The beach read unread

What is summer reading and why don’t we do it?

There are some things we just don’t read: terms and conditions, emails from the editor-in-chief of The Varsity, or the “Please drink responsibly” label on the side of a Smirnoff Ice, just to name a few. Around July and August, there is an addition to that list that comes in the form of novels given the doomed label of “summer reading.” The title alone is enough to conjure up images of paperbacks sitting on nightstands or in tote bags that, come September, remain permanently dog-eared around page 75. The paradox of the “beach read” emerges from the fact that, unlike all the tasks of self-improvement that we guiltlessly ignore on a daily basis, summer reading is actually something that many people tell themselves they will do before promptly putting it off until it’s too late.  

It wasn’t always this way. The concept of the summer read goes back over one hundred years, and for most of its history, the term has elicited thoughts of ease and relaxation. As far back as 1906, a New York Times book reviewer cited the type of novel published in and around the summertime as evidence of “a tide of frivolity in the public.” The summer read was in many respects equivalent to what the summer blockbuster is today: lighter fare that’s easy to consume and doesn’t require much brainpower. And similar to attitudes towards the summer blockbuster now, many readers allowed themselves the indulgence of a poorly written romance or mystery novel with the accompanying promise that come the winter months, they would return to something more deserving of their attention.  

Of course, this conception of summer reading as being less cerebral and more sensational is still alive and well today, as evidenced by the publishing and marketing practices that punctuate the genre. Find a book touted as “the perfect summer read” on its back cover, and it’s sure to contain lots of ‘intrigue’ and very few three-syllable words. What has changed is the idea of a contract made with oneself about what type of books should be read, and when. For many people, the summer is no longer the time to pick up the self-indulgent book as a break from more serious reading, but a time to pick up the only book they will read all year. The summer has transformed from a time where serious readers take one step down the literary ladder, to one where non-readers step up.  

This may explain that ironic phenomenon of the beach read going unread. The summer, with its extended daylight and increased leisure time, might be the perfect opportunity to take a stab at a book that you just don’t have time for the rest of the year, but summer reading can’t make you a person who actually likes reading. This shouldn’t be seen as a personal failing. Many non-readers praise their more literary counterparts for the virtues of patience and discipline that are supposedly required to take on a novel and win. Those same people might go even further, and presume that trying to become a serious reader might instill the same qualities within themselves. And yet, of all the things we make ourselves do in the name of self-improvement, there is no question that making a half-hearted attempt to read a Nicholas Sparks novel between jumps in the pool and glasses of vodka soda is the least productive and most ill-fated venture of them all.  

This is not a tirade against reading. Rather, it is an acknowledgement that for those who have found themselves victims of another year of summer reading not-to-be, there might be better uses of your time. For those who see summer as the perfect time for intellectual betterment, why not try out Sudoku, or a crossword puzzle, or even quiet meditation? Instead of propping up the portion of the publishing industry that thrives on producing books that will not be read, it might be much easier to admit to yourself that you’re just not the novel-reading type and then move on with your life. At the very least, you’ll save some trees in the process.