Credit: America staff.

Summer is here! That’s right, it officially starts on June 21, even if your kids have been out of school for a month and it’s already 110 degrees in your living room. But hopefully there’s some vacay in your future, or at least a little down time to enjoy a good read. With that in mind, our staff here at America has some suggestions for tomes you might enjoy. Some of them are great beach reads; some of them are serious history books; and one of them is an encyclical, because Jesuits gonna Jesuit. 

It is a varied list, so there should be something for everyone. One suggestion is of a book published in 1812; others of books that were originally self-published, or made their debut ten minutes ago. One book was the winner of the National Book Award in 1962; another has a title that sounds like a super racy romance novel but is actually about the joys of becoming a straightlaced Catholic. 

We hope you enjoy!

The Swiss Family Robinson by Johann David Wyss

Johann David Wyss originally told the series of stories that make up The Swiss Family Robinson aloud to his children. He wanted to instill in them an appreciation for family, nature and virtue. His son Johann Rudolf had the work published in 1812. Some may read the tales as a counter to the more individualist Robinson Crusoe, from which the book gets part of its title. Daniel Defoe’s classic novel, which Wyss admired, is explicitly mentioned a few times in the book.

In The Swiss Family Robinson, a mother and father and their four sons are marooned on a tropical island in the East Indies. As far as they know, they are the only survivors of a shipwreck. They recover what they can from the ship, including livestock and firearms, and get acclimated to their new and wondrous surroundings. The adventure is delightfully absurd as the family meets animals like penguins, ostriches, kangaroos and buffalo, all on the same island. 

The family dynamics and gender roles will likely seem antiquated to the modern reader. And while few in number, the references to native inhabitants of the island paint a dehumanizing picture. Still, as the book’s steady, chronological story unfolds, readers are whisked off to a land where the beauty of creation is appreciated. Wyss, who was a clergyman, threads the love of God and the family’s trust in divine providence throughout the work. It makes for a comfortable, relaxing tale that offers readers a much needed respite from the contemporary information deluge.  – J. D. Long Garcia

Pope Leo XIV by Elise Ann Allen

Elise Ann Allen’s biography of the first American pope had its genesis in Pope Leo’s first long-form interview as pope; she has bolstered that groundbreaking conversation with original reporting from the United States, Peru and Rome, presenting a more detailed and well-rounded picture of Leo than is available in the many biographies about him published thus far. Though Allen is an American journalist, her background reporting on abuse in lay communities in Peru earned her the pope’s trust and friendship. That relationship pays off not only in Allen’s access, but in the clarity with which she is able to report on the more challenging and contested aspects of Robert Prevost’s time as a bishop. 

The image of the pope that emerges is one of a man at peace, coming into his own on the global stage with a deep, lived commitment to the poor, to lay leadership and to missionary work. – Colleen Dulle

Beach Read by Emily Henry

This book is an enjoyable, funny, easy read. I am usually a slow reader, but the pages of Emily Henry’s Beach Read seemed to turn themselves. She has quite a way with words, and some of her one-liners are so clever they made me chuckle out loud.

A quick plot summary: January Andrews is a young, bestselling romance novelist who has just lost her father and has moved to the secret love nest on Lake Michigan that he left her. She is dealing with the discovery of her father’s infidelity, a breakup with a long term boyfriend and writer’s block. She realizes that her new house is within shouting distance of a hot neighbor with whom she just happened to go to college with and who was her rival in a journalism class. A writing challenge with said neighbor, witty repartee, tears, the healing of old wounds, blossoming love and a writing breakthrough ensue. 

Spoiler alert: There is of course a happy ending. All in all, a good toes-in-the-sand read. – Cynthia Hornblower

Dungeon Crawler Carl by Matt Dinniman

I’ll admit I’m still not through all 450 pages of Dungeon Crawler Carl, but what I have read so far has left me positively stunned. Reminiscent of Dante’s journey through nine circles of Hell, the story follows the titular Carl as he navigates through layers of an apocalyptic Earth, transformed into a video-game-like dungeon for the pleasure of an intergalactic game show audience.  

Confused yet? The story may seem convoluted, but I can guarantee that you’ll find yourself crying with laughter and deeply attached to the characters even in its early chapters. It truly is unlike any other fantasy and science fiction novel I’ve read, with surprising twists at nearly every turn. (If you have access to this in audiobook form, I highly recommend listening along: The narration performed by Jeff Hays only adds to the hilarity and insanity.) This novel feels like a Dungeons and Dragons game in the best ways possible, with Dinniman’s creative imagination evident on every page as the story unfolds. 

If you’re looking for serious, thought-provoking literature this summer, Dungeon Crawler Carl might not be the best choice. But if you’re looking for something fun to read on the beach, perhaps with a group of fellow adventurers, this hilarious, raucous and at times bewildering novel will undoubtedly quench your thirst. – William Gualtiere

Click here for our summer reading recommendations from 2024.

These Truths by Jill Lepore

I find Jill Lepore, a professor of American history at Harvard, compulsively readable. I first came to know her through her occasional essays in The New Yorker, which were written with not only accuracy and precision but grace and wit. She is a great scholar and wordsmith. (Those two things don’t always go together.) Her latest book, We the People, is about the Constitution, its strengths and—as has been on display a bit more lately—weaknesses.  But I’m reading her 2018 tome, These Truths: A History of the United States. 

Again, it’s beautifully written—and I’m always interested in what she chooses to focus on. So far (I’m on page 179) she provides a lively description of the American Revolution without losing sight of the plight of enslaved people. She also shows succinctly how even 250 years ago, issues that plague us today (factionalism, polarization, regionalism) were a challenge. 

If that description makes the book seem dry, I assure you: It’s not. These Truths is no beach read (the hardcover probably weighs two pounds), but it is probably the best one-volume history of the United States I’ve read. And did I mention she writes well? Go get it. – James Martin, S.J.

The Moviegoer by Walker Percy 

Whether or not you have a vacation planned this summer, Walker Percy’s novel The Moviegoer offers the perfect opportunity to take a trip to New Orleans. Set during Mardi Gras, this 1962 National Book Award winner captures the city and the surrounding South Louisiana region in the season when its vibrant culture is most clearly on display.

The novel follows young stockbroker Binx Bolling as he attempts to cut through the malaise and mundanity he recognizes in himself and others. He fills his days with casual relationships and the thrills of the film screen—which ultimately do little to counter his existential woes. But much like the hope that the summer itself provides, Percy offers a glimpse of how we can find meaning and connection in the midst of life’s “everydayness.” With wry humor, complicated romance and Catholic influence, The Moviegoer offers both a profound reflection on the human experience and a pleasurable summer read.  – Brigid McCabe

“Dilexit Nos” by Pope Francis

I have never carried a papal encyclical around with me everywhere I go. But there it is, tucked in the recesses of my blue nylon drawstring bag. No, not the one that has sparked a million conversations on humanity and modern technology the past two months, “Magnifica Humanitas.” This is a quieter, less prominent one from two years ago: “Dilexit Nos.”

I think “Dilexit Nos” holds the key to all life and humanity. It illuminates the very point of existence. The fourth and final encyclical of Pope Francis, released in 2024, the full title is “On the Human and Divine Love of the Heart of Jesus Christ.” It centers around the traditional Catholic devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus—which is, as Francis puts it, the “unifying principle of all reality.” (See what I mean?)

The first chapter is the most compelling part of the whole text. It is a sort of treatise on the human heart that people of any faith or no faith could find relatable and deeply moving. It opens up with a catalog of the ways humanity has been demeaned, violated and turned into mere objects in a reckless hyper-consumptive capitalist economy. In the light of these death-dealing trends, Francis declares, “all of us need to rediscover the importance of the heart.”

He goes on to describe the heart as the “place where every person, of every class and condition, creates a synthesis, where they encounter the radical source of their strengths, convictions, passions and decisions.”

The pope makes a poignant list of childhood activities that speak to the heart: helping a grandmother make a pie, playing soccer with a rag ball, collecting worms in a box, plucking a daisy—precious moments, the undertaking of which are practically the very point of life itself, and are “kept deep in our heart.” 

So central is the heart to our lives, says the pope, that “It could be said, then, that I am my heart, for my heart is what sets me apart, shapes my spiritual identity and puts me in communion with other people.”

“Dilexit Nos” is an “instant spiritual classic”; in simple, striking, unforgettable language it is a beckoning of all of us back to the bedrock of our lives: the ability to love and be loved. – Joe Hoover, S.J.

The End of the Affair by Graham Greene

It’s not easy to raise your hand in a 475-person lecture hall, so any book that can spark spirited arguments in a classroom of that size must be pretty spectacular. But then again, in the age of “situationships” and “ghosting,” perhaps it is no surprise that Greene’s 1951 novel resonated so strongly with the undergraduate students in my one-credit theology book club. 

The End of the Affair, set in World War II London, follows cynical writer Maurice Bendrix as he processes the puzzling end of an illicit relationship. However, the affair is a vessel for a far wider exploration of love. Like Bendrix, we all want to be loved, but how much can we demand from love, and from whom? 

Spoiler alert: God enters the picture. (What else did you expect from Greene?) This book won’t give you all the answers, but his crisp, psychologically insightful narration will take you along for the struggle. – Chloe Hanford

Click here for our summer reading recommendations from 2023.

Greenwich Village Catholics by Thomas J. Shelley

Cardinal Timothy Radcliffe, I recently heard, reads a novel every night before he goes to sleep. He says it helps him to understand human beings in all their complexity. It’s a praiseworthy practice, but novels don’t do it for me, at least at bedtime. Give me a solid work of history instead. There is something about reading about the past that makes today’s troubles fade away. 

Lately I have been reading a lot by Father Thomas J. Shelley, the late New York priest and historian. He wrote several parish histories in addition to major works on Fordham University and New York State Catholics. For summer reading, consider his history of St. Joseph’s Church in Manhattan, Greenwich Village Catholics. 

St. Joseph’s is one of the oldest churches in Manhattan. Today it is surprisingly popular with the TikTok set. Father Shelley’s history offers a window on Catholic life in the early republic, a fitting subject for the semisesquicentennial. And his account of the lay trustee controversy—in which lay parishioners battled with their pastor and their bishop over control of the parish—is eye-opening. Synodal conversations, these were not. – Maurice Timothy Reidy

How to Hide an Empire: A History of the Greater United States by Daniel Immerwhar

What does the United States look like? If you’re like most Americans, the image that you conjure up will be what Daniel Immerwhar calls the “logo map,” the shape of those contiguous United States that make up 48 of our 50. It may or may not include Hawaii and Alaska in little boxes in the corner, but even then, their size and distance is distorted. Your imagined America likely doesn’t include Puerto Rico or Guam, or historical territories like the Philippines—the places that were central foci of the United States’ imperial ambitions.

Immerwhar, a professor at Northwestern University, wryly retells the story of the U.S. from the perspective of its peripheries. He begins with the history of Native American territory, tracing the development of manifest destiny all the way to its ever-growing influence in the Pacific and beyond. The reality is that America is quite a bit different from the shape on our maps. While we celebrate our country’s 250th birthday, there is no better time to educate ourselves about what America really looks like. – Kevin Christopher Robles

This Book Made Me Think of You by Libby Page

Libby Page’s This Book Made Me Think of You has readers laughing, crying and feeling hope for humanity as they zip through this page-turner. The story revolves around a 40-something bibliophile from London who became a widow, stunned with grief. Unbeknownst to her, her dying husband had arranged for her local bookstore to give her a book each month for one year. Each was beautifully wrapped and included a handwritten note from him, encouraging her to experience life to its fullest by traveling the world, trying new things, learning to cook, following her dreams and falling in love again. 

This quick read, with a lovely cover, reminds you that if you lose a person, he or she always has a piece of your heart and wants you to continue to live a happy, purposeful life full of laughter, love and new adventures. – Heather Trotta

John of John by Douglas Stuart

I’ve long loved the novels of Douglas Stuart. I finished his second novel, Young Mungo, earlier this year, and his Booker Prize-winning debut novel Shuggie Bain has stayed with me years after cracking it open in 2020. 

Stuart’s work has consistently explored the inner lives and relationships of Scottish working-class folks in the 1980s and 1990s, and John of John continues that pattern. This time, however, we have left the inner-city tenements of Glasgow and Edinburgh of his previous novels to take a trip to the very corners of the earth: the Outer Hebrides. 

Stuart’s bleak, barren windswept isle in the Northern Atlantic speaks to me as I sweat on humid subway platforms and crowded New York City trains. This is a deeply personal novel about a closeted young man living in the smallest of towns, with his very religious and (spoilers!) even-more-closeted father, as they navigate a relationship haunted by debt, misunderstandings and hurt feelings. 

Stuart’s writing is impossible to put down, and you will love visiting his dramatic peaks, white beaches and deeply realized characters. – Conor Reidy

Milkman by Anna Burns

When I see that “Winner of the Booker Prize” label on the cover of a novel, I almost always buy it. This is even more the case if the book is set in Ireland. 

This is how I came into possession of Milkman, though technically it isn’t set in Ireland—or at least it doesn’t say it is. Milkman is not what one would call an easy read, but its stream-of-consciousness style and particular brand of dark humor kept me coming back for more. 

It follows the story of an unnamed teenage girl in an unnamed city that is divided by an unnamed conflict. The result of that conflict is a hyper-vigilant community where every action is politicized. The narrator, only referred to as “middle-sister,” is being pursued by an older paramilitary man only referred to as “the Milkman.” The narrator’s tone becomes increasingly anxious as the people around her find every reason to demonize and blame her for anything and everything. 

I found Milkman to be an unflinching portrayal of how unwanted advances and rumors can destroy young women, and how the shame forced onto them can be life-threatening. The writing style can be a little confusing and rambling at times, but Burns’s depiction of her narrator’s emotions are crystal clear. I can’t recommend this book enough. – Nora Malone

Click here for our summer reading recommendations from 2019.

The Land by Maggie O’Farrell

What says “summer beach read” more than a novel about a famine?

In truth, Maggie O’Farrell’s The Land is set in 1865 on the west coast of Ireland, so it’s in the aftermath of the worst of the Great Hunger, which is always looming over the story but actually in its recent past. The novel begins with a focus on Tomás, an Irishman working for the British occupiers as part of their plan to map the country and give everything an English name—because they’re hell-bent on stamping out the Irish language. He and his son Liam tramp about the countryside doing their small part in a massive nationwide effort, but two other characters intrude: Ireland’s land and Ireland’s history.

O’Farrell (if you’re not already a fan, she also wrote Hamnet) is not exactly writing history, though; history is just something from which her characters (including Tomás’s wife Phina and daughters) cannot escape. Even when Liam joins the Jesuits and is sent off to India as a missionary, you know that he’ll be back: the land and the history will pull him home.

We don’t often use magical realism to describe Irish literature, but there is plenty of it in The Land, particularly in the way the “thin places” found throughout the Irish countryside become important drivers of the plot at times. And if you’re into Irish literature, you will certainly find the urge to go back and re-read Brian Friel’s 1980 play, “Translations.” You can tell O’Farrell did. 

Is this a light summer read? Not really. But it is a heartwarming and gripping one. -James T. Keane