Women Who Travel Book Club: 13 New Books for Your Summer Reading List
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What's a summer vacation without a new, exciting book? Whether you're heading to Paris for the Olympics or planning a beach trip to Lisbon, you'll need a good book (or two) to keep you company. Enter the Women Who Travel book club: our quarterly list of the new and trending books, written by women authors, that we're most excited about.
As always, we asked our editors, contributors, and the well-traveled bibliophiles in our Women Who Travel network to share which highly-anticipated books they're reading this summer. This garnered a diverse mix of titles, from deeply personal essays and heart-wrenching historical fiction to debut novels exploring identity, love, and loss. Not only will these books have you on the edge of your seat, they'll transport you around the world, from Tehran to South Carolina. We'd love to hear which you're reading—and which fantastic new books we missed—on Instagram or Facebook.
Below, 13 engrossing new titles to toss in your beach bag this summer.
“One Woman’s Pursuit of Pleasure in Paris” is written on the cover of the new Glynnis MacNichol book, which was all it took for me to crack this one open. MacNichol’s poignant writing is the reason I’ve toted the hardcover all over Brooklyn, devouring hilarious lines about both the horror of mid-pandemic New York, and the alternate reality she transports herself to in Paris in the summer of 2021. As a middle-aged woman with no children or partner tying her down—"I am untethered. Or if not exactly that, then my tethers have the capacity to unfurl at great lengths without ever breaking."—she takes the reader on her journey to rediscover her own sense of pleasure, from a perspective that can feel all too rare. It’s refreshing, too, to hear her reflect on other people’s reactions to how she has strayed from the singular lifestyle and path deemed acceptable for women as they age. I’m only halfway through, and I already know it’s my favorite book of this summer. —Megan Spurrell, associate director, articles
Everywhere I look, women are reading Miranda July’s latest novel All Fours. I spot them, nose to the page, while lying on sunbeds, riding the subway, sitting at bars, and waiting at the airport gate. And now, rather predictably, I’m also one of them, having picked up a copy after a grueling few months of travel that left me in a deep book rut, and promptly absorbed in July’s story of a 45-year-old “semi-famous” artist who embarks up on a cross-country road trip that shifts into a midlife reawakening inside a motel. The book explores themes like the narrator’s re-acquaintance with lust, her encroaching acceptance of mortality, and transition into menopause—the latter a topic so rarely written about with any considerable level of nuance. Its an existential examination of how one chooses to live a life, which should be terrifying, but instead has made me both laugh out loud in public places and left curious for all the twists and turns that may lie ahead—both in the remaining 100 or so pages I have left, and in life itself. —Lale Arikoglu, articles director
Right away in the introduction to The New Tourist, Paige McClanahan gently told me off. “A lot of people are uncomfortable with the word ‘tourist,’ at least when it’s aimed in their direction,” she writes. “It irks me that some people insist on a distinction between ‘travelers’ and ‘tourists,’ where the former are explorer types […] while the latter are philistines who are content with cliched, mass-market experiences.” This nuanced approach to tourism is baked into the premise of The New Tourist, a new book perfectly summarized by its subtitle: “waking up to the power and perils of travel.” McClanahan also considers the forces that drive us and our fellow tourists to head to a certain location (a government’s effective tourism campaign, for example, or our colleagues’ Instagram posts), in one chapter describing the policy choices that led Amsterdam to becoming the heavily-touristed, famed party city it is today—and recent attempts to reverse that reputation, including a campaign to tell bachelor parties to stay away. Yet McClanahan remains unwavering in her belief that tourism can be a net good—for individual travelers, for destinations, and for the world. —Nora Biette-Timmons, contributor
I adored Kamali’s previous novel, The Stationary Shop (also set in Iran), so I was very eager to dive into The Lion Women of Tehran—and boy did it meet my high expectations. The book follows the friendship of two young girls, Ellie and Homa, as they come of age together in Tehran during the years leading up to the 1979 Iranian Revolution. As the monarchy is toppled and replaced by a conservative Islamic regime, the rights of women are dramatically restricted and Ellie and Homa see their lives change nearly overnight. It’s the perspective of these two characters that makes this book so powerful; it’s a story about major historical events, yes, but also the everyday strife of girlhood, love, and friendship—each given equal weight by the author. The writing is beautiful and plot suspenseful (I ripped through it in one sitting during a work trip to Miami). Today, as the Woman, Life, Freedom movement wages on in Iran following the death of Mahsa Amini, The Lion Women of Tehran feels especially significant. —Hannah Towey, associate editor, transportation and travel news
I was transfixed by Kwon’s first novel, the mesmerizing The Incendiaries, and as such I was watching for the drop on her second. In Exhibit, I found many of the hallmarks that I loved about its older sibling—intelligent, complex female characters; themes that both tease and nosedive into some pretty dark subjects. But Exhibit allows the reader to more intimately live in the world occupied by its central characters; here, that meant Jin and Lidija. By following these women across the book’s 200-odd pages, readers are transported into a space of unspeakable desires fueled by complicated pasts and unacknowledged identities. The story is intricate and sexy, but the true magic lies in Kwon’s ability to make us, the reader, feel we have been let into a secret, and have become voyeurs in their forbidden world, which could mean carrying at least some of the guilt that could come with the territory. —Erin Florio, executive editor
Plenty of public intellectuals yawn out retrospectives from the bloom of their careers. But few of those books feel as joyful and buoyant as Like Love. From conversations with friends and mentors like Eileen Myles to adolescent memories of Prince’s sexual voltage, Maggie Nelson celebrates a life spent learning in all its mottled glory. Each essay stands in sound defense against the cynics who suggest that hope is Pollyanna-ish. In two decades’ worth of material, Nelson’s voice continuously and cogently affirms the value in cultivating generosity, friendship, and compassion. Like Love is cerebral, but more importantly, it has a heartbeat and sticks to it. —Kat Chen, editorial assistant
Rachel Khong’s second novel is a decade-spanning, genre-jumping deep dive into what a real American is and who gets to claim the name. The book is broken up into three sections, each told through the lens of a different member of one Chinese American family. There’s May, a young university student in Maoist China who chooses her dream of one day working as a scientist over true love, escaping to America with a man who can bring her professional, if not personal, happiness (my favorite point of view). Her daughter Lily, a struggling intern at a magazine, who seems to be drifting through early adulthood in early-aughts New York City until she meets and eventually marries Matthew, a private equity bro from a moneyed family (my least favorite of the sections). And modern-day Nick, Lily and Matthew’s son, who looks exactly like blond Matthew and nothing like Lily; after Nick’s birth, Lily basically runs away with him and relocates to an island in the Pacific Northwest. Matthew and Nick don’t reunite until Nick is about to go off to college. Through these characters, all sorts of topics are explored within the larger question of what it means to be an American. Obvious ones like race, immigration, assimilation, and class, but more subtle ones like genetics, what can be inherited, what is earned, and what defines identity. The book is ambitious and not everything lands perfectly, but the ride to the end is definitely worth it. —Rebecca Misner, senior features editor
You first get introduced to Soledad Barnes in Ryan’s book, Before I Let Go, but you don’t need to have read that to understand this story. This Could Be Us starts off with a bang and leaves you unable to put the book down for at least the first 100 pages. It’s heartbreaking, but amongst the chaos of Barnes’s life, there is hope found through friendship, family, and an understanding of what it means to take care of the ones you love. You can find a piece of yourself in her character from the sacrifices she’s had to make and immediately feel her pain, desperation, and yearning, but also her resilience and fire. This book is definitely one of the quickest reads I’ve finished in a long time. —Kayla Brock, associate social media manager
Kuhl’s first novel follows Ren, who ambivalently works as a publicist. Ren is passive and doesn’t have much faith in herself as a writer. She’s treated as somewhat of an afterthought by her closest friend Etta, the rich, aimless daughter of art-world power players. Etta is resentful of her older brother Archer, an up-and-coming painter who’s also their parents’ favorite. When Etta moves to Barcelona at her parents’ behest to study, Ren and Archer discover their mutual attraction. However, Ren fears triggering Etta’s jealousy and spite, and since she feels both indebted and bitter, decides to keep their relationship a secret.
The author is really great at showing the thought process that leads to Ren’s meekness, and gives us a glimpse of the childhood that made her this way. The book is also a fun peek into the life of a beleaguered publicist who’s just trying to make ends meet. I particularly loved how we see very clearly why Ren would be drawn to Archer. Oftentimes, the male love interest is pretty generic in book romances, but Kuhl fleshes him out: he’s sincere about his work, even as he’s not taken seriously by critics or his friends, and strives to bring back Ren’s creative flow. Readers will be charmed by Archer, too, and the rest of this sharp debut. —Alexandra Sanidad, research director
Following three generations of women in the same family, the book kicks off in 1949 rural China as the country begins to drastically evolve, socially and politically, then moves through the Mao-era, the 80’s, and present day. There are tangled love stories, family losses, and so much more. I was drawn to this book for the same reason as many historical fictions, because I love following human stories through major historical moments, and learning about the latter in the process. At times, it can feel like a lot of people and time to pack into such a small book, but Chen’s writing is so quick-paced and emotive, it was much like a movie I need to keep watching. —M.S.
The debut novel by Kristin Vukovic, The Cheesemaker’s Daughter is set on the island of Pag, Croatia—a place I now want to visit after reading. It deftly weaves together themes of identity and belonging, love and loss, and growth and acceptance through the struggles of Marina, who has returned to her homeland after spending years in America to help her father with his struggling cheese factory. Reading it, I was transported to that windswept island and felt like I was watching over Marina’s shoulder on her journey. It made me want to book a trip to Croatia immediately—and eat mounds of cheese, too. —Blane Bachelor, contributor
While visiting Greenville, South Carolina, earlier this summer, I had the privilege of listening to Glenis Redmond, the city's first poet laureate, read an excerpt from her new book, The Song of Everything: A Poet's Exploration of South Carolina's State Parks. Her powerful words moved me to tears. Six months before the pandemic, Redmond was diagnosed with cancer. With the world locked down, she decided to visit all 47 of South Carolina's state parks with her then 5-year-old grandson, Julian. For decades, South Carolina's state parks were segregated, and there were very few places for Black citizens—including Redmond's mother—to recreate outdoors. Against that backdrop, visiting the parks was a “full circle moment” for Redmond, she said, and an opportunity to write a new, more inclusive narrative about the natural world. In this pocket-sized collection, Redmond celebrates and reclaims nature, but also wrestles with its complicated past. “Julian, I want you to know every wonder belongs to you, though some will say otherwise,” she writes in one poem. “Go anyhow. Your passage has already been paid.” — Sarah Kuta, contributor
As a Saturday Night Live fan, so many people recommended Romantic Comedy to me since it's set in the fictional world of an SNL-like show. But what immediately drew me in wasn't the detailed behind-the-scenes look at a late-night sketch comedy show, but the super relatable perspective of the protagonist Sally Milz about gender dynamics. In fact, it starts with her complicated feelings about her office mate, a male comedy writer who starts dating a hot movie actress (sound familiar?). While I just started reading the book of just three huge chapters, I'm already taken by the keen observations around the complications of modern-day relationships—and can't wait to find out who gets the last laugh. —Rachel Chang, contributor
