Okay, so I have to be honest with you. I started this audiobook while doing some late-night logo work for a client who wanted "something edgy but professional" (you know the type), and I was absolutely not prepared for where Fanny Hill was going to take me.
This book was written in 1749. In a debtor's prison. And it's basically the great-great-grandmother of every spicy romance novel sitting on your Kindle right now. My abuela would have clutched her rosary so hard it would've left marks. And honestly? I think she would have secretly kept listening.
The Vibes Are... A Lot
Look, here's the thing about Fanny Hill - this is not your cozy Sunday afternoon listen. This is explicit. Like, explicitly explicit. John Cleland wasn't playing around when he wrote this, and the various narrators lean into it fully. The book was banned for centuries for a reason, and listening to it in 2024 feels like you're getting away with something deliciously forbidden.
What surprised me though - and I genuinely didn't expect this - is that beneath all the scandalous content, there's actually a character here. Fanny isn't just a vehicle for titillation. She's observant, she's pragmatic, and she absolutely refuses to feel shame about her choices. That's pretty radical for an 18th-century heroine. She's basically saying "I did what I did, and I'm not sorry" while every other literary woman of her era was busy repenting on her deathbed.
The language is gorgeous too, in that flowery 18th-century way. Cleland uses so many euphemisms and elaborate descriptions that sometimes you're three sentences in before you realize what's actually happening. It's almost poetic? In a very dirty way.
The Narration Situation
So this version has "Various Readers" which - I'll be real - is a mixed bag. Some of the narrators bring genuine warmth and personality to Fanny's voice. They capture that knowing, slightly amused tone of a woman recounting her adventures to a friend. Those sections feel intimate and engaging.
But then you'll get a narrator switch and suddenly the energy shifts completely. Some readers lean a bit too theatrical, almost campy, which can pull you out of the story. Others nail the period-appropriate delivery but maybe play it a little too straight, missing the winking humor that makes Fanny's narrative voice so compelling.
The inconsistency is real. I found myself adjusting to new voices every so often, and just when I'd settle into one narrator's rhythm, we'd switch again. It's not a dealbreaker, but it does make for a bumpier listening experience than a single skilled narrator would provide.
Where It Drags (And It Does Drag)
At nearly nine and a half hours, this book feels its length. The 18th-century prose style means everything takes three times as long to describe as it would today. There are passages where Cleland goes on and on about settings and characters in such elaborate detail that I caught myself zoning out while coloring in vector shapes.
The pacing is uneven - some sections fly by with genuine narrative momentum, while others feel like Cleland was getting paid by the word (which, honestly, he probably was). The middle section especially tested my patience. I won't lie, I sped through some parts at 1.25x just to keep moving.
And while I appreciate the historical significance and the proto-feminist undercurrents, the repetitive nature of some scenes gets tedious. You can only describe similar encounters in so many flowery ways before it starts feeling like variations on a theme.
Who This Is Actually For
This audiobook is for a very specific listener. You need to be someone who:
- Appreciates literary history and wants to experience the OG of English erotica
- Can handle explicit content delivered in period-appropriate language
- Has patience for 18th-century prose rhythms
- Finds the idea of a shame-free heroine from 1749 genuinely interesting
If you're looking for a modern romance with steam, this isn't it. The language barrier alone makes it a different experience entirely. But if you want to understand where the genre came from - and you want to feel a little scandalous while doing laundry - Fanny Hill delivers.
I didn't cry during this one (shocking, I know - check my spreadsheet). But I did find myself genuinely rooting for Fanny by the end. She's a survivor, navigating a world that wasn't built for women like her, and she does it on her own terms. That's pretty powerful, even wrapped in all that elaborate 18th-century innuendo.
Abuela would have pretended to be horrified. But she definitely would have asked what happened next.
