Middle of Things — A vintage puzzle box without the theatrics

Everyone remembers Agatha Christie. She's the brand name, the Starbucks of the Golden Age mystery world. But J.S. Fletcher? He's the dusty, independent coffee shop down the alley that only locals know about—the kind of place where the barista judges your order. I found The Middle of Things while doing inventory in the mystery stacks at work (my day job involves a lot of spine-taping and judging patrons' taste), and decided to give the audio a spin.

I listened to this during a late-night cataloging session. The library was empty, the lights were dim, and the silence was heavy enough to crush a lesser librarian. Perfect setting for a murder mystery, right? Well, sort of. If you're expecting the suffocating dread of The Haunting of Hill House or the psychological ruin of a modern thriller, you're in the wrong aisle. For actual dread, Six Creepy Stories by Edgar Allan Poe delivers the kind of atmosphere that makes Shirley leave the room. This is a puzzle box, not a coffin.

Here's the thing about LibriVox recordings—and let's be clear, that's what this is. You are rolling the dice. You might get a narrator who sounds like they're recording from inside a tin can during a hurricane. Kehinde, thankfully, is not that. But he's also not giving you a performance. There's a massive difference between acting a book and reading a book. Modern productions spoil us with distinct voices for every grumbling detective and swooning damsel. Kehinde just... reads.

It's straightforward, no-frills delivery. He doesn't try to do a falsetto for the "veiled woman" or a gravelly bass for the inspector. He maintains a steady, rhythmic pace that feels less like a dramatic reenactment and more like someone reading to you by a fireplace. For some, that's going to be boring. For me? Oddly cleansing. It stripped away the artifice. You have to pay attention to the text because the narrator isn't using vocal cues to tell you how to feel.

The story itself is vintage Fletcher. Viner, our protagonist, takes a walk down Markendale Square and literally stumbles into a plot involving murder, imposters, and secret papers. It's the kind of plot that relies entirely on people being in the wrong place at the right time—a trope that feels quaint now but was the bread and butter of 1922. Refreshing to listen to a mystery where the characters can't just Google the suspect or track a cell phone. They have to actually, you know, think.

Is it scary? No. My cat Shirley slept through the whole seven hours, completely unbothered. Is it engaging? Yes, in a cerebral, low-stakes way. Undone sits somewhere in the middle—more tension than Fletcher, less cerebral than I usually prefer. This one's background radiation for the mind.

If you need high-octane thrills or professional sound design, skip this. But if you appreciate the roots of the genre and can handle a narrator who respects the text enough to stay out of its way, give it a shot. Golden Age completists and anyone who's ever muttered "they don't write 'em like they used to" will find something to love here.