A sentient pudding named Albert who is rude, ill-mannered, and whose only joy in life is being eaten. That's the premise. That's what I listened to instead of writing my thesis tonight.
And honestly? I regret nothing.
A Pudding With Thin Arms and a Bad Attitude
Look, I came into this expecting a cute little Australian children's classic. What I got was something way weirder and funnier than I anticipated. Norman Lindsay wrote this in 1918 as basically an argument that kids prefer food-based adventures over fairy nonsense, and the result is this absurdist romp where a koala, a sailor, and a penguin form a secret society dedicated to protecting a pudding that regenerates after every meal. The book is divided into four "slices" instead of chapters - already we're operating on a level of commitment to the bit that I respect deeply.
Albert the pudding is the real star here. He's got spindly little arms and legs, he's constantly getting stolen by pudding thieves (a possum and a wombat in various disguises), and he's just... mean about it. He insults everyone. He throws tantrums. He's basically the worst NPC your DM ever voiced, except he's also lunch. The same chaotic, argumentative energy that makes trickster characters so fun to read shows up in Coming of Conan the Cimmerian too, just with considerably more sword violence and considerably less pudding. My D&D group would love this - there's a recurring gag where the characters break into songs and poems mid-argument that reads like the kind of in-character nonsense my table devolves into by hour three of a session.
The humor is distinctly old-school Australian, which means it's dry, absurd, and slightly unhinged. There are courtroom scenes. There are elaborate disguise schemes that fool absolutely no one. Bill Barnacle threatens violence with the casual enthusiasm of a man who has been at sea too long. It's genuinely funny in a way I wasn't expecting from something written over a hundred years ago.
Ilianthe Behind the Mic
So here's where it gets complicated. Ilianthe's narration carries a warmth and energy that fits the whimsical tone pretty well. The pacing is solid for a two-hour listen - she doesn't rush through the poems and songs, which is important because Lindsay peppered those things everywhere. Her tone shifts between the narrator voice and dialogue are clear enough that you can follow who's talking most of the time.
But - and this is the thing that kept nagging at me - Sam Sawnoff and Bill Barnacle can sound a bit too similar in stretches. When you've got a penguin and a sailor bantering back and forth in rapid dialogue, you need those voices to be distinct. Steven Pacey walked so other narrators could run, and part of what makes ensemble casts work in audio is that your ear can instantly tag who's speaking without the "said Bill" attribution. Ilianthe doesn't quite nail that separation consistently. Albert the pudding does get his own crotchety energy though, which matters because he's the character you're really listening for.
The production is clean - no weird audio artifacts, no jarring level changes that I noticed. For a two-hour children's audiobook, the quality is perfectly serviceable. Some folks have mentioned the dynamic range being a bit flat in spots, and yeah, I can see that - the courtroom scenes and the chasing-the-pudding-thieves sequences could've used a bit more vocal punch to match the chaos happening on the page.
Two Hours Well Spent (Sorry, Dr. Patel)
I threw this on while reorganizing my board game shelf - pulling out all the Gloomhaven stuff to make room for the Frosthaven expansion I still haven't opened. Perfect pairing, honestly. The listen is light enough that you don't lose the thread while sorting minis, but funny enough that I caught myself laughing out loud at Albert calling everyone a "low pudding-thief" with maximum indignation.
At just over two hours, this is basically a palate cleanser between your 40-hour Sanderson marathons. It's not trying to be epic. The magic system is - well, there isn't one really, except a pudding that reforms itself and can transform between steak-and-kidney, plum duff, and apple dumpling depending on what you ask for. Which, okay, if we're being honest, is a pretty elegant magic system by kids' book standards. The rules are clear. The limitations are defined. The pudding is the pudding. Chef's kiss.
Is it going to blow your mind? No. But it's a genuinely charming, funny, weird little story from 1918 that holds up better than most things that old. If you've got kids, this is a great bedtime listen - short enough to finish in a couple nights, silly enough to keep them hooked, and Albert's terrible personality is the kind of thing children find absolutely hilarious.
Who Gets a Slice and Who Goes Hungry
If you love The Wind in the Willows energy - talking animals getting into absurd trouble with a distinctly British-Commonwealth sensibility - you'll dig this. If you need plot progression and stakes, this ain't it. The pudding thieves steal the pudding, the heroes get it back, repeat with escalating silliness. That's the loop. If you don't like that loop by slice two, bail.
For the price of a credit? At two hours, I'd say stream it through your library or a subscription service. It's delightful but it's a snack, not a meal. (Albert would be furious at that metaphor.)
