Three weeks ago I found out about the O'Brian books. I managed to lay my hands on most of the talking books, and am now happily chugging my way through the third, H.M.S. Surprise. There's only one catch, see.
The narrator-who-isn't-Patrick-Tull is terrible.
Tonight, after he got home, I wailed at Paul like a petulant child forced to listen to her favorite book, formerly read with care by her mother, dictated instead by a bored, disinterested stranger: "He's not doing the voices right! Aubrey -- he's supposed to be a big, red-faced buffoon, but this guy makes him sound like a -- a Disney buffoon! And Maturin is an Irishman, for God's sake. He should be crankier! I want my crankypants convalescent doctor to sound like he actually means to throw his posset at Bonden's head!"
Twenty minutes later I had downloaded the Patrick Tull version of H.M.S. Surprise from Audible.com.
Heavens help me, I think I'm obsessed.