What happens when you fall so completely for someone that you lose yourself in the process? Like, genuinely lose yourself - your identity, your purpose, your whole sense of who you are?
I finished this book at 2 AM with mascara running down my face and both cats staring at me like I'd finally lost it. And honestly? Maybe I had. Nineteen hours with Nan King will do that to a person.
The Voice That Carried Me Through Victorian London
Juanita McMahon. I need to talk about her for a second. Her voice has this warmth that wraps around you - not in a polished, performative way, but like she's telling you a secret across a pub table. She captures Nan with this perfect blend of naivety and hunger, and when Nan's heart breaks (spoiler: it breaks a lot), you feel it in McMahon's delivery before the words even register.
Now, I've seen some folks mention her accent can be thick for listeners not used to British narration. Honestly? I didn't find it distracting at all. But I also grew up watching BBC dramas with my abuela, so maybe I'm biased. She'd clutch her rosary at this book, by the way. The scenes between Nan and Kitty would have her gasping in Spanish. Miss you, Abuela - you would have secretly loved this one.
McMahon's character differentiation is solid. Kitty sounds different from Nan, who sounds different from the parade of complicated women Nan encounters throughout her journey. There were moments - particularly in the middle section when Nan's life takes a dark, desperate turn - where McMahon's pacing slowed just enough to let the weight of it settle in your chest.
When the Story Ripped My Heart Out (Multiple Times)
Look, here's the thing about Sarah Waters: she doesn't just write queer historical fiction. She writes about longing so intense it becomes its own character. The first act with Nan and Kitty? The chemistry is chef's kiss. The slow build of their attraction, the way Nan describes watching Kitty perform in her suit and top hat - I was designing a wedding invitation project and had to stop because I couldn't see through my tears.
But this book isn't just a love story. It's a coming-of-age that takes some genuinely dark turns. There's a middle section that's brutal - Nan makes choices born from desperation and grief, and Waters doesn't soften any of it. I won't spoil it, but let's just say there were moments I had to pause and take Frida for a walk around the block just to breathe.
The vibes shift dramatically throughout the 19 hours. You start in a cozy oyster parlor in Canterbury, move to the glittering chaos of Victorian music halls, and then... well, the streets of London aren't always kind. It's a rainy Sunday book that becomes a "stare at the ceiling questioning everything" book that eventually - eventually - becomes something hopeful again.
This Book Felt Like Finding an Old Photograph
There's something about hearing queer history told through audio that hits different. These women existed. Maybe not Nan specifically, but women like her - oyster girls and music hall performers and women who loved women in an era that would destroy them for it. McMahon reads it with such tenderness, such care for these invisible histories.
I ugly-cried at least three separate times. The scene where Nan finally sees Kitty again after everything? My heart. MY HEART. That kind of emotional devastation reminds me of Lord of the Flies - completely different setting, but the same gut-punch of watching characters lose their innocence in brutal, irreversible ways. And the ending - I'm not going to tell you what happens, but I will say I sat in my car in the parking lot of the grocery store for ten minutes just... processing.
Some reviewers have called McMahon's performance melodramatic. I disagree. This is a melodramatic story. It's a Victorian novel with all the sweeping emotion that implies. If you want subtle and restrained, this isn't your book. But if you want to feel absolutely wrecked in the best possible way? Get in.
The audiobook includes a bonus interview with Sarah Waters, which is a lovely little addition - she talks about researching Victorian queer life and the real music hall performers who inspired the story. It made me want to immediately start her other books (The Night Watch is next on my list).
Who Should Listen (And Who Should Skip)
If you love slow-burn sapphic romance, Victorian settings, and stories about identity and reinvention - this is your book. Skip it if you need something light: there's sex work, emotional abuse, and some genuinely bleak stretches.
But god, it's beautiful. The kind of beautiful that leaves bruises.
I listened at my usual 1.0x because I wanted to savor every syllable of Waters' prose, and McMahon's delivery rewards that patience. This isn't a book to rush through. Let it unfold. Let it hurt. Let it heal you a little bit by the end.
Abuela would have pretended to be scandalized and then asked me to tell her what happened next. That's the highest compliment I can give.
