This follow-up to our Books of Summer series [see part 1 and part 2A] includes some not so new, some brand new and some yet-to-be releases, all chosen for readers looking for a diverse list not wholly made up of chick-lit and pulpy P.I. series.

Let’s start off with Jincy Willett’s The Writing Class, set for a June 10th release. If ever there was a custom-made summer book for Readervillians, this is it. Amy Gallup lives alone with her apathetic hound dog. Self-described as bitter, she’s a once-successful author relegated to editing online résumés for a dollar a pop. An ideal, 16-year marriage to Max ended with his death from cancer; a successive, short-lived second marriage ended in divorce. She hasn’t had a visitor to her home in years, drinks too much, reluctantly started a blog (with hilarious results), and her only respite is the creative writing workshop she teaches part time at a local college. The story opens with an ominous, extremely snarky journal entry summarizing the first class of the new semester, and it’s obviously written by a twisted student. Amy’s been teaching these workshops for years, and she’s learned to keep her expectations low. This year’s crop of writer wannabes are the standard fare. So they seem, initially. There’s an obsessive kiss-up, who follows Amy from semester to semester, a neurosurgeon with Robin Cook aspirations, a wise-ass with real potential, a hardcore feminist, a former high school teacher (who turns out to be the best writer of the bunch), a lawyer, etc. Early semester classes are a hoot, the group’s dynamics brew inevitable conflicts, and Amy’s instruction, although earnest and well intentioned, reflects a teacher this close to permanent burnout. Until things begin to get very interesting. It starts off with a strange, middle of the night phone call to Amy’s house. Then students begin to report obscene commentary appearing on their peer reviews. When an especially cruel and dangerous prank is played on one of the students after class one Halloween night, Amy realizes she has to report the events before something really bad happens. She winds up getting dismissed from her position, a student gets murdered, and Amy knows, is certain, it’s the mysterious pervert from her writing class. But which one? Searching their fictional assignments for clues, Amy has to work with the students (knowing one of them is guilty as sin), in order to discover the identity of the murderer. Funny, smart, compassionate and literary, The Writing Class will hook you from page one. (Check out the clever book cover art. Each writing utensil represents a class member.)

Although it was published last year, Ron Currie, Jr., recently won The New York Public Library’s 2008 Young Lions Fiction Award for God is Dead, a book of nine loosely connected stories about a godless world. The title story introduces the premise. God descends to earth and appears as a homeless woman in Darfur. Powerless to intercede in the genocide, he/she sustains a grievous wound and eventually dies. Word spreads about the death of god when the dogs feasting on his/her corpse develop intuitive powers, and inform the world of its divine loss. (Did I mention the postmodern aspects? No? Well, there’s that, too.) Priests start jumping off buildings, Colin Powell turns into a potty mouth, high school students stage group suicides, children-worshipping cults form, and, of course, a war begins. Currie, a former short order cook and a popular member of the Zoetrope community, has said in interviews that this collection is meant as satire. Backing up its award-winning status is its big online buzz. Whether it’s award-worthy or a fortunate example of the power of online communities, it’s an interesting representation of a new generation of writers informed by current events.

In striking comparison, Atmospheric Disturbances, by Rivka Galchen, is another fiction debut by a young writer that succeeds on all levels. Dr. Leo Liebenstein is a NY psychiatrist who one night begins to suspect his beautiful young wife has been replaced by a simulacrum. With no actual basis for his suspicions, and thinking no one will believe him, he looks to his patient, Harvey, for help in finding his real wife. Harvey, you see, has these, um, connections with a covert group that can control the weather. (Here’s the blind leading the blind.) Dr. Leo’s quest takes him from Manhattan to Patagonia, and even though he knows his suspicions are absurd, his background and mindset equip him with every rationalization available. Galchen’s book is a brilliant examination of a man coming apart, and of the limits of love. Reviews I’ve read are not far off in comparing Galchen to Sebald, Murakami and Pynchon. I’m a big fan of those author’s intelligences and experimental rigor, but Galchen’s writing possesses a soulfulness not found in the others’ books. This is brilliant writing made even more impressive by the fact that it’s the author’s debut, and compounded by its “fascinating back story.” No, this isn’t a light, summery read, but I guarantee it will enrich your summer, if you give it a go.

Those who haven’t completely given up on the coming-of-age story should check out Matthew Kneale’s new book, When We Were Romans, which is told in the voice of 9-year-old Lawrence. On the run from an abusive father, his sister, his mother and Lawrence pack everything into their rundown car and take off for Rome via the chunnel. It soon becomes apparent that the family’s problem isn’t the dad but the mentally unstable mother, and Lawrence must quickly become their protector and guide. It’s a short but gut-wrenching story, told in a perfect voice and readable in a couple of hours. Kneale has an uncanny gift for childhood insights long forgotten by grownups.

Dol McQueen is a “flash girl” (prostitute) in mid-19th-century San Francisco, who saves a pimp’s life then promptly steals his cache of liquid opium (from which the book takes its title, Missy). Accompanied by other flash girls, she then sets off in search of the alcoholic mother who abandoned her. The motley crew encounters thieving Native Americans, Civil War bandits, the vengeful pimp and other claimants to the stash of liquid gold. Hope for a new life soon succumbs to the hardships of wagon travel in the desert. Chock full of colorful Deadwood-like characters and earthy dialog, Missy is a well-researched wild west adventure. This is the new-realism wild west that we’re seeing more and more of in recent fiction, in which the myths are perpetuated in down-and-dirty fashion. Chris Hannan, a well-known Scottish playwright, has done his homework and is clearly infatuated with his subject matter. Cinematic, lusty and fast, Missy is fun summer reading for historical fiction fans.

Another not-so-new selection, but good summer reading material, especially for New Weird Fiction lovers, is Steph Swainston’s Fourlands series. Unusual for genre sequels, each new book in the series gets better and better. An adjective you’ll see in almost every description of this epic is “original.” Much has been written about the author breaking the mold of the genre, and she’s often referred to as the New Queen of Weird Fiction. Her champions include the likes of China Miéville (“Thoughtful, exuberant, incredibly inventive: a blistering debut, and honest-to-god unputdownable”), Richard Morgan, The Guardian (“A study of guilt and addiction inside a novel about sexual politics, and wrapped in some of the weirdest and best fantasy written in recent years. A stunning debut”), SFX (“The Modern World is another welcome glimpse into a fantasy world so aggressive it could knock seven shades of Hell out of most entries in the genre. We can’t recommend it highly enough”), The Sydney Morning Herald (“Swainston writes beautiful prose, flowing and elegant, with clever description and mastery of all technical aspects; she is clearly the kind of talent who could waltz into pretty much any genre she set her mind to”). Plus it’s either won or been nominated for too many awards to list.

Here’s a quick synopsis: Several species, adminstered to by The Emperor have been living under imminent attack of giant, hoarding insects always looking for more land to nest. (I know, I know, but wait ...) These species are under the protection of a group of Immortals, who were granted their immortality by the Emperor in exchange for their services. One of the Immortals, Jant the Messenger, can fly, is superfast and holds a secret crucial to the Insects. Unfortunately, he’s also a self-destructive addict. For ninety years he’s been strung out on the drug “cat,” which transports users to an alternate universe. Although this series is categorized as fantasy, it’s much more Baroque and medieval in its setting. The fantastic plot aside, this is an intricate story of relationships, sexual politics, and some of the most exciting and vividly rendered battles and feats of swordplay. Oh yeah, did I mention that Steph Swainston is a woman? A former archaeologist? Presently a scientist for weapons of defense? An artist who sketches all of her characters and many of her scenes? If you’re just discovering her now (as I did), you have a feast of three finished installments to gorge upon: The Year of Our War, No Present Like Time and The Modern World (also released as Dangerous Offspring). That’s a book a month for your summer serial enjoyment.

Okay, back to upcoming books. Andrew Davidson’s The Gargoyle was the subject of a fierce bidding war. For a first book. Lucky guy, right? Well, sure, it takes a certain amount of luck for an unknown writer to get published, but Davidson is that unusual entity: worthy of all the buzz. Another fantastic-sounding plot is shadowed by the impressively assured narrative voice in this book. The main character (never named and henceforth referred to here as the man or the burn victim), raised by meth-head relatives in a trailer park, has essentially taken care of himself since the age of six. He is an actor in adult films (read: porn star), creator of his own film company, and at the outset of the story becomes a rich director/producer ... of porn films. Living the phat life, and loving every minute of it, his whole world comes crashing down one night when he misses a dead man’s curve. Conscious and trapped upside down in his demolished vehicle, he watches helplessly as the car catches fire. He is burned beyond recognition and horribly disfigured (he had an open bottle of liquor in his lap, so you can guess the rest), and the first section of the book is devoted to his excruciating hospitalization and battle to survive. I haven’t read medical references in fiction this well done since Thomas Moran’s unforgettable The World I Made for Her.

Although he’s a burn victim, there’s absolutely nothing self-victimizing about this narrative voice. He’s a cynic and a realist. He also has his suicide planned, down to the tiniest detail, for when he gets released. Once a gorgeous man with the world on a string, he has no intentions of living his life as a monster. That is, until the day Marianne Engle, a refugee from the psych ward, appears at his bedside and tells him she’s his long-lost lover (as in 700 years long). Marianne returns to her art after her release from the hospital — she’s a successful sculptress of gargoyles — and the man figures that will be the last he sees of her. He’s wrong. Marianne stays devoted to him, becomes an active participant in his rehab, and announces she’ll be taking him home with her when he’s ready for discharge. He’s certain she’s nuts, but considering all his friends have abandoned him and his company has gone bankrupt after his year in the hospital, Marianne’s offer looks like a plan to him. Besides, he’s smitten. All during his recuperation, Marianne told him bedside stories about how they first met in 14th-century Germany. She was an orphan in a nunnery, raised to be a scribe, and he was a mercenary brought to the convent after suffering horrible burns. Interspersed with this epic story, she tells him other, ancient stories of devotion and love. Not gooey, Harlequin Romance stories, but myth and legend-like stories from around the world. Marianne’s storytelling skills are mesmerizing, and some of the best parts of the novel are her historic tales. Weird coincidences start presenting themselves, and pretty soon the man doesn’t know what to think about her claims. What he does know, after he goes to live with her, is that an undefined, mysterious race is on. As Marianne’s mental state devolves and she becomes ever more manic, their roles reverse. The basic plot is almost inconsequential. Most readers will come away from this book dazzled by its storytelling prowess and by the narrative voice. All of you time-travel naysayers, please take note: there’s no actual time travel in this novel, but that’s all I can say about that. Set for an August release, put this one way high on your Wish List.

Rounding up this issue of Summer Books, if you had told me that a big, fat generational novel about a family of dog breeders would wind up being my favorite summer read (so far), I’d have laughed in your face. But here it is: The Story of Edgar Sawtelle is my pick for this summer’s don’t-miss fiction. The story opens with a dark, foreshadowing prologue which I won’t reveal here. Abruptly, it moves on to the first chapter, which tells the history of the Sawtelle farm in the far reaches of Wisconsin.

Edgar’s grandfather becomes obsessed with the notion of creating a new breed of dog, builds the shelters and kennels, does the scientific research, determines and locates the perfect specimen for breeding, and eventually succeeds in creating a superior breed, which becomes famous for its uncommon discipline and free will. (You’ll have to read the book in order to fully appreciate the qualities of this fictional breed, henceforth known as the Sawtelles). Grandfather raises two sons, Claude and Gar, different as day and night. One is a bad seed who joins the Navy and goes off to Korea; the other, having sown his wild oats, stays on the farm after his father’s death to continue his work. Gar marries Trudy, a gifted dog trainer, and after much difficulty, she finally delivers a son who survives. Edgar is healthy but mute. He’s not deaf but born with a malformation that robbed him of the ability to make sound. Gar chooses a pup from a recently delivered litter for the specific purpose of watching over Edgar. Almondine becomes Edgar’s lifelong guardian and protector. She’s an exceptional dog, even by Sawtelle standards. She’s intuitive and is trained to read Edgar’s hand-signing. Life is hard on the farm but full, until the day Claude returns from Korea. In spite of their long, bitter history (Claude sold Gar his part of the business), Trudy attempts a reconciliation by setting up and offering a spare room to Claude. Gar’s awful, tragic death is witnessed by the helpless and alone Edgar (one of the book’s most memorable scenes is Edgar repeatedly punching himself in the chest in an effort to elicit any sound during his frantic call to the operator). Grief-stricken and guilt-ridden, Edgar devotes himself to helping his mother save the farm and the dogs. Claude eventually ingratiates himself to Trudy, and ominous things begin occurring. Edgar soon suspects that Claude had something to do with his father’s death (the Hamlet parallels are deliberate), especially when he learns of Claude’s plans to sell the Sawtelle brand. Edgar’s attempts to enlighten his mother are futile, his hand is forced, and when his plans backfire, he runs away with three yearlings from the most recent litter. The last third of the book is a riveting tale of survival in the forests of the far north. The novel is a treasure of info about dog training and breeding, full of unforgettable scenes, and then there’s those perfect, lovely intermittent chapters told from Almondine’s POV. Comparisons to Life of Pi are bunk — don’t pay any attention to them. This is a wonderful, old-fashioned saga that will keep you up late at night, greedily turning pages while dreading the last one. Animal lovers will revel in this story, but you don’t have to be a pet owner to appreciate it.

That’s it for now. Hope you find something tasty from these lists, and have a great summer!