The Problem with Beach Reads (Is Me)
Beach reads are supposed to be simple. That’s the point, right?
Short chapters. Easy-to-follow plot. A little mystery. A little romance. A little “twist you won’t see coming” that you actually do.
But I don’t bring those books to the beach. I don’t really read books like that.
So I take the heavy ones. I blame grad school.
I lived near the beach then, in a town where tourists took selfies with pelicans and grad students dragged Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar and Pale Fire by Nabokov through the sand. That was me. Reading postmodern fiction in public with a pencil. It wasn’t a vibe.
I had to keep up with class but also wanted Vitamin D. So I packed the syllabus and went.
Some habits stick.
This summer, I brought Don DeLillo’s Libra.
First stop: The pool at Hilton Head. I tried to read it in the pool and it warped a bit and then I spilled a drink on it.
Then: Hilton Head beach. I set up a towel, started reading. It rained. I walked back and water got in my bag and the book swelled like a sponge.
Now it’s made it’s way out to Long Island, beaten and bruised, looking like it’s 10 years old, but it’s only 3 months old.
This is how I vacation.
People say “vacation books” should be fun.
I don’t know. Sometimes I listen to business or cultural histories and call that “light.”
Is that beach reading? I guess so.
Yesterday I went back and forth between Libra in print and Liars by Sarah Manguso on my iPad while sitting under a beach umbrella. The umbrella blocked the glare. The book was short and clean. Not fun exactly, but well-written, aphoristic and poetic.
Not light reading. Just the right time to read.
Some people have “summer playlists” or “beach reads.” I bring whatever I’m already halfway through and ruin the spine with saltwater.
And even though I get the idea—you’re supposed to escape—I’ve never wanted to read books that let me disappear. They are books that make me sit up straighter in a low-slung beach chair.
It makes sense to me, because the beach is one of the only places I actually slow down. My brain isn’t bouncing between tabs. I’m not trying to win the day with productivity hacks. I’m just sitting there, finally able to focus on one thing. That’s when the heavier books make sense, because the noise drops out and I can think in full sentences again.
The ocean takes care of the background noise. Just a slow page turn in a warped paperback, while someone two umbrellas down blasts Luke Bryan.