Quick Take
- Narration: Dwayne Reed narrating his own debut novel is the audiobook’s greatest asset, he sounds exactly like the Chicago teacher he is, and exactly like the characters he writes.
- Themes: finding your voice, community ownership, overcoming stage fright through purpose
- Mood: Warm and rhythmic, with genuine comic timing and neighborhood energy
- Verdict: One of the best author-narrated middle-grade audiobooks in recent years, Reed’s voice performance makes Simon feel like someone you already know.
I started listening to Simon B. Rhymin’ on a weekday morning commute and found myself grinning on the train in a way that made the person sitting next to me uncomfortable. Dwayne Reed’s debut novel has that quality: it makes you feel good in a specific, unguarded way, the way music from your past does when it catches you off guard.
The setup is disarmingly simple: eleven-year-old Simon Barnes, small for his age and unwilling to use his voice in any public setting, secretly rhymes everything in his head. He is the kid who sees the poetry in the school hallway, in his neighborhood, in the way his mom talks, but cannot bring himself to share it. When his new teacher assigns an oral presentation on something affecting their community, Simon’s private interior world collides with everything he has been avoiding. What follows is a story about public performance anxiety, neighborhood identity, and the specific way that young people find the courage to say something out loud for the first time.
The Teacher Who Wrote This Book
Dwayne Reed became briefly famous for a viral back-to-school music video called Welcome to the 4th Grade that caught the internet’s attention for its sheer sincerity. He is a Chicago teacher who understands, at a cellular level, how kids actually talk, what they actually care about, and which pop-culture references will make a reluctant reader lean in. The novel is saturated with that expertise. A teacher reviewer noted that Reed weaves in writing strategies, the kind actually taught in elementary school, alongside student interests and the way they speak. This is an author who is not imagining a child reader from a distance.
Reed’s self-narration is the audiobook’s defining feature. His voice sounds like the book sounds: energetic, affectionate, funny without trying too hard, and deeply at home in the Chicago neighborhood where the story is set. The rhymes that Simon produces in his head land differently when Reed delivers them aloud, there is rhythm in the delivery that print can suggest but audio can actually produce. One reviewer who works with elementary students said her class loved Simon because he could be anybody’s best friend. That quality comes through in Reed’s narration specifically.
Simon and the Notorious D.O.G.
Reed gives Simon the aspirational alter ego of Notorious D.O.G., the fearless rapper Simon imagines himself becoming, and uses that dual identity to track the gap between who Simon is and who he is trying to become. This is a well-worn structure in middle-grade fiction, but Reed’s execution is fresh because of its specificity. The community Simon wants to rap about is rendered in real detail: the neighborhood crew, the concerns that actually matter to kids in his situation, the adults who notice him and those who do not. The story does not arrive at a triumphant performance by skipping the hard parts; Simon has to actually face his fear, fail a little, try again, and find that his voice works differently than he expected.
The series continues beyond this first installment, and readers who discovered book one are predictably eager for more. One parent noted they were glad this was the beginning of a series because they would want to read more about Simon and his friends. That appetite is earned.
Why This Works Especially Well as an Audio Experience
Middle-grade fiction about music, rap, and rhythm has a challenge most other genres do not: the medium has to carry something that is fundamentally sonic. Simon’s internal rhymes are funny on the page, but they are funnier, and more alive, when spoken aloud by the person who wrote them. Reed’s delivery of Simon’s interior raps has the quality of live performance, not recitation. There is a reason this audiobook is described by one teacher as ideal for reluctant readers: listening to it makes the story’s argument for the power of spoken language in the most direct possible way.
Who Should Listen and Who Should Skip
Simon B. Rhymin’ is an ideal listen for children aged 8-12, and especially strong for kids who love hip-hop culture, who struggle with speaking in class, or who are looking for protagonists from Chicago’s South Side neighborhoods. Teachers looking for content that connects with reluctant readers will find it invaluable. The 3.5-hour runtime is comfortable across a few listening sessions. Skip if you are looking for high fantasy or adventure plotting, this is a quiet neighborhood story about a kid finding his voice, and it does not pretend to be anything else.
Frequently Asked Questions
Does Simon B. Rhymin’ work as a standalone, or do you need to read the series in order?
Book one is entirely self-contained and works perfectly as a standalone. The series continues with additional Simon adventures, but the first book has its own complete emotional arc. Start here without any concern about needing future installments.
How does Dwayne Reed’s real teaching background affect the story?
Noticeably. Reed incorporates actual writing strategies taught in elementary school into the narrative, the pop culture references are accurate to what students in that age range actually care about, and Simon’s teacher feels like a real teacher rather than a fictional construct. The school scenes have an authenticity that is difficult to fake.
Is the rap and hip-hop content in this audiobook appropriate for younger listeners?
Yes. The content is entirely age-appropriate. Simon’s raps are funny and community-focused. The hip-hop framework is used to celebrate creativity and voice rather than any adult subject matter.
Why is this audiobook particularly effective for reluctant readers?
Reed’s narration sounds like the book’s own characters speak, rhythmic, funny, and immediate. The short chapters and the premise of a kid who communicates through rap rather than standard prose lower the barrier for children who associate reading with effort. Hearing Reed deliver Simon’s internal rhymes aloud makes the story’s energy palpable in a way the page can only approximate.
