The Vermilion Sea: An Audiobook Review
I liked the idea of Billie’s position as a woman in science during a time when that required a particular kind of resilience, though her dynamic with Roland sometimes overshadowed the aspects of her character I wanted to understand more deeply. I also found that Billie’s thoughts about Roland sometimes felt slightly at odds with how she’s otherwise portrayed, and her frustration with his ambition felt uneven given her own. I also wished for more clarity about their past; the generalities made it harder for me to understand the depth of their conflict. I think I would have connected more if their dynamic as colleagues had been the foundation, with romance present but softer, instead of shaping most of their interactions.
I greatly enjoyed the audiobook narration by Karen Peakes. Her performance fits the era, gives each character a distinct presence, and adds emotional texture that deepened my experience of the story. The clarity of her delivery made the atmosphere vivid, and I’m glad I experienced this novel in audio form. Listening kept me more engaged than I imagine reading would have.
The dredging, blasting, specimen collecting, and lack of ethical restraint in 1920s marine biology bothered me in the way it was meant to — a discomfort that felt purposeful rather than gratuitous. The story shows how routine and unquestioned these practices were — bycatch treated as disposable and entirely expected, experiments unregulated, and scientists praised and professionally rewarded less for the quality of their research than for the sheer quantity of specimens they brought back. A moment between Maud and Billie, when they look down into the water and talk about the creatures below, stayed with me. Billie’s reflection, “Not seeing them is what would scare me,” echoed my own feelings but put them into words for the first time. It made the sea feel even more alive, watchful, and wounded, almost like a character in its own right.
I’m less certain how I feel about the creature itself. It’s described in ways that reminded me more of a marine mammal or an amphibian than a fish, so hearing it repeatedly called a “fish” sometimes pulled me out of the story. It’s referred to as an amphibian once or twice, which actually felt the most fitting and underscored how unusual it is — especially since no fully sea‑dwelling amphibians exist. (Its ability to communicate is certainly unique as well.) I would have preferred a more consistent term like “creature” or “sea monster,” at least from Billie, since she’s the marine biologist and we see things from her perspective. Later, the back‑and‑forth about what to do with the creature and what they were discovering started to feel repetitive. It dulled the momentum of the moments that were working for me. Still, it was intriguing.
In the final stretch, the danger did not reach the level of urgency the story kept signaling, and the final turn happened so quickly that it felt a bit rushed. It was satisfying, but perhaps too neat. To me, tropes are like templates: what matters is how they’re executed. I don’t mind the ending leaning on a familiar good‑versus‑bad dynamic, but it didn’t move beyond that framework enough to bring anything new or emotionally layered to the conclusion.
Speaking of tropes, I also didn’t feel that Billie and Roland’s relationship issues were meaningfully resolved. Their conversations stayed broad and circular, so the shift from exes to collaborators to something more didn’t feel fully earned. There was also a recurring pattern where Billie thinks something isn’t rational or is a bad idea, and then does it anyway. At a certain point, it began to feel more like a device than genuine internal conflict. Their scenes often pulled me away from the scientific horror and mystery unfolding around them. Fans of romance may not mind this at all, but I tend to connect more with romantic arcs that develop through deeper conversation and emotional specificity.
Even when certain elements didn’t fully land for me, I found the core idea of the story compelling. Megan Chance’s research into 1920s marine biology comes through in the details, and I appreciated how she used the slightly fantastical, eerie elements to explore the tension between scientific discovery and the harm humans have done to the ocean. I love how the sea is written so that it feels like a character of its own — alive, mysterious, and shaped by what we take from it. It made me think about how far we’ve come in marine ethics, and how much more there is to protect. The author’s afterword brought together the scientific, historical, and mythic threads behind the story in a way that deepened my understanding of the themes.
Overall, this read to me as a romantic historical fiction with an undercurrent of eerie eco‑horror and mystery, the genres moving in waves — no pun intended, but I’m pleased it fits. The romance didn’t always land for me, but it’s still a novel I’d recommend. The atmosphere, ethical tension, and strong narration kept me listening.
3.25 ⭐
Thank you to Brilliance Publishing (Brilliance Audio) and NetGalley for the advance listening copy of The Vermilion Sea by Megan Chance.
(Oceans produce 50–80% of the Earth’s oxygen. Growing up by the sea, I’ve always felt connected to it and personally donate to Oceana, though there are many organizations out there doing meaningful work if you’re curious to explore them. 🐬)
Rating Guide: My star ratings represent personal resonance, not universal value. I admire writers for the courage it takes to be seen and the discipline it takes to create. Thank you!
- ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 — Deeply resonant, even when I can’t fully put it into words
- ⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 — Compelling and well-written
- ⭐⭐⭐ 3 — Not quite my style, but still enjoyable
- ⭐⭐ 2 — Had promise but didn't quite land
- ⭐ 1 — Fell short of what I hoped for
