Why should summer reading be any different than winter reading? Why does everything need to be so seasonally specific? I don’t know. It just does. Actually, scratch that. I do know why even reading is so closely related to whatever time of year it is. It’s because everything moves slower in the summer—even our brains—and so the tangled, tightly woven plots that we don’t mind plowing through in the winter are just too much for our minds to take when the newly hot weather dictates we expend as little energy as possible. Also, beaches. Being on the beach, preferably with something icy and alcoholic nearby, always makes me want to peruse a book or two. After all, reading by the water is a very particular pleasure (this does, of course, include bathtub reading, the very best kind of reading in the world) and it’s one that requires a certain type of book. The following ten books are loosely themed as all being by Brooklyn authors, but beyond that all of these books—whether new releases or decades-old classics—are at least partly related to or evocative of either the summer or heat or love or laughter or death or sex or the sort of false fecundity that this season offers. I say false because, as F. Scott Fitzgerald noted in This Side of Paradise, summer is “a sad season of life without growth.” So live a little this summer, and read these books. Who knows? They might even help you grow in some small way, and allow you to get through this overripe time of year.