I've been a reader for most of my life, but I'm always confused when the phrase “beach reading” comes up at the beginning of summer. In the colder months, readers are depicted as contemplative people sipping hot tea and reclining in leather chairs reading the complete works of the Brontë sisters. But as summer begins, the tea becomes iced tea, the chairs fold out, and the Brontë sisters become light, romantic, fizzy and fun.
But it seems like my schedule is off. As a college professor, I like to read light-hearted books during the semester when I want a break from reality. The semester that just ended was particularly hard, so relaxing with a romantic comedy or what I would classify as a beach read was just the diversion my brain needed at the end of each day. I felt a bit left out listening to other readers discuss the heavier books of the season, but I knew I needed an escape with a light-hearted read.
But when the sun is scorching, I gravitate toward heavier books. Maybe it's because I'm a quicker thinker, but what I want to read while huddled under a beach umbrella is a genuinely heartbreaking book — a heavy, well-written, very sad book. I want to see tragic mistakes and learn meaningful lessons. In the summer, when other readers seem to want a happy ending, I want to walk along the beach, munching on a big ice cream cone and lamenting human foibles.
This story dates back to a summer trip to London with my dad when I was 21. On the flight from Pittsburgh, I was engrossed in Jon Krakauer's Into the Sky, a deeply disturbing story about the 1996 tragedy on Mount Everest that left five people dead and many others racked with guilt. As my students will tell you, I couldn't put this book down, and I continued reading late into the night after we checked into our hotel, completely ruining my sleep schedule for the rest of my vacation.
I was dim-witted, but after reading this book, I couldn't help but think about the terrible choices it describes and how fragile life seems. Knowing how close we are to destruction left me feeling chastised, and the sights and sounds of the journey became more vivid. The tragedy in this book made me feel somehow alive, and my arrogance was kept in check. I was happy to explore decadent Eton Mess, leaving others to climb the mountain.
Since then, I’ve developed a summer habit of depressing reading. I brought Dave Cullen’s astonishingly well-reported and chilling “Columbine” on a trip to Paris. Sheri Fink’s “Five Days at Memorial,” a masterpiece about a New Orleans hospital before, during, and after Hurricane Katrina, on a family trip to Canada’s Maritimes. I devoured Michael Shaara’s Gettysburg novel “Killer Angels” during beach vacations in Cape May, New Jersey, and mused about Pickett’s Charge while searching for sea glass.
Each of these books captivated me with their thorough research, deep local knowledge, and expert craftsmanship. And I learned! Not just about the facts of each tragedy, of course, but also about the darkness in the human heart and the silver linings that flash through the clouds. I didn't envy the characters' misfortunes, but I was grateful to have been as close as I could to witness what they had endured and how they survived (if they survived at all). Then I left those worlds behind and sought solace in skee-ball and barbecues.
Now, my summer reading may stand out from many others', but I hope we all fall in love with the books we choose to read — that's the power of good literature.
So this year, while others on the shore read celebrity memoirs and romance novels, I'll be holed up on the beach with a book about the opioid crisis. But instead of feeling like an outsider because of seasonal preferences, I'm going to take note of what my neighbors are reading and make a list for fall. That way, when the next semester starts and work gets more stressful, I'll know exactly which book I can escape into for a fun, joyful escape… while I pull my afghan up to my chin and take a sip of piping hot tea.
Shannon Reed is a professor at the University of Pittsburgh and director of the Undergraduate Writing Program there. Her latest book is Why We Read: On Bookworms, Libraries, and Just One More Page Before Lights Out.
