For many, summer brings respite from the grind. We may take a trip to the beach, visit relatives, go camping, or have a “staycation” where we sleep in and have a second (or third) cup of coffee at breakfast. We may also find a chance for some reading. But it’s summer, and that means—to me—a different kind of reading.
Summer reading should be, first and foremost, enjoyable. You read a book now, not because you have to, not because you “should,” not because it will “improve you,” but simply because you get a kick out of it. It takes you away for a while from the classes or the kids or the bills or the in-laws. If you fall asleep reading, it doesn’t matter. It’s like having friends over to do nothing but have some hot dogs and beers and chat away into the night.
And like with friends, the choice is idiosyncratic. What you may find enjoyable I may not, and vice-versa. My summer reads help me escape. For that half-hour or hour on the patio after dinner, I am somewhere else in time and place. It’s like a vacation, but less costly, and sometimes more enjoyable. So you choose where you want to escape to and how. It may be a period in history; it may be with a particular person. You may want to see someone murdered, take part in international espionage, or take a hike through Scotland. It doesn’t matter. It’s your getaway.
Here are three of my summer reading choices.
The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope (1894)
“A real king’s day is perhaps a hard one, but a pretend king’s day is, I warrant, much harder.” So says Rudolf Rassendyll, the twenty-seven-year-old younger son of minor English nobility; and he should know, for that is exactly the situation in which he finds himself. Bored at home, Rudolf decides to visit the Balkan kingdom of Ruritania and see the new king upon his coronation. (Never mind the rumors that, because of a liaison between a Lady Rassendyll some generations before and the then-prince of Ruritania, certain Rassendylls resembled members of that illustrious European royalty from time to time.)
A day before the coronation, Rudolf stops at a border village of Ruritania to fish while the king-to-be, unbeknownst to Rudolf, is hunting in the area. They meet and find themselves nearly identical twins. Taking a liking to his distant cousin and doppelganger, the royal heir invites Rudolf to dine at his hunting lodge with Colonel Zapt, a wily and trusted adviser, and Fritz von Tarlenheim, his man-in-waiting. A merry time is had by all. Too merry, in fact, for the last bottle of wine the prospective king drinks puts him literally under the table. The next morning he is still unconscious, and Zapt suspects the devilry of “Black” Michael, a morganatic stepbrother who, hoping to take advantage of his rival’s ill disposition, would seize the throne and the hand of the beautiful Princess Flavia, the intended bride of the next monarch.
What to do? Colonel Zapt fears the throne will be lost if the coronation doesn’t take place as planned. He challenges Rudolf to assume the identity of the king for the day. It’s a gamble for their lives, but the adventurous Rudolf takes the wager from loyalty to the rightful heir. They leave the king under guard, and Rudolf (with Black Michael’s shock revealing his guilt) is king for a day. But wait! Returning to the hunting lodge after the coronation, they find the guard murdered and the king kidnapped and now held prisoner in Black Michael’s castle at Zenda.
A standoff ensues and neither side can reveal his hand to the public. At stake are the throne and the heart of Princess Flavia, who has fallen in love with Rudolf (so much the nobler man than the king).
A few years ago, I asked The Heights faculty to name the books that changed their lives. I nominated The Prisoner of Zenda as one of mine. At that time, and to this day, it reaches the borders of romance and adventure without crossing them. Written and set in the last years when royalty still mattered, it has that delicious quality of “What if?” so important to a summer read. It sweeps you away into intrigue, sword fights, battles of wits and questions of honor, loyalty, and courage (back when they, too, still mattered). It has delightful villains and stalwart heroes, narrow escapes and questionable deeds. I won’t give away any more, but if you want to get out of the heat and humidity of a sweltering D.C. summer, you can’t get much better than the delightful but dangerous mountain air of Ruritania.
The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (1844)
Have you ever been falsely accused? Have you longed for revenge? Have you desired untold wealth with which to inflict that revenge? Then here’s the book for you.
It is March 1815, and Napoleon has been in exile on Elba for ten months. In Marseille, the young merchant sailor Edmond Dantès has returned from a voyage, having stopped at Elba to deliver a letter at the request of his dying captain. Now Edmond is to be promoted to captain which will allow him to care for his aging father and marry his beloved Mercédès. All are happy for him and wish him well—or so he thinks—but at the prenuptial dinner the police arrest him without giving the cause. The magistrate before whom he appears assures him the matter will be cleared up, but Edmond will have to spend the night in jail. He goes willingly, but instead of being confined in the town, he is secreted away to the Château d’If, an island prison, the Alcatraz of its day. No one knows where he has gone or why. And he won’t leave for fourteen years.
Edmond stays sane thanks only to the friendship of fellow prisoner, the Abbé Faria. The Abbé also reveals to Edmond the existence of a fabulous treasure on the isle of Monte Cristo off the coast of Italy. Finally, managing to escape and find the treasure, he resurrects himself as the Count of Monte Cristo. He learns why he had been falsely imprisoned, who let his father die in poverty, and who took away his cherished fiancée. He spends the next ten years exacting his revenge.
The novel is part Gothic tale, part The Godfather. It has more plots and subplots than a cemetery. Set against the shifting national and international politics of post-Napoleonic France, and consequent fragile rise and fall of persons and fortunes, it can seem eerily modern. It is a dark tale, and the Count himself, while having our sympathies, often walks on questionable—at best—ethical ground. What propels the story, at least to me, is the conflict between the desire to right an injustice and the lengths to which that may drive a man. If your idea of escaping is a moral tug-of-war, this is the book for you.
The Princess Bride by William Goldman (1973)
No, not S. Morgenstern. Well, I take that back. Morgenstern did write the original. What Goldman gives you is the “good parts” version because Morgenstern was also trying to write a satirical history of Florin and … well, it gets complicated.
Anyway, to lighten up your summer, try this classic. It was a book before it was a movie, and, if possible, the book is better. For the two or three of you who don’t know, here’s the basic plot. The peasant girl Buttercup is the most beautiful girl in Florin and is beloved by the farm boy Wesley. Wesley leaves to make his fortune, but is killed by the Dread Pirate Roberts. In her despair, Buttercup agrees to marry Prince Humperdinck, the heir to the throne of Florin. (Humperdinck, for his part, agrees to marry Buttercup only because she is the most beautiful girl in Florin and he just wants bragging rights.) Buttercup is then kidnapped by a humpbacked Sicilian, a Turkish giant, and a Spanish fencing wizard under contract from Guilder (Florin’s rival), but as they make their escape they are pursued by a mysterious man in black. All of them—the Sicilian, the Giant, the Spaniard, and the man in black—are pursued by Prince Humperdinck and his confidant Count Rugen, who happens to have six fingers on his right hand.
The man in black takes out the Spaniard, the Giant, and the Sicilian (sort of), and gets away with Buttercup (sort of). He then is overtaken and, after being tortured, is killed by Count Rugen (sort of). Prince Humperdinck then marries Buttercup (sort of). The problem is, that’s not what happens. If you’ve seen the movie, you know what I mean, but still read the book. If you haven’t seen the movie, read the book and then watch the movie.
Two things elevate the book over the movie. First, Goldman, who also did the screenplay, writes in a way that, like the movie, suspends our belief. It’s billed as a “fairy-tale romance,” but he takes the story seriously. There is no hint of satire or tongue-in-cheek. That leads to the second reason: it is also Goldman’s story of how he came to love reading. Yes, “Morgenstern’s original” is itself made up by Goldman, but he brings us back to the excitement we felt in our childhood when, if we were lucky, we first read a book that captured us. It is a fictional nostalgia, but still real in the message it contains. There are digressions and interjections that convey the love of a man telling the story of a story he wanted to cherish. I think you will, too.
Bonus: As You Wish: Inconceivable Tales from the Making of The Princess Bride by Cary Elwes (who played Wesley in the movie). Although written in first person by Elwes, there are plenty of stories and asides from just about all concerned (including the R.O.U.S.!). For fans of the movie or those who just want to know how a movie is made, this is a delightful read.
So there you have it. Royal intrigue, revenge, and a fairy tale. How will you escape this summer?