Jay Mackintosh is the classic great-soul-in-a-prison-of-his-own-making, a poor little rich Brit who as a teenager is sent off to his grandparents in coal-mining country while his parents parade about with their next mates. A wishfully poetic pastiche of magical realism and travelogue-by-surrogate, it may lure the more extreme romantics into sun-drugged suspense. Joanne Harris's Blackberry Wine is a classic of a beach book-which is to say, you have been warned. Usually intensely ambitious, sweepingly sentimental, historically panoramic, or just down and dirty, summer novels provide an intellectual escapism designed to mirror the gleeful surrender of responsibility that a oil-slicked flop on the sands requires. Ah, the summer novel, the literary vice that must hold serious publishers to their other virtues the rest of the year.
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