Every summer a list of books to read at the beach fills our feeds.

The “beach read”.

Last year I checked out one with an enticing title and lovely emerald green cover. I initially thought it was modeled after that Anne Baxter movie where she uses her antics to disrupt the harmonious life of her host’s house. Wrong. It was inspired by The Swimmer and takes place where I love to spend the warmer sunshiny months.

The most hollow book I’ve ever read. Can I get 5 half-days of my life back?

To avoid waste-buying another subpar book, this year I listened to one highly recommended book from a highly recommended recommender by a highly recommended author on an app. My boredom of the high-school-minded salacious content stopped me at Chapter 3.

I am far from a book snob, but even my neurons elicited an immune reaction to the lowbrow storylines suggested in these books. Are these lists made by people (women) who think women are dumb?

The $cience

Yes, beach reads are supposed to keep your attention without taking too much ATP away from your brain. Who wants deep thoughts while bathing on the sand awaiting their next cocktail delivery?

But, wow, how dumb do these “beach read”-advocates think women are? Or is it that this is what women are really into.

Here’s a list of the other beach reads. Reading about how un-fabulous, fantabulous, and inspiring the lives of these people were, will not take away from any of your neurons firing or synapses forming. Promise.

Of course, we do it the Ayurveda way. Each author’s Dosha is celebrated.

The Chiffon Trenches

by André Leon Talley

RIP to this sweet Kapha and a life half-lived. Read between the lines of reality while perusing this one. How he felt and lived in Karl Lagerfled’s custom giveaways is not as clear as the perfect beach day. ALT wrapped his emotions and real self in gorgeous caftans. Half being who he was and half hiding who he was, Talley’s story puts perspective on if Ozempic is worth the two-piece bikini. FYI: they make one-pieces.

“My clothes are like… Italian armor.

I was using the caftans to shadow the rise and fall of my adipose crisis. I was bloated by weight, binging on sweets… marble madelines… in Paris or the rich dishes offered at New York’s finest restaurants. I was never insecure about who I was, how I liked. I never thought I was ugly. I only thought about my clothes. In the cruel fickle world of high fashion, I know I was quietly judged.”

— Page 176

Diana Vreeland

by Diana Vreeland

Cheers to this energetic Vata! The late, great Vreeland’s ramblings will keep your mind unfocused as it should be on a hot Summer’s day. The former Vogue EIC divulges Summer yachting in Cannes, Malibu surfing, the violets of Balenciaga, and the British Raj. The unstructured style of this book will kindle a desire to globe-trot to Tunisia. And then, wonder why.

“It was obvious he lived in terrible danger all the time. That summer he had three floors of the Hotel Carlton, three yachts in the harbor, and then three villas in the hills behind Cannes. It was the *most* mysterious setup.

I came in a sleeveless short dress. Summer clothes. It was a magically memorable evening. It was the night Rita Hayworth… met Aly Khan.”

— Page 119

A Long Way Home

by Saroo Brierley

Written by an adventurous Pitta, this real tale of finding home will set in motion finding roots. Adapted into the 2016 movie Lion, this is a deeper story of an adoptee trying to locate his family. They lived on another continent and he was too young to even remember the name of his village. The magic of what GPS did for Saroo makes us forget it often sends the rest of us off a cliff.

“I’d traveled much farther than ever before and was already far away from home.

You can’t remain in a state of sheer panic and terror indefinitely. I’ve thought that must be why we cry: our bodies are coping with something our minds and hearts can’t absorb. I’d let my body work through my feelings. I was exhausted by the experience and fell in and out of sleep.”

— Page 49

Ocean Line(r)

Even on the beach, we are often dreaming of or planning the next trip. These personal recollections show us the pitfalls of navigating our lives and feelings, of who we are and where we belong. Sometimes the real adventure is finding home.

Apropos of summer Pitta heat, these paperbacks are red.