Summer Reading 2026
Hello and welcome to Year 5 of my summer reading list! The traditional gift for this milestone is wood, so feel free to send me some graven images to commemorate the occasion.
It's the time of year when I try to read at least one nonfiction book, a "classic" (which could mean different things to different people), and something "quick" (which could also mean different things to different people). Does this endeavor differ from my usual reading habits? Umm, probably not.
Take my hand, won't you, and let's see how things went.
This'll Make Things a Little Easier
Attila Veres
I mentioned Attila Veres a few years ago in my "Suggest Reading for Spooky Season" post. His short story collection "The Black Maybe" was one of my favorite titles of 2022. If you haven't read it and enjoy dark fiction, I encourage you to pick it up.
When the good people at Valancourt Books sent out an email earlier this year announcing the upcoming release of his latest short story collection, I didn't hesitate to order a copy. Once again, Veres leans hard into his Hungarian roots and treats us to six disturbing tales that seep under the skin, infect the blood, and poison the mind.
The first three stories inhabit the same universe—a sad and foreboding one—where shadowy forces rule and the main protagonists discover their insignificant places within it. "This'll Make Things a Little Easier" kicks off with 'a pit full of teeth,' a humorous and terrifying story about a struggling Hungarian writer who receives a mysterious invitation to have one of his unpublished pieces translated into another language for an upcoming anthology. When our narrator receives his complimentary copy, he doesn't recognize the language and fears his story wasn't translated properly. That will turn out to be the least of his worries.
"Transistor" follows a poor Hungarian family forced to move into a factory, where their job is to eat a disgusting substance nicknamed "Mud." Three days a week they eat Mud, and three days a week they are harvested for something called The Blue, which is directly related to eating Mud. Eventually, one of the children displays a certain "talent," which elevates her from the drudgery of factory life to a much more valued position. It is, at best, a mixed blessing.
"The Designated Contact Individual" centers on a young Hungarian salesman who works for Broc Life Drinks. He's desperate to climb the company ladder and achieve success. After landing a promotion with a bizarre interview process, he becomes the soft drink company's "contact individual." What does that mean? Who knows? But the job will take him to a strange land, with stranger inhabitants, and even stranger experiences.
"Damage d10+7" is an unsettling take on role-playing games, specifically offshoots of "Dungeons & Dragons." Things start out ordinary enough. A group of friends in their late 30s and early 40s get together to play a homemade version of D&D. Balázs, the game master, is leading the way, something he's done countless times. After all, he's created this fictional land. But when one of the players takes an unseemly action against a character in that made-up world, the consequences are far-ranging enough to threaten the very fabric of existence.
The penultimate story in this collection could be my favorite. "The Summer I Chose to Die" focuses on an unnamed narrator as he embarks on his quest for self-destruction. He's had it up to here with life in Hungary, with society, with existence. With his friend Boti, he's decided to go out in an orgy of sex, drugs, and violence. Oh, did I mention that the world has been invaded by a strange race of fish-people? And that eating their flesh induces a strange, psychedelic experience?
The title story, "This'll Make Things a Little Easier," closes out the book and may be the most heartbreaking. Petra is doing her best to raise her two children on her own, but it's getting harder and harder to make ends meet. At a town hall meeting, the Hungarian government introduces a program that will, you guessed it, "make things a little easier." All it takes is a little blood, sweat, and tears. This is the shortest story in the collection, but the ending might pack the biggest emotional punch.
Veres weaves political, social, and existential themes into all of these tales but without sounding preachy or didactic. His writing style is flowing, conversational, and effortless, which is impressive given that he translated all the stories from Hungarian himself.
At 219 pages, I'll mark this up as a "quick" read. Highly recommended.
The Nightly Disease: A Hotel Novel
Max Booth III
This was an unexpected addition to my summer reading list. I usually finalize the books for this self-indulgent little exercise sometime in April. Not sure why, but that's the way things have been working these past five years. But then Max Booth sent out issue 65 of The Ghoulish Times, her free newsletter (which I recommend you subscribe to if you're not already), and announced an out-of-print sale, so I decided to do some shopping.
And "The Nightly Disease" caught my eye. It's a tale about Isaac, a night auditor at The Goddamn Hotel in Texas. During the course of the book, Isaac's forced to deal with soul-sucking corporate directives, insane/rude guests, poor pay, crummy hours, loneliness, despair, alienation, and degradation. There's also a homeless bulimic whom he's in love with, a counterfeit shoe ring, references to movies and books, masturbation, murder, mayhem, and more. And owls. Can't forget about the owls.
I received my copy, which was graciously autographed, sometime in early May. After flipping through the first few pages, with the intention of doing just that, it wasn't long before I realized I had gone through the introduction and the first four chapters. By then I was hooked.
Booth's writing is sarcastic, absurd, crass, honest, and poignant. Sometimes all at once. There's also an autobiographical element to this novel that deepens its impact, and most of the chapters come in bite-size morsels that are easily digestible. Sometimes the chapters serve as vignettes that sharpen Isaac's miserable reality. Here's an exchange that will give you a feel for Booth's style if you're unfamiliar with it:
A woman next to me clears her throat. "Uh, sir, you can't curse at the animals. It's against regulations."
"Is it?"
She points at a sign that reads "PLEASE DO NOT INSULT THE ANIMALS".
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"I'm gonna have to ask you to leave, sir."
"Okay." We stand in silence for three very awkward minutes before she finally throws her hands up in the air. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"I said I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."
"But you haven't asked yet."
"Get the fuck out of here, dude."
Fans of Chuck Palahniuk and the movie "Clerks" will probably find "The Nightly Disease" to be right up their alley. This is the third Max Booth book I've read ("We Need to Do Something" and "I Believe in Mister Bones" are the others), and I've never been disappointed. I was lucky enough to have a story of mine accepted in an anthology that also included Booth, and her story was one of my favorites in the collection. Booth also runs a small indie publishing company called Ghoulish Books, which puts out a lot of quality stuff.
If you delight in unreliable narrators, surrealism, self-deprecating humor, and blood and guts, consider a stay at The Goddamn Hotel. You may never want to leave. This is scheduled for a paperback reprint, so keep an eye out for it.
This comes in at more than 370 pages, but they turn with ease. Another "quick" one.
1776 David McCullough
In case you missed it, this past July 4 marked 250 years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I hope you celebrated by eating hot dogs, guzzling adult beverages, taking advantage of once-in-a-lifetime sales, and blowing something up.
To mark this momentous occasion (and to feed into the stereotype of middle-aged men reading history books), I decided to dive into David McCullough's "1776," which focuses on the beginning stages of the American Revolutionary War. It's a gripping account of the trials and tribulations (many, many, many tribulations) the rebels faced as they tried to break free from the shackles of their British oppressors. The book begins in October 1775, with King George III addressing Parliament about the pesky upstarts in the colonies, and concludes in March of 1777, when news of the Americans' victory at Trenton reached England. It also recounts incidents that preceded the war, chiefly the Battle of Bunker Hill.
It's far too common nowadays to view the Founding Fathers as mythical figures. Many books (and commentators) portray them as flawless superheroes. So it was refreshing to read about George Washington's misgivings about taking control of the Continental Army (which later turned into the army of the United States of America), along with his initial dislike of New Englanders and his moments of indecision and military mistakes. That's not to take away from Washington's effect on others, his determination, and his strength of character. But addressing his shortcomings and flaws helped transform him from a two-dimensional image on a dollar bill into a fleshed-out human being.
And while Washington is the main focus of the book, McCullough gives time to other important players who made a difference between victory and defeat. For example, there was Nathanael Green, a Quaker from Rhode Island who was Washington's second-in-command; Henry Knox, a Boston bookseller who fought in every battle that Washington took part; and Joseph Reed, a Philadelphia attorney who was to accompany Washington to New York but "found himself so in awe of the general that he continued on to Cambridge to become Washington's secretary, despite the fact that he had made no provisions for his wife and three young children or for his law practice." Yep, that Washington guy had charisma.
I don't pretend to be deeply knowledgeable about the American Revolutionary War. In fact, I don't claim to be knowledgeable about anything. But there seems to be a narrative that all were united in taking up arms against the British. In truth, it was a constant fight to keep many of the men focused and willing to stay for the cause:
American soldiers were deserting as if leaving a sinking ship, thirty or forty at a time, many defecting to the enemy. Disobedience and theft were epidemic. It was far from an army of heroes only.
To be fair, the conditions were deplorable. The uniforms were slipshod at best, ammunition and provisions were scarce, and the living quarters were abysmal and harbored disease. Yet somehow the Americans persevered.
As a lifelong New Jersey resident who worked in New York for about a dozen years, it was also illuminating to read about battles that took place "in my backyard." It's not often I read about Newark, N.J., described as a "little port town." It was also surprising to learn that New Jersey was home to the highest number of Loyalists in the 13 colonies. For shame, New Jersey!
McCullough does a comprehensive job of chronicling that memorable year in a way that was informative and enjoyable. I felt like I was in class with a favorite professor. He details battlefield tactics, logistics, motivations, and conflicting opinions between high-ranking decision-makers in both armies. History can sometimes come across as dry and rote, but that's not the case here. The action flows with the fluidity of a balanced drama, with subplots, egos, and shocking twists and turns. If I didn't know better, I wouldn't have believed some of the events that took place.
I wonder how the Founding Fathers would react to today's America. Would they stand in awe and wonder at the growth and achievements of this once spunky underdog, or would they wring their hands and lament how corporations and special interest groups have infiltrated and corrupted this once burgeoning republic? I don't know. I'm not a necromancer.
I'll check this under "nonfiction" and a "quick" read since it totals 294 pages (not counting the acknowledgments, extensive source notes and bibliography, and index). Recommended for those interested in learning (or learning more) about America in the year 1776.
Chumps to Champs How the Worst Teams in Yankees History Led to the '90s Dynasty
Bill Pennington
It may surprise you, dear reader, to discover that while bleeding green for the New York Jets, I'm also a rabid fan of the New York Yankees. That was an incongruous mix growing up in my neck of the woods in the mid-1980s. If you rooted for the Jets, that almost certainly meant your baseball team was the New York Mets. And if you knew someone who loved the New York football Giants, you could probably bet dollars to donuts that that someone was a die-hard Yankees fan.
There I was, ever the contrarian.
That's not necessarily the case anymore. Sure, allegiances usually still follow that traditional pairing, but I've seen and met more Yankees/Jets fans as I've gotten older (Mets/Giants fans, too). Back then, however, my greenpinstriped brethren and I were much rarer and harder to encounter in the wild.
But I'm rambling.
In case you didn't know, we're coming up on 30 years since the Yankees won the 1996 World Series (where does the time go?). To commemorate this glorious occasion, I decided to crack open "Chumps to Champs" by Bill Pennington, a retrospective that doesn't focus on that magical championship season but rather on the years preceding it. The bumpy ones. The formative years, if I'm feeling magnanimous. But I won't lie to you. It was the dark times, my friend, the dark times. I'm talking about the late '80s and early '90s.
Was that a collective shudder I felt creep along the spines of my fellow Yankees fans? Fear not, my brothers and sisters. Remember: Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.
The book begins with one of the most inexplicable days in Yankees Universe: Andy Hawkins pitching a no-hitter against the Chicago White Sox at Comiskey Park on July 1, 1990—and losing. I watched that one live on WPIX as a fresh-faced youngster and still can't believe it happened. The Yankees would go on to finish dead-last in the AL East that year.
It was a strange time to be a Yankees fan. In addition to the losing, Rickey Henderson was traded to the Oakland A's for scraps, Don Mattingly got benched because his hair was too long, and George Steinbrenner received a "lifetime" ban (which he asked for) after getting pinched for lying about his efforts to dig up "dirt" on Dave Winfield. Attendance was down, TV ratings were in the toilet. And that was just the beginning. Like I said, dark times.
But slowly (ever so slowly), the Yankees began to pick up the pieces and make their tortured ascent. With help from general manager Gene "Stick" Michaels, eventual manager William Nathaniel "Buck" Showalter III, and numerous front-office people and scouts, the Bronx Bombers would turn the tide and return to their former glory.
"Chumps to Champs" is like something out of Shakespeare: equal parts tragedy, comedy, and history. Pennington does a masterful job of leading the reader through the valleys (some more examples for the masochists out there: the lamentable tale of pitcher Brien Taylor, the cancellation of the 1994 World Series, the gut-wrenching loss to the Seattle Mariners in the 1995 ALDS) and the eventual summit. It was like taking a trip with the Ghost of Baseball Past.
Sports authors are sometimes dismissed because they're writing about "a game," but I've never felt that way. Pennington is a first-rate storyteller, regardless of subject matter. This book reads like a novel, complete with unexpected plot twists (many of which seem unbelievable, even now), memorable "characters," and crackling prose. Here's a description of The Boss that I found particularly perceptive:
George Steinbrenner had many unique abilities, and one of them was that he could smile and frown at the same time. It was as if he could split his face in half. Above his nose, his brow would furrow. Almost simultaneously, he would force his lips into a grin. He did it most often when confronted with disconcerting facts about his Yankees that he refused to acknowledge.
This is the second Pennington book I've read (I thoroughly enjoyed "Billy Martin: Baseball's Flawed Genius"), and once again, he delivers the goods. If you're a Yankees fan of a certain age, this is a must-read that will give you a hit of that bittersweet narcotic known as nostalgia. And if you're a younger fan who wasn't around for the pain and suffering that ushered in a Yankees dynasty, you'll gain a whole new perspective on at least three things:
What baseball was like pre-internet, when print media ruled the sports landscape
What the game was like before the introduction of the wild card
What it was like before Yankees fans assumed the team would make the playoffs every season
This clocks in at 314 pages (excluding the acknowledgments, notes, bibliography, and index), so I'll file this under "nonfiction" and another "quick" read.
Gone Girl
Gillian Flynn
Book or movie? It's the inevitable debate that ensues when a written work is adapted for the silver screen. Modifications happen. Characters in books are sometimes merged or eliminated in the film version. Relationships fleshed out across hundreds of pages get condensed to fit into a reasonable runtime. And let's not forget about the characters' inner thoughts, which usually can't be depicted well in the visual medium. Most of the time, you'll hear a smug "the book was better" from the peanut gallery. But is that always the case?
For example, I prefer "The Godfather" movie to the novel. The same goes for "Fight Club." On the flip side, while I enjoy many films based on "Frankenstein" and "Dracula," I don't think any have captured the true feeling of those seminal works. Sometimes both versions work well. I'm talking about "A Clockwork Orange" and "Interview with the Vampire," just to name a couple. And don't forget about movies based on nonfiction, with "Donnie Brasco" and "Serpico" coming to mind.
It can make for a fun, spirited diversion, but it's ultimately pointless. Kinda like the intro to this roundup!
Anyway, up next on my loosely themed reading list of books with an anniversary angle is "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn, a psychological thriller that will chill the blood of any married soul. Nick Dunne wakes up the morning of his fifth wedding anniversary with a pit in his stomach. He and his wife Amy have lost that connection, that spark, that thing that made their marriage special. Now Amy is missing under suspicious circumstances. And the husband is always the prime suspect. Is Nick hiding a secret? Or is Amy playing a twisted game that will end with Nick fighting for his life?
This book has been on my TBR (To Be Read) list since I saw the movie adaptation in 2014, when I still went to the theater (alas). Only took me a dozen years to get to the novel. I'm a fan of director David Fincher, so even though I knew the movie was based on a book, that didn't really factor into the equation. Until I saw it. Then I thought, "I gotta read the source material."
"Gone Girl" opens with alternating first-person accounts by Nick Dunne and diary entries by Amy, each offering their version of events and the state of their relationship. If you revel in unreliable narrators, then this should tickle your fancy. Flynn does a terrific job of writing from the male and female points of view. She also possesses a sensational literary style, one that is engaging and vivid. For example, here's the description of the two detectives who come to Nick's house after Amy disappears:
The two detectives entered with end-of-shift weariness. The man was rangy and thin, with a face that tapered severely into a dribble of a chin. The woman was surprisingly ugly—brazenly, beyond the scope of everyday ugly: tiny round eyes set tight as buttons, a long twist of a nose, skin spackled with tiny bumps, long lank hair the color of a dust bunny.
Here's another one describing Sharon Schieber, a newswoman who's about to conduct a TV interview with Nick:
Suddenly, the suite door swung wide and Sharon Schieber entered, as smooth as if she were being borne by a team of swans. She was a beautiful woman, a woman who had probably never looked girlish. A woman whose nose probably never sweat. She had thick dark hair and giant brown eyes that could look doelike or wicked.
This is my second venture into Flynn's work. My first was "Dark Places," which I enjoyed. Flynn has a dark sense of humor, the kind that makes you chuckle and agree while you shake your head and mumble "oh, no." She also has a gift for depicting pretentious New Yorkers, the ones who believe they are the star of their own show and act like nothing matters unless it's happening in Manhattan (and possibly sections of Brooklyn).
As for the book-movie debate, I'll give the wishy-washy answer: I enjoyed both. Maybe I'd lean more toward the book if I read it before seeing the movie. After all, I did know what was going to happen. The movie stayed true to the novel, which makes sense since Flynn penned the screenplay. Some slight variations worth noting: Desi Collings, Amy's ex-boyfriend, has an odd, sexualized mother in the book; high-powered defense attorney Tanner Bolt is white in the novel and has a black wife, who coaches Nick for his interview with Schieber; Rebecca, the young reporter who interviews Nick in a bar, doesn't appear in the movie version.
At its core, "Gone Girl" is a scathing commentary on performative relationships fueled by competition and perception. If you're not the coolest, happiest, most in-love couple in your little circle, then what's the point? Hopefully, you're not in that type of situation. Then again, can you ever be sure? The scariest part is that you may never really know what's going on in your partner's mind. Or maybe the scariest part is that you really do know what's rattling around in there.
"Gone Girl" checks in at 415 pages (minus the acknowledgments), but I'll chalk it up to a "quick" read because of its compulsive flow. Highly recommend the book and the movie.
Candide
Voltaire
I think I have a pretty decent attitude: expect the worst, hope for the best. Does that make me a pessimist or an optimist? It depends on the day. But I will say I hold toxic positivity in the same contempt as toxic negativity.
"Everything happens for a reason." Tell that to the parent grieving for their child.
"God must have been looking out for you." What about the other 27 people who lost their homes in that tornado?
"Look on the bright side." You still have a job, even though you'll have to pick up the slack for the eight people who've been laid off in your department. Oh, and you'll also have to do it with a 20% pay cut.
Which brings us to "Candide," Voltaire's satirical rebuke of blind philosophical optimism. The idea that no matter how awful things appear, everything is ultimately for the best.
Candide grows up in a castle in mid-18th century Germany as the illegitimate son of the baron Thunder-ten-tronckh's sister. Naive and innocent, Candide is taught by his tutor Pangloss that "everything is for the best," a maxim that's repeatedly tested after Candide is found kissing his cousin Cunégonde and summarily exiled.
From there, Candide embarks on a journey of pain and degradation where he witnesses the atrocities of war, religious fanaticism, slavery, colonialism, and corruption, to name but a few. Yet despite clear evidence to the contrary, he still clings to Pangloss's teachings. But what really keeps Candide going is his love for Cunégonde and his unwavering belief that they will be reunited one day.
"Candide" is broken up into punchy, short chapters with titles that don't mind revealing too much. Take Chapter XVI, for instance, which bears the tantalizing heading "What happened to our two Travellers with two Girls, two Monkeys, and the savages called Oreillons." Voltaire's caustic wit is also on full display. For example, when Candide and Pangloss fall into trouble with religious zealots in Portugal, they are "taken separately to extremely cool apartments where they were never bothered by the glare of the sun," a darkly comical way to describe prison cells.
Voltaire takes jabs at the social, political, religious, and financial injustices he saw and endured at a time when doing so was dangerous. Most notably, he rejects Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz's philosophy that "everything in this world exists for a specific and excellent reason.*" At one point in the story, Candide asks Martin, a Dutch scholar he befriends, "Why was the world formed?" To which Martin replies, "To drive us mad."
My edition was translated by Henry Morley, illustrated by Alan Odle, and had an insightful introduction by Gita May, who also contributed the endnotes. They proved invaluable, providing context, depth, and illumination to this layman. All three contributed to a richer, more rewarding reading experience.
This is a book I've been looking to read for some time, and I'm glad I finally did. While "Candide" blasts holes in the folly of having a blindly optimistic outlook in a cruel world, it also reinforces humanity's ability to endure life's hardships. As I said earlier, sometimes it depends on the day. Just don't tell me to bring "positive vibes only" when I walk into work after a two-hour commute.
If you're looking for a short but powerful philosophical debate about the nature of good versus evil that's highly entertaining and still relevant today, give this a whirl.
At 130 pages (not counting the endnotes, "inspired by," comments and questions, and further reading sections), I'll classify this as a "quick" and "classic" read.
*Taken from Gita May's endnote 1.
OK. Looking at my scorecard, I have all six books as "quick" reads, with two in the nonfiction category and one fiction "classic."
Read anything good this summer?
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