Still Life Audiobook by Sarah Winman

It was on a misty Sunday morning—coffee in hand, sunlight streaming through the kitchen window—that I pressed play on Sarah Winman’s Still Life. There’s something about stories set between Italy and England that always tugs at my wanderlust, but this novel offered so much more than evocative scenery: it unfurled like an old tapestry, filled with unexpected warmth and wisdom that lingered long after I’d finished listening.

Winman’s story opens in 1944 Tuscany, where the chance meeting of young British soldier Ulysses Temper and art historian Evelyn Skinner becomes a touchstone for decades to come. This encounter alone swept me away; Evelyn’s passion for art and her sly wit felt instantly familiar—like conversations I’ve had with older friends who carry history around like fine jewelry. The years that follow see Ulysses back in postwar London among his eccentric pub family—a cast so vividly drawn I felt as though I could reach out and clink glasses with them myself.

What resonated deeply was the notion of chosen family—the ways people can knit themselves together against loneliness or loss. My own circle of friends is scattered across time zones now; listening to these characters carve joy from hardship reminded me how connection endures across distances, whether they’re physical miles or emotional scars left by war. Each voice in this story is distinct (even Claude the parrot!), but all are united by humor, loyalty, and a willingness to embrace life’s imperfections.

Perhaps what makes Still Life truly sing is its reverence for art—not just paintings hung in Tuscan villas but also ordinary acts of creation: sharing meals, restoring homes, caring for each other after heartbreak. Winman writes with lyrical empathy; moments describing Pontormo’s luminous works echo beautifully against Florence’s crumbling walls. There are literary ghosts too—E.M. Forster drifts quietly through the narrative—reminding us how stories shape us even when we don’t realize it.

If there was one thing missing from my experience (and here’s where audiobook lovers will nod knowingly), it was detailed information about the narrator; unfortunately, their name isn’t listed anywhere official! That said, whoever read this performance understood every nuance—from Cressy’s moral steadiness to Ulysses’ gentle resilience—and lent softness and gravity where needed. Dialogue sparkled without ever feeling forced; subtle inflections brought both humor and sorrow into sharp relief.

The only minor challenge lay in following some shifts across decades—it takes careful listening not to lose track—but ultimately those jumps make sense: memory itself isn’t linear but layered, colored by longing or regret or sudden bursts of gratitude.

Still Life gave me precisely what I crave most from audiobooks: not just escape into distant worlds but renewed appreciation for beauty wherever it hides—in battered pubs or Tuscan olive groves alike. If you love novels that balance heartbreak with laughter and celebrate unlikely families found along life’s winding road (and honestly…who doesn’t?), then pour yourself another cup of coffee and settle in with this one.