"It's the smell of old paper that gets you. Dust and magic."
Okay, that's not a direct quote from the book, but it's the vibe I was swimming in for ten hours. I started listening to The Lions of Fifth Avenue right after finishing a stack of particularly painful sophomore essays on The Great Gatsby. I needed a palate cleanser. I needed books about books.
Here's the setup that made me click purchase immediately: A family actually lives inside the New York Public Library. In an apartment. Hidden behind the stacks. (I checked Zillow immediately. It's not listed. I checked twice.)
Two Voices, Two Centuries
We've got a dual timeline situation here—1913 and 1993. Usually, this is where audiobooks fall apart for me because I lose track of who is talking while I'm trying to dodge cyclists on the Lakefront Trail. But here's why it works: Erin Bennett and Lisa Flanagan split the duties.
One voice handles Laura Lyons in 1913—the superintendent's wife who's waking up to the suffragette movement. The other takes Sadie Donovan in 1993—Laura's granddaughter and a curator dealing with missing manuscripts.
The distinction is sharp. Necessary, actually. The 1913 sections have this crisp, slightly urgent cadence that fits a woman realizing her life is too small for her brain. It reminded me a bit of Nora Helmer in A Doll's House—that frantic energy of someone about to slam a door. The 1993 sections felt a bit more hesitant, which tracks because Sadie is written as risk-averse (honestly, sometimes a bit frustratingly so).
Some reviews I read said the narration felt "flat" in places. I get that. There were moments in the 1993 timeline where I zoned out a little. It wasn't bad, just... competent. It didn't grab me by the throat like a great performance of Jane Eyre might. Erin Bennett does grab me by the throat in Golden Girl, though—her range there is something else. But for a mystery? It got the job done.
When The Books Go Missing
The plot revolves around book thefts. As an English teacher, the idea of someone stealing first editions from the Berg Collection physically hurts me. It's visceral.
I found myself way more invested in the 1913 timeline. That pull toward historical depth over contemporary mystery? I felt it even more intensely with Sing, Unburied, Sing—different era, same gravitational force. Laura's journey into the "Heterodoxy Club" in Greenwich Village—bohemian radicals discussing birth control and voting rights—was fascinating. It felt alive. The narrator really leaned into the energy of those scenes.
The 1993 mystery with Sadie? Eh. It felt a little more like a standard procedural. I found myself checking the time remaining during her chapters, mostly because I wanted to get back to 1913 to see if Laura was going to blow up her marriage. (Spoiler: Self-discovery usually comes with collateral damage.)
Who's Going to Love This (And Who Should Skip)
If you're the kind of person who gets a thrill walking past stone lions, you're the target audience. Book lovers, library romantics, anyone who's ever fantasized about living among the stacks—this one's for you. Skip it if you need your mysteries to move fast or if dual timelines make you twitchy; the 1993 sections drag compared to the historical stuff.
Mr. Williams Assigns the Grade
Look, is this high literature? No. My grad school professors would probably roll their eyes. But it's a love letter to the New York Public Library, and sometimes that's enough.
I listened to the last hour while pretending to organize my classroom library. When the threads of the two timelines finally tied together, it was satisfying. Not earth-shattering, but satisfying. Like a perfectly brewed cup of coffee.
It's a solid B+. Good for the commute, great for book lovers, but maybe don't expect it to change your life. Just enjoy the scenery.
