Okay, let's address the elephant in the room immediately. "The American Sherlock Holmes."
Whenever I see a blurb like that, my eyes roll so far back into my head I can see my own frontal lobe. It's usually marketing fluff for a character who is merely observant and socially awkward. But here? Arthur B. Reeve actually kind of earns it with Craig Kennedy.
I listened to Poisoned Pen while meal-prepping for the week (chickpea curry, if you must know—it tastes better after sitting for a day, unlike my patience for bad plotting). And honestly? I was charmed.
Here's the thing about Kennedy: he doesn't just deduce things by looking at mud on a shoe. He uses science. Or well, 1912 science. We're talking early lie detectors, invisible inks that react to sunlight, and seismographs used to measure heartbeats. As a psychologist, watching the infancy of forensic psychology and physiological stress measurement was fascinating. (My dissertation committee would probably tell me I'm projecting modern theory onto pulp fiction, but they aren't here, are they?)
The Vibe: Vintage Radio Drama
We have to talk about Elliott Miller. I couldn't find much of a bio on him, but the man has a voice like a 1940s newsreel. He does that Mid-Atlantic accent—you know, that posh, half-British, half-American dialect that Cary Grant used? It is perfect for this text.
He doesn't just read; he performs. It felt less like an audiobook and more like I was tuning into an old radio frequency. He distinguishes the characters well, too. Kennedy sounds sharp and intellectual, while his sidekick Jameson (the American Watson, obviously) sounds appropriately bewildered.
(Side note: Why does the genius detective always need a bewildered friend? Psychologically, it's narcissism. They need an audience. Kennedy is no different.)
Where it Gets a Little Dry
Look, I love a good mystery. I grew up on Agatha Christie—my mother has an entire shelf dedicated to her, organized by death method. But Reeve isn't Christie. Christie understands people; Reeve understands gadgets. Speaking of understanding people, I wish I could say the same for No One There, which had all the psychological depth of a cardboard cutout.
The stories follow a strict pattern. Crime happens -> Kennedy brings out a weird machine -> Science solves it -> Jameson says "Wow!"
By the eighth or ninth story, I found myself zoning out a bit during my morning run along the Charles. The formula gets repetitive. It's not a binge-listen. It's a "listen to one episode while folding laundry" kind of book.
Also, some of the "science" is hilarious by modern standards. But you have to suspend disbelief. Treat it like a historical document of what we thought the future would look like.
Who Should Listen (And Who Should Skip)
If you're a fan of Sherlock, The Alienist, or just the history of forensics, you'll get a kick out of this. It's clean (no gore, really), it's clever, and Elliott Miller's narration elevates the material from "dated text" to "immersive period piece." Skip it if you need deep psychological profiling or complex character studies—Kennedy catches bad guys with chemistry, not by analyzing their childhood trauma. Which, frankly, is a nice break for me. My therapist says I need to stop analyzing everyone anyway.
