Audiobook Sample

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Hello fellow story wanderers, it’s Marcus Rivera here – travel writer, collector of voices, and believer in the power of stories to bridge time and distance. Today I want to take you on an auditory journey through wartime Poland and modern-day America, with Kelly Rimmer’s poignant novel as our guide.

As I listened to ‘Things We Cannot Say’ during a long train ride through the Polish countryside last autumn, the landscape outside my window seemed to synchronize perfectly with Ann Marie Gideon and Nancy Peterson’s narration. The way sunlight fell on fields that might have witnessed similar horrors to those in Rimmer’s novel made the experience profoundly immersive – much like those evenings in Oaxaca listening to abuela’s stories, where the past felt palpably present.

The dual narration proves masterful for this dual-timeline story. Gideon handles the contemporary storyline of Alice, a modern mother unraveling family secrets, with a warmth that captures both her maternal exhaustion and growing determination. Peterson’s performance as Alina in 1942 Poland carries the weight of history – her voice trembling with youthful hope at the story’s beginning, then hardening like winter soil as Nazi occupation intensifies. Their vocal contrast creates immediate temporal distinction, yet their shared emotional authenticity binds the narratives together.

Rimmer’s writing shines in audio format, particularly in sensory descriptions that transported me to both eras. The crunch of frost underfoot in a Polish winter, the metallic taste of fear during a soldier’s interrogation – these moments gain visceral impact through spoken word. The epistolary sections especially benefit from audio treatment, feeling like discovered voice messages from the past.

The novel’s exploration of silenced truths resonated deeply with my work documenting oral histories. Like the displaced families I’ve interviewed in refugee camps from Jordan to Guatemala, Alina’s story demonstrates how trauma echoes through generations unless given voice. Alice’s modern storyline, with its themes of balancing caregiving and self-discovery, adds contemporary relevance that prevents the historical sections from feeling like distant artifacts.

While the narrators generally excel, some listeners might find the pacing of emotional scenes occasionally rushed – particularly in Alina’s most harrowing moments where more silence could have amplified impact. The Polish pronunciation also wavers at times, though never distractingly so. These are minor quibbles in an otherwise superb audio production.

For fans of ‘The Nightingale’ or ‘The Tattooist of Auschwitz,’ this offers similar emotional depth with a unique focus on postwar silence and its consequences. The alternating timelines create narrative propulsion that makes this particularly compelling as an audiobook – I found myself taking long walks just to continue listening.

What stays with me most is how Rimmer, through these talented narrators, gives voice to what historian Marianne Hirsch calls ‘postmemory’ – the way second-generation trauma survivors inherit stories they never directly experienced. As someone who’s spent years collecting such intergenerational narratives across cultures, I can attest to the novel’s emotional truth about both the weight and necessity of breaking silence.

As the train pulled into Kraków that evening, finishing the final chapter while watching families reunite on the platform, I felt that rare alchemy where a story transforms from entertainment to lived experience. If you’re ready for an audiobook that will walk beside you long after the narration ends – one that honors both historical truth and the personal journeys required to uncover it – let Kelly Rimmer’s words and these narrators’ voices be your guides. Until our next literary journey, keep listening deeply. – Marcus
Marcus Rivera