“She’s the one who’s always reading `War and Peace.’ That’s how I know it’s the summer, when Doris is reading `War and Peace’ again.”
–Neil Klugman, in “Goodbye, Columbus”
I’m starting to get kind of nervous because spring is on its way out and soon it’s going to be summer and then it’s going to be summer vacation and I have nothing to read. Actually, that’s not true; I have plenty to read. My nightstand groans with the accumulated weight of books that have been urged on me by well-meaning people as guaranteed to improve my grasp of current events, my grasp of past events, my outlook, my world view, my ability to cope with my children, etc., etc.
Thus, I feel rather like the woman whose SRO closet would seem to belie her hysterical declaration about having nothing to wear. What she means, of course, is that she doesn’t have the right thing to wear for a particular event. What I mean, of course, is that I’ve got lots of books but I suspect there isn’t a single one on the night table that’s being heralded by publishers as a vacation or beach book.
According to Stuart Applebaum, spokesman for the Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, “summer has traditionally been prime time for a rush to market of mass-market paperbacks. In the last 10 or 12 years, it has also become a growth hardcover market, particularly (for) popular fiction.”
In theory it makes sense, I guess. What with all those people taking their two or four weeks off during June, July and August, publishers are simply stepping in to fill a void. After all, there has to be a limit to the amount of time people can spend lying about their golf score, trying to recapture their youth, arguing about the best method for making frozen daiquiris and burning food on the grill. Indeed, a friend recently informed me that the fellow operating the food concession on the beach in Greenwich, Conn., sells books right alongside the hot dogs and hamburgers. Mustard, ketchup and, oh, here’s “The Kiss.”
But if you think about it a bit more, the whole idea of summer reading makes just about as much sense as a suede bathing suit. Why, on a sunny day in the middle of a beach in the middle of a beach volleyball game to the accompaniment of a hundred screaming, sand-kicking kids (a couple of them yours), would you suddenly get it into your head to try to read anything more challenging than a take-out menu?
In the winter, when the weather is lousy and there’s nothing to do and you’re stuck inside–why wouldn’t you read then? What could be better than, say, Soren Kierkegaard and a blizzard? Arnold Toynbee and a hailstorm?
And anyway, if publishers were really serious and sincere about this beach-book stuff, why wouldn’t they outfit their books with terrycloth covers?
Obviously, I could sit here all day and tell you how the summer reading thing is purely and simply a marketing ploy, but I’m not going to get anywhere with any of you. You’re just going to go right on cramming books into your duffel bag. But think before you pack: What, precisely, are your goals?
For some people, summer is the season for pure escapist entertainment, a time to find out what John Grisham, Tom Clancy and those purveyors of gliterature Danielle Steel and Judith Krantz have been up to for the last year. For others, those who view the arrival of the estival solstice as the starting gun for the self-improvement relays, it’s the time to dig dutifully into all those behemoths of books praised so highly–and lengthily–in The New York Review of Books.
For most, however, the goal of summer reading is neither entertainment nor enlightenment. The goal is simply to impress fellow vacationers. For those of you who genuinely intend to use your vacation profitably, to read and learn and grow, allow me to give you some advice about reading matter. For those who are only interested in books for looks, well, I’ve drawn up some guidelines for you too:
Non-readers: All of you in this group–you know who you are–need to keep in mind that summer reading is like fashion. Just as you don’t want to be wearing poufs and bustiers when everyone else has moved on to simple silk separates, you don’t want to be out there in public with “The Horse Whisperer,” “The Runaway Jury” or anything else that was big on the beach last summer when everyone else is buried in “Sole Survivor” or “The Partner.”
Far more embarrassing than last year’s books are last decade’s books: “Liar’s Poker,” “Barbarians at the Gate,” “Bonfire of the Vanities.” At best, people will think you’re an unpardonably slow reader, at worst that you have not one scintilla of book chic. Remember to turn pages every few minutes, occasionally making comments like, “Getting a little derivative here,” or “Does this guy know how to write or what?”
Social studies for non-readers: If you’re a woman trying to meet guys, it would probably not be the best idea to be seen poring over “The Rules,” but rather “The Joy of Sex” (OK, so it’s probably 30 years old, but all classics bear re-reading). You also might want to try something like “How to Invest Your Millions” (also good for men trying to pick up women).
Self-improvement for non-readers: Yes, it’s possible to work on the outer you while appearing to have only the most lofty aims in mind. Look for books with very white pages, which makes them ideal for use as sun reflectors. You can get the same results with a book that has a sliver foil jacket.
If you didn’t spend as much time working out this winter as you had planned, a coffee-table book held firmly across the midsection can serve as dandy camouflage. You may have to field questions from people who want to know why on Earth you would bring a book like “The Impressionist Garden” to the beach, but you certainly don’t have to answer. Let them attribute it to sunstroke. And that same oversize book will work admirably in the case of a stiff wind when you need to anchor a small child.
Tips for readers: You don’t want a book so good that if it gets accidentally buried in deep, deep sand by a badly brought up dog or a child you’d feel impelled to rent a backhoe to retrieve it. Try anything by Robin Cook, Michael Crichton, John Saul, Belva Plain. Try Lorenzo Carcaterra’s new “Apaches.”
And you certainly don’t want a book that is too funny, the sort that would cause those lying in a hammock to fall out and make desperate pleas for orthopedic intervention. Best, then, to avoid Ian Frazier or certain portions of Christopher Buckley’s “Wry Martinis.”
Tips for blonds, redheads and anyone else who needs to be mindful of sun exposure: You don’t want a book that is so engrossing, so stimulating that you forget to turn over, so that at the end of the day you are an unidentifiable frying object. “Finnegan’s Wake,” “Ulysses” and anything by Thomas Pynchon would work admirably here.
The ideal summer book: Five minutes after the end you can’t remember the names of the characters, 10 minutes later you can’t remember the plot, and 20 minutes later you can’t remember the title. Which means, of course, that you can read it again next summer.
