I expected to struggle with this one. A 16th-century Spanish nun writing about prayer and spiritual perfection? For my students, that's about as appealing as a root canal. But here's the thing: Teresa of Ávila wasn't writing for posterity. She was writing for her sisters. Real women. Real struggles. And somehow, across five centuries, that intimacy survives.
I listened to this over three weeks of lakefront walks with Denise, and what struck me first wasn't the theology—it was the voice. Not Ann Boulais' voice (though we'll get there), but Teresa's. She's funny. Self-deprecating. She interrupts herself constantly with asides like "but I'm getting off track" and "forgive me, sisters, I know I repeat myself." Sound familiar? She'd have made a decent podcaster.
When a Mystic Sounds Like Your Favorite Aunt
The popular opinion on Teresa is that she's this austere, floating-above-it-all mystic. And yes, she writes about contemplative prayer and union with God and states of rapture. But she also writes about how annoying it is when nuns gossip, how to handle sisters who think they're holier than everyone else, and why you shouldn't pretend to be sick to get out of chores. This is practical wisdom wrapped in spiritual language.
What surprised me—genuinely surprised me—is how much of this applies to anyone trying to build a disciplined life. Replace "prayer" with "writing" or "teaching" or "any creative practice," and half of Teresa's advice still lands. She's talking about showing up. About not waiting for inspiration. About the difference between going through the motions and actually being present. Redeeming Love explores that same tension between discipline and genuine transformation, though through a very different lens.
My students would absolutely hate this. I kind of love it.
Ann Boulais and the Art of Stillness
Ann Boulais has a clear, warm voice—the kind you'd want reading you something calming before a stressful meeting. She maintains a steady, almost meditative pace throughout, which is exactly right for this material. You don't want someone performing Teresa like Shakespeare. The text is already intimate; it doesn't need theatrical flourishes.
That said, I understand why some listeners find it monotone. Seven hours of contemplative spiritual instruction at a consistent tempo can feel... long. If you're looking for dramatic variation or character voices (there aren't really characters), this isn't that kind of audiobook. Boulais is reading a treatise, not a novel, and she treats it accordingly.
I listened at 1.0x—because of course I did—and found the pacing appropriate for walks and quiet evenings. But I'll admit: during one particularly dense section on the Lord's Prayer (Teresa spends multiple chapters on it), I did zone out for a few minutes. That's partly the text, partly the delivery, partly the fact that I was also trying to avoid a cyclist on the path.
A Book You Sit With, Not Consume
Here's what I want to say to anyone considering this: it's not a book you consume. It's a book you sit with. Teresa herself says you shouldn't rush through it—take a chapter, think about it, come back. The audiobook format actually works well for this approach. Listen to a section during your commute, let it percolate, return to it.
The production is clean—no background noise, no volume issues. This appears to be from LibriVox, which means it's a volunteer recording, and Boulais does quality work here. Nothing fancy, but nothing distracting either.
What I kept thinking about was how this text has survived. Not just survived—remained in print, been translated into dozens of languages, still gets assigned in seminaries and theology programs. Teresa wasn't writing for us. She was writing for a handful of Carmelite nuns in 16th-century Spain. And yet here I am, a high school English teacher in Chicago, finding myself nodding along to her advice about humility and perseverance. Her Mother's Hope does something similar—intimate family stories that somehow speak across generations.
That's the thing about classics. They don't always announce themselves as classics. Sometimes they're just someone trying to help the people they love live better lives.
Who This Is (and Isn't) For
If you're interested in Christian mysticism, contemplative prayer, or the history of women's spiritual writing, this is essential listening. If you're looking for something to keep you awake during a long drive, look elsewhere. The Way of Perfection asks for your attention, your patience, and your willingness to slow down.
Probably wouldn't listen straight through again. But I could see returning to specific chapters—Teresa's sections on mental prayer, on dealing with dryness in spiritual practice, on the difference between consolation and genuine growth. This is reference material disguised as continuous text.
The Bell Rings, But the Lesson Stays
My students would tell me that's too much to ask. But then again, they also tell me Faulkner is "extra." They're not wrong. Neither was Teresa.
