Joe Goldberg working at a library is the kind of cosmic irony that Shirley Jackson would've appreciated. A stalker-murderer surrounded by books, helping patrons find their next read while internally monologuing about how he's going to "help" the librarian he's obsessed with make room for him in her life. Caroline Kepnes, you absolute maniac. I love it.
Look, I've been with this series since the beginning. Listened to the first two books in my apartment at 2 AM like the self-sabotaging horror fan I am. But there's something about Joe's move to a sleepy Pacific Northwest island that hits different. Maybe because I'm literally a librarian in Oregon and the vibes are way too close to home. Every time Joe made some observation about library patrons or the particular brand of small-town nosiness, I felt personally attacked. In the best way.
Santino Fontana IS Joe Goldberg Now
Here's the thing about narrating a character like Joe—you have to commit to the delusion. You can't wink at the audience. You can't telegraph that you know he's a monster. You have to believe, fully and completely, that Joe is the romantic hero of his own story. And Santino Fontana? He gets it.
I'll admit I was skeptical at first. Penn Badgley's voice is so embedded in my brain from the Netflix show that I wasn't sure anyone else could pull off that particular brand of earnest psychopathy. But Fontana brings something different—warmer, almost? Which sounds insane to say about a serial killer, but that's the genius of it. His Joe sounds like the guy at the coffee shop who remembers your order. The neighbor who offers to help you carry groceries. The helpful coworker who's just a little too interested in your personal life.
The character voices are distinct without being cartoonish. Mary Kay sounds grounded, real—which makes Joe's obsession with her feel even more unsettling. Her daughter Nomi has this teenage edge that Fontana captures without overdoing it. And when Joe's internal monologue shifts from romantic fantasy to something darker, the transition is so subtle you almost miss it. Almost.
The Slow Burn That Tests Your Patience (But Pays Off)
Okay, I'm not going to pretend this book doesn't drag in places. It does. The middle section—where Joe is essentially playing the long game, being the perfect gentleman, inserting himself into Mary Kay's life through sheer helpfulness—can feel repetitive. My podcast listeners know I'm all about slow-burn horror, but even I found myself checking how much time was left during a few of those library scenes.
But here's what Kepnes understands that a lot of thriller writers don't: the horror isn't in the action. It's in the anticipation. It's in watching someone methodically dismantle the barriers between themselves and their target while genuinely believing they're being romantic. The dread builds because you know—you KNOW—this isn't going to end well. And when things finally start unraveling? I was listening during my commute and had to pull over because I couldn't focus on driving.
The last few hours are where Fontana really earns his paycheck. The pacing picks up, the tension ratchets, and his performance shifts into something more urgent. There's this moment—I won't spoil it—where Joe's mask slips just slightly, and the way Fontana delivers it made me genuinely uncomfortable. That's the good stuff. That's what horror should do.
Who Gets to Be Uncomfortable (And Who Should Skip)
If you've been with the You series, you already know what you're getting into. This is Kepnes at her darkest and most satirical—she's skewering small-town life, wellness culture, the particular brand of Pacific Northwest smugness, all through the eyes of a man who genuinely cannot understand why people don't just get out of his way.
New to the series? Maybe don't start here. The callbacks to previous books aren't overwhelming, but you'll get more out of Joe's character arc if you've watched him "grow" (and I use that term loosely). Skip this if you need fast-paced action or if psychological violence isn't your thing. This is a character study wrapped in a thriller wrapped in a deeply uncomfortable love story. Firekeeper's Daughter has that same kind of psychological weight—different genre, but the same commitment to making you sit with discomfort.
The Librarian's Final Stamp
For those of us who like our horror served with dark humor and a side of social commentary? This gets it. Horror isn't about gore—it's about dread. Santino Fontana commits. That's rare. And at nearly fifteen hours, you need a narrator who can carry you through the slower stretches without losing the thread. He does.
My podcast listeners are going to love this one. Shirley (my cat) was unimpressed by my gasping during the final chapters, but she's never appreciated good horror anyway.
