I have any critique, it’s that the audio format makes it harder to sit with certain breathtaking passages – I frequently found myself rewinding to fully absorb her insights. The production is clean and unobtrusive, wisely letting Miller’s voice take center stage. At over 18 hours, it’s a substantial listen, but the time passes with surprising fluidity.
Compared to other memoirs of trauma, Miller’s stands apart in its literary artistry and refusal to simplify. Where some survivor narratives aim primarily to elicit sympathy, Miller demands engagement – with her brilliant mind, her wicked humor, her complex humanity. It’s closer to listening to a friend tell their story over many cups of tea than reading a formal memoir.
This audiobook would resonate particularly with listeners who appreciated Tara Westover’s ‘Educated’ or Jeanette Walls’ ‘The Glass Castle’ – memoirs that balance personal narrative with social commentary. But Miller’s voice is entirely her own, a blend of poetic sensibility and unflinching analysis that recalls the best of Joan Didion’s observational prowess.
As a traveler who’s witnessed both humanity’s cruelty and extraordinary compassion, I found in Miller’s story that same dual recognition. Her memoir does what the best travel literature aspires to – transports you completely into another consciousness while revealing universal truths about dignity, survival, and the transformative power of storytelling.
With ears open and suitcase always half-packed,
Marcus Rivera
