The Testing is basically YA Hunger Games with a standardized test theme, and I mean that in the best possible way. I found this one during Sophie's nap time last Tuesday — she actually slept for 90 minutes, which basically never happens, and I burned through almost four hours of it. I did not move. I ate a granola bar standing over the kitchen sink and called it lunch. High praise.
Cia Vale is sixteen, freshly graduated, and gets selected for The Testing — this post-apocalyptic process where the government identifies future leaders by putting teenagers through increasingly horrifying trials. Think college admissions if college admissions could literally kill you. The premise hooked me fast: the psychological mind games start almost immediately, and Charbonneau doesn't waste time getting Cia into genuine danger. That same slow-burn institutional dread is something I ran into in Power of the Dog, where the machinery of power grinds people down in ways that feel just as suffocating, just with considerably more adult brutality. There's a moment early on where Cia realizes she can't trust the people she thought were allies — including someone she cares about — and that paranoia just sits with you. The whole book has this low hum of dread underneath even the quieter scenes, which is impressive for what's essentially a YA adventure.
The romance is there but blessedly not the whole point. Tomas is sweet without being annoying, and the relationship feels earned rather than instalove-y. As someone who has read approximately one million YA books where the girl forgets she's in mortal danger because a boy smiled at her, I appreciated this.
The Narrator Situation (We Need to Talk About It)
Okay. Elizabeth Morton. This is where it gets complicated.
Her pacing is... deliberate. Like, very deliberate. I listen at 1.25x as my baseline and I bumped this up to 1.5x pretty quickly, which I almost never do. At normal speed she enunciates every single syllable in a way that made me feel like I was being read to at story hour, not experiencing a story about teenagers getting psychologically dismantled by their government. The somber, measured tone works when Cia is being careful and strategic — there's actually something fitting about a flat affect for a character who's been told to trust no one and show nothing. But when the book hits its genuinely tense moments — and there are several — Morton's delivery doesn't shift gears the way the story demands. The horror doesn't land with the same weight on audio as it probably does on the page.
I'll say this: she does capture Cia's interiority well. The internal monologue stuff, the careful observation, the quiet determination — that comes through. It's the external action and fear where the performance falls flat. So if you're someone who listens for character over plot, you'll probably be fine. If you need your narrator to sell you the danger, you might want to read this one instead.
Survived 47 pauses and still made sense, which matters enormously to me. The plot is clear and linear enough that coming back after a chaotic school pickup and a toddler who refused to nap and an argument about whether dinosaurs are real (they were, Lucas, they were) — I always knew exactly where I was.
Is This Your Next Listen?
If you loved The Hunger Games and want something in that world without committing to a 20-hour epic, yes. Absolutely yes. It's 11 hours, which is manageable across a week of drop-off drives and nap windows. The story clips along, the stakes feel real, and the ending — while it does set up the next book — gives you enough resolution that you won't throw your phone across the car.
If you need narration that punches you in the feelings during the scary parts, this version might frustrate you. The story earns its tension; the audio delivery doesn't always cash the check.
Not groundbreaking, but sometimes you don't need groundbreaking. Sometimes you need a teenager outsmarting a dystopian government while you eat a granola bar over the sink. Car time approved. Nap time approved. Probably my book club would love this — if I ever have time for book club again.
