The Frequency of Silence

Okay, so I’m not usually into acoustic thrillers, but this one? Hooked me. Mira’s nerdy setup—microphones like silver beads, spectrograms blossoming—is oddly sexy. The scene where the player slides from A2 to low G and the room starts to hurt in the ribs? Goosebumps. The rooftop face-off with the developer is pure movie-moment energy (I cheered). I also have to give props for the blind tuner—love a character who’s quietly uncanny. Bit of a guilty pleasure: the security chief is a little too gleefully ruthless, like they rolled a villain die and got “classic,” but honestly I didn’t mind. Fast, smart, and weirdly poetic. Would read again. 🎧

I wanted to love this—great premise, evocative opening—but felt increasingly frustrated by the execution. The acoustical detail and the 17 Hz spectrogram are the book’s strengths, and the early scenes (the violist’s sweep, the stagehand’s sudden sickness) are vividly done. But plot-wise, the narrative relies too much on coincidences: the blind tuner conveniently senses the infrasound, the friend’s analysis tool appears exactly when needed, and several characters act with unbelievable tunnel vision for the sake of suspense. The security chief reads as a one-note antagonist (ruthless for the sake of being ruthless), and the developer’s motivations never go beyond greed-as-caricature. Pacing is uneven—brisk in the middle, then rushed into an implausibly tidy rooftop showdown on opening night. Still, if you can suspend disbelief and enjoy technical thrills, parts of the book sing. I just wish the character work matched the clever premise.

Cute idea, gorgeous prose in places, but also kind of predictable. The blind tuner trope? Been there. The evil developer on the roof? Sigh. I’m all for thrillers that lean hard on atmosphere (that line about the chandelier as a frozen galaxy was gorgeous), but by the time the security chief shows up as ‘ruthless’ and the rooftop showdown rolls in, I was yawning at the beats. A few clever details (17 Hz, the crow hitting the glass) kept me going, but overall it reads like a polished short film script with fewer surprises. Nice to skim on a rainy afternoon, not a book I’ll remember long.

The concept is excellent—an opera house weaponized by infrasound is eerie and original—but the story doesn’t fully exploit its potential. Characters beyond Mira are thin: the security chief acts mainly as a plot impediment, and the developer is a cliché. The friend’s analysis tool is a convenient gadget that solves problems too cleanly; there are several moments where I said, ‘surely not that easy.’ Pacing is another issue: the middle drags with repeated technical explanations, then the climax happens abruptly on the roof. That said, the sensory writing is strong (I can still see the crow against the glass), and Mira’s practical, methodical approach makes her engaging. With tighter character work and less reliance on tropes, this could have been a standout thriller.

I finished this feeling a little deflated. The imagery is often beautiful—the harbor breeze, the fresh paint smell, the spectrograms—but the emotional stakes never quite land. Mira’s competence is appealing, but I wanted more about her internal life; the blind tuner has an intriguing gift that’s underexplored. The crow hitting the glass and the stagehand’s sudden illness are powerful moments that suggest deeper resonance, yet the book moves past them in favor of procedural beats. The rooftop confrontation is tense, but the antagonist’s motivations feel thin and the ending ties up a little too neatly: the hall ‘learns to sing safely again’ is a lovely line, but it reads like an optimistic gloss rather than an earned transformation. If you love technical thrillers and atmospheric set pieces, there’s a lot to admire. If you want character-driven payoff, you might be left wanting.

I loved this. The Frequency of Silence grabbed me in the first paragraph—the gulls, the glass, that haunting line about the chandelier like a frozen galaxy—and never let go. Mira Kovács is a beautifully drawn protagonist: cool under pressure but quietly human, the way she watches the spectrogram bloom at seventeen hertz made me shiver. The scene where the violist slides down and the stagehand gags felt visceral and uncanny; I could almost feel the pressure in my jaw. The rooftop confrontation on opening night is cinematic and tense without being melodramatic. I also adored the smaller touches—the crow hitting the glass, the smell of fresh paint, the blind tuner’s uncanny gift, and the friend’s analysis tool that ties tech and intimacy together. The writing balances technical detail and atmosphere so well that the acoustics feel like a character. It’s a smart, emotional thriller that kept me turning pages. Definitely recommend ♫

Short, sharp, and atmospheric. The opener with the gulls and the glass hooked me; Mira’s quick, practical voice carried the technical scenes without ever getting bogged down. The infrasound detail—those aches in the ribs, the thin line at seventeen hertz—was chilling. Opening night rooftop showdown was satisfyingly dramatic. Liked it a lot.

Beautifully atmospheric and tightly plotted. Mira Kovács is a compelling lead—clever, focused, and human. The writing makes the opera house itself feel alive: I was there when the violist’s sweep made the room ache and when the crow hit the glass. The blind tuner and the friend’s analysis tool are lovely companions for Mira’s technical detective work. The rooftop showdown is tense and earned; it never feels gratuitous. A few characters could have used extra shading, but the prose and the premise more than make up for it. A gripping read for anyone who likes smart thrillers with sensory detail.

The Frequency of Silence is one of those thrillers that manages to be both technically satisfying and deeply humane. The city’s new opera house is rendered with such sensory clarity—the lacquered balcony, the wax of new seats, the salty harbor breeze—that the infrasound threat feels not only plausible but intimately connected to the space itself. Mira Kovács functions as a detective of sound; her tools (the mic constellation, the laptop, the blind tuner’s gift) are extensions of her intelligence and compassion. I particularly loved the slow-burn reveal: the spectrogram’s thin bright line at seventeen hertz, the stagehand gagging, the crow splattering against the glass—these elements escalate tension without cheap shocks. The developer on the roof epitomizes a kind of civic vanity, and the rooftop confrontation is charged both physically and ideologically: it’s less about beating a villain than reclaiming a public acoustic commons. A beautiful final image—“the hall learns to sing safely again”—felt earned and moving. This is a novel that respects both its science and its sorrow; highly recommended for readers who like their suspense with atmosphere and brains.

As an engineer I appreciated how the story treats acoustics not as mere window-dressing but as the engine of the plot. The passage describing the spectrogram bloom at 17 Hz—“hues creeping at the lower edge like weeds”—is a rare piece of prose that makes a technical phenomenon feel eerie and tactile. Mira’s methodology (microphones laid out “like a constellation”) and the blind tuner’s ear give credible roots to the fiction: you can picture the measurement grid, the sweep from A2 to low G, and how infrasound would manifest physiologically (the pressure in the ribs, the jaw). The friend’s analysis tool is a good plot device, and the choreography of evasion—unplugging mics, mapping deadly nodes—is thrilling and plausible. My only mild quibble: the security chief sketches as ruthlessly efficient, bordering on archetype, but even that plays well against the polished developer on the roof for a satisfying climax. Tight, clever, and refreshingly nerdy thriller work.