"Has the devil come to claim his due?"
That question hit me around hour three, and I had to pause the audiobook because Shirley (the cat, not Jackson, though she's named after her) had decided that exact moment was perfect for knocking my water glass off the nightstand. Classic timing. But honestly? The interruption didn't break the spell. If anything, coming back to Scott Brick's voice in the dark made the sulfur-and-brimstone atmosphere hit harder.
Preston and Child understand something that most horror-adjacent thrillers don't: dread is a slow cook. You can't rush it. And at nearly twenty hours, Brimstone takes its time—maybe too much time for some listeners, but I'm not some listeners.
The Pendergast Problem (And Why It Works)
Look, I've heard the complaints. "Too much showing off Pendergast's cultural refinement." "Tiresome." "Horribly drawn out." And I get it—if you're here for a tight, punchy thriller, this book will frustrate you. Pendergast is a lot. He's the kind of character who knows exactly which wine pairs with existential dread, and the narrative never lets you forget it.
But here's the thing: that's the point. The man is investigating what appears to be a literal demonic visitation, and he approaches it with the same detached intellectualism he'd bring to a rare manuscript. The dissonance is unsettling. It's supposed to be. Horror isn't just about what's scary—it's about who's scared and how they respond. Pendergast's refusal to be rattled by a claw print scorched into a wall? That's its own kind of creepy.
The mystery itself—four men, thirty years ago, conjuring something unspeakable—has that delicious Shirley Jackson energy. (The author, not my cat. Though she did seem unusually alert during the attic scenes.) The slow unraveling of what these men did and what's now hunting them down kept me hooked through the middle section where the pacing admittedly drags. That slow-burn tension reminds me of Passionate Friends, though that one trades supernatural dread for emotional complexity.
Scott Brick Commits—With Caveats
Brick's voice work here is genuinely impressive—his Pendergast has this aristocratic edge that never tips into parody, and he shifts tones cleanly enough that you forget it's one guy reading. There's a listener quote that stuck with me: "Scott Brick makes you forget he's one guy reading an audiobook." That's accurate.
But—and I noticed this during a particularly tense stretch around hour twelve—there are moments where he sounds like he's running short of breath. It's subtle. Most listeners probably won't catch it. But when you're deep in a horror audiobook at 1 AM (mistake? maybe), your brain is hyperaware of every vocal quirk. It pulled me out of the scene once or twice.
Now, about the Booktrack edition specifically: the musical soundtrack is... interesting. It's not overpowering—they weren't lying about that. It sits underneath the narration like ambient scoring in a film, rising and falling with the action. For me, it enhanced the atmosphere. The Long Island estate felt more oppressive, the supernatural elements more tangible. But I can see how some listeners might find it distracting. If you're a purist who wants just the words, the standard edition exists for a reason.
Who Should Summon This, Who Should Run
This is not a casual listen. Don't put this on while you're doing dishes and expect to follow the plot. The 19-hour runtime demands attention, and the pacing rewards patience over speed.
If you scare easily, skip. If you love slow-burn dread over jump scares, you need this—but know that it's book five in the series. You could theoretically start here, but you'd be missing context that enriches the character work. And if Pendergast's unflappable intellectualism sounds exhausting rather than intriguing? This isn't your entry point.
My podcast listeners are going to love this one. It's exactly the kind of horror-thriller hybrid that sparks good discussion—is it supernatural or isn't it? What did those men actually do? And does Pendergast's unflappability make him a great investigator or just deeply dissociated from normal human fear responses?
The Sulfur Lingers
I finished Brimstone at 2:47 AM. Shirley was asleep. The apartment was too quiet. And I found myself checking the corners of my ceiling—not because I believed anything was there, but because Preston and Child had spent nineteen hours making me feel like something could be.
Horror that actually respects the genre. It's not perfect—the pacing issues are real, and the Pendergast worship can feel excessive—but when it works, it works. The Booktrack edition adds a layer I didn't know I wanted. Worth a credit if you've got the patience for a slow burn and the darkness to listen in.
