Ever wonder if the city you live in actually hates you? Or loves you? Or—and this is the scary part—needs you to fight an eldritch abomination made of pure gentrification and bigotry?
(Okay, that got heavy fast. Welcome to my brain at midnight.)
I picked this up because, frankly, the cover looked like a neon nightmare and I was intrigued. I usually stick to straight horror—give me ghosts, give me slashers—but N.K. Jemisin writes dread better than most horror authors. And let me tell you, listening to The City We Became while walking home from the library in the dark? A choice. A very specific, paranoid choice. Shirley (my cat) was safe at home, but I kept looking over my shoulder expecting a tentacle made of white paint to grab me.
Robin Miles Is a Warlock
Let's just get this out of the way: I'm not exaggerating.
I listen to hundreds of these things a year, and usually, I can tell it's one person doing a "gruff voice" or a "squeaky voice." But Miles? She literally shapeshifts. When she's Bronca (the Bronx), she's got this terrifying, grounded Lenape grandmother energy that makes you want to straighten your posture. When she's Parris (Manhattan), she's smooth, moneyed, and dangerous. She does the same kind of vocal magic in Caste, where she has to carry the weight of centuries of pain without ever sounding performative.
(I may have developed a crush on the voice of Brooklyn. Don't judge me.)
People online keep saying she deserves an Oscar for this. They're right. She does the accents—Queens, Staten Island, all of them—and yeah, I saw some reviews complaining about the Brazilian accent being a little off. Maybe? I'm not an expert on Portuguese dialects, so it didn't pull me out of it. Her performance is so energetic that a slightly wonky vowel here or there doesn't matter. She commits. That's the rule. If you commit, I'm in.
When the Audio Engineering Flexes
Here's the thing about sound effects in audiobooks: usually, I hate them. They're cheesy. They distract from the words.
But here? It works. There's this low, throbbing hum when the city is "waking up" that actually made my skin crawl. It's not a full-blown radio drama, but there's just enough reverb and ambient noise to make you feel like you're standing on a subway platform at 3 AM.
It adds to the cosmic horror vibe. Because make no mistake, this is cosmic horror. It's Lovecraftian monsters, but Jemisin flips the script—instead of the fear of the "other," the monster is sameness. The monster is the force that tries to wipe out culture and make everything a generic Starbucks.
(As a librarian who fights to keep weird books on the shelves, I felt seen.)
The "Slow" Burn Debate
I saw a lot of people complaining that the first 75% is just character setup and it drags.
Hard disagree.
Look, if you need an explosion every five minutes, go watch a Marvel movie. This is about atmosphere. It's about meeting these avatars of the boroughs and understanding why they are the way they are. The "slow" parts are where the dread builds. It's the calm before the storm. I was never bored—I was tense.
That said, if you aren't into political commentary, you're going to have a bad time. Jemisin isn't subtle. The villain is literally a Karen in a white coat. It's aggressive, it's loud, and it's unapologetic. Personally? I loved it. It felt like a scream I've been wanting to let out for years.
Who's This For (And Who Should Run)
Listen if: You like your fantasy grounded in grit and your horror rooted in real-world fears. If you've ever felt like your city was alive—and maybe a little pissed off—this is your book.
Skip if: You want apolitical escapism or need constant action to stay engaged. Jemisin has things to say, and she's not whispering.
Closing the Book (But Not Really)
I finished this in a frenzy over a weekend, ignoring my laundry and possibly my friends. (Sorry, guys.) It's messy, it's loud, and it's brilliant. Robin Miles elevates what is already a great book into a performance art piece.
Just... maybe don't listen to the subway scenes while actually on the subway. It gets too real.
