The worst summer reading list ever
Print’s not dead — your neighbor just put it out on the stoop
Lately, I’ve been exploring Substack more and more, using it like the early days of Instagram (or maybe even Tumblr). It feels almost quaint to stumble upon someone’s note and go down a rabbit hole of their writing, which almost exclusively seems to be of a higher quality than you could find elsewhere on the Internet. I can tell we’re in a special, sacred time on this platform — it’s big enough that there’s a reliable pool of interesting posts every day, but small enough that the chum that invades the rest of the web’s waters hasn’t yet reached these shores.
Since we’re in the season of lazy summer vacations, the Substack algorithm (if you can call it that1) has been pushing lots of book recommendations and reading lists for beach days, plane rides, or AC-fueled weekends in. So today, I’m jumping on the book discourse and sharing a few titles myself.
My contribution, as it turns out, is the worst summer reading list you can possibly imagine. This collection of books have nothing in common other than the fact that they are ones that I’ve simply found — on spontaneous trips to my neighborhood’s used bookstores, on the sidewalk, or on a friend’s shelf. Together, they’re united by 1) being used and/or vintage, and 2) having absolutely bangin’ covers. Can I recommend that you read them? I haven’t read any of them; in fact, some of them may be unreadable, in the traditional sense. But they’re all reminders of the power of book design, the prevalence of the rich material culture around us, and the importance of visual communication on a first impression. And in case you got worried that I don’t know how to read, or that I’m only into books for the aesthetics, I’m also including an actual summer reading list at the end — Perfect Design not guaranteed.
I discovered The House Book on a shelf in my boyfriend’s apartment (it’s definitely one of his roommate’s). Grids and frames are two very trendy elements in graphic design right now, and it’s nice to see it used here in a way that makes semantic sense to the subject matter. I want to design a housewarming invitation inspired by this layout! Other lovely things: the red brick, the very simple type, and the perfect, understated title.
Body Language by Julius Fast was a pop psychology book from 1970s, if you couldn’t tell from the type. I found it either at Troubled Sleep or Unnameable Books, two of the best bookstores in Brooklyn.2 I find it so fascinating that they redesigned it at least thrice — and the other two covers also feature different white women sitting in a chair and smoking. I dig the hot red color, the translucent shininess of the blow-up chair, and the horny positioning of the author’s name between the model’s legs. The most recent cover sucks, if you were wondering.
I found these two soy-related texts outside of a generational brownstone in Park Slope. I think I’ve shared the Book of Tofu before, and commented on the meditative feeling of that domestic illustration.
Chris and I found this book on a stoop the day after Roger Corman died. It also had a few movie poster postcards tucked into it. Ignoring the misaligned dust jacket print, I love the way this cover really does feel like his movies — compelling in spite of (or because of?) a low production value.
When I saw The Pill Book in a discarded box of stuff on Plaza Street, I stopped in my tracks. The platonic ideal of my Perfect Design! The shades of red and blue, the grid, and the transparent-background pill photos all feel like choices I would have made myself. While The Pill Book was still in print as recently as 2012, consumer reference books that continuously require updates are falling out of fashion — what would you trust, a quick Google, or a book that might be outdated? There’s a long history of reference books, from almanacs to encyclopedias, I’d love to do a deeper archival dive into their design as they disappear from regular use.3
Family Circle was a women’s magazine, owned by the New York Times, that frequently published cookbooks (I found this one from 1974 at Archestratus, another perfect bookstore). In addition to delightfully ‘70s recipes like Cherry Cordial Chocolate Soufflé, this book spells cookie like “cooky,” includes a chapter called “Low-Calorie Creations,” and has two inexplicably different illustration styles (one charming and informative, the other so hideous and garish I simply cannot include it here). However, the type in this book is pretty impeccable, and it has some very fun and kitschy photos. I’ll try to scan some and share more here.
This is a treatise on lesbianism, again from the 1970s! I clearly have a preference when it comes to decades. I mostly love the title, but the type and colors also convey a kind of coolness where if you saw a woman reading this on the subway, you’d immediately fall in love with her. Some of the kerning and typographic choices are confusing (the H & the T in ‘right’???) but overall I think we as a society should return to designing paperbacks like this.
Ok, here’s a list of books I actually do think you should read this summer, if you have the brain capacity. I also won’t blame you if you just need to sit on the couch and watch The Sandlot over and over.
All Fours by Miranda July — This book has had so much hype, and I am here to tell you that it deserves every bit of praise it’s gotten. Read and reread!
Roman Stories by Jhumpa Lahiri — a more unromantic view of Italy than your Instagram feed would have you believe, but her writing is so compelling that I’m still looking up tickets to Rome, warts and all.
Cassandra at the Wedding by Dorothy Baker — a brat classic.
Girlhood by Melissa Febos — Febos is working on a much-anticipated book about her year of celibacy, but in the meantime you should definitely read her memoir about growing up.
The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy — another book for a (Euro) brat summer. This includes one of my favorite lines of all time, when Sally Jay Gorce drops her purse in a cafe and it lands “butter-side down.” (She ends up losing her passport!)
The Years by Annie Ernaux — a wonderful little meditative piece of prose about… an entire life. All of Ernaux’s books blend together for me in a wonderful way; her oeuvre builds upon itself and she really does only get better with time. I’m not the only person who’s recommended this book to you, so why haven’t you read it yet?
That’s all! Thanks for reading. I’ll be on vacation next week but have a scheduled post about CLOCKS!! Get really really really excited or maybe just medium excited. See you then! ✹
Complimentary!
My two cents: Troubled Sleep is better curated and very analog (it has no computerized point of sale system, the bookseller does it all by hand!). Unnameable has better hours, a small kid’s section, and more new books. Both are a great way to spend time in central BK.
Related: I love zines and art books that take on the traditional form of a reference volume but turn it into a personal or highly-specific archive. In researching The Pill Book, I also found this photo book cataloging ecstasy pills in NYC.
I need to see the hideous and garish dessert illustrations! I love this post, glad the Algorithm brought me to it.