Michael Callahan's favorite beach reads from midcentury America

The first great American trashy novel, Peyton Place today seems rather tame, but in its day, it was scandalous. Plucking it from my mother’s bookcase when I was 14, I was engrossed by its roaring passion and sensational secrets.

Set in a small New England town, the book set the stage for the modern soap opera, and I wolfed it down like a big box of candy. It reminds me of those great, heady melodramas of the 1950s (and was itself made into a fabulously sudsy film in 1957), an intoxicating mix of all things forbidden.

I adored the fact that it was literary, which it doesn’t get enough credit for. I think its opening line—“Indian summer is like a woman…”—is one of the best in mid-20th Century literature. 

One of the great lions of mid-20th-century literature, Irwin Shaw is probably best known for Rich Man, Poor Man, which became television’s first big miniseries. But this book, chronicling the dark glamour of the Cannes Film Festival in 1970, centers on the antihero Jesse Craig, a burned-out film producer trying to regain relevance in an arena that worships the new.

Reading it today, you can’t help but wish that kind of effortless European style and chic still existed. It also contains one of my favorite exchanges in a novel, when a young woman asks Craig, “If you had to do it all over again, would you?” and he responds wearily, “No one gets to do it all over again.” Oh, snap!

This roman à clef about billionaire Howard Hughes has everything you covet in a great beach read: money, power, sex, betrayal.

The rugged tycoon Jonas Cord and the screen siren Rita Marlowe tussle, tangle, couple, uncouple, and everything in between over decades and continents, and Robbins’s talent for saucy dialogue and spicier plotlines furiously bubbles to the surface in perhaps the last great book he wrote before his own life—as dramatic as anything he penned—and his work both began to crumble.

It’s hardly short (the original hardback clocks in at a hefty 650-plus pages), but I could not get enough of its blazing, take-no-prisoners leads as they barreled through the worlds of show business, aviation, and business to conquer the world.   

I once asked Agnes Nixon, the creator of All My Children and other legendary daytime serials, how she became so good at plotting them. She replied, “I am a very good eavesdropper.”

I suspect O’Hara was, too. His 1959 epic (900 pages!) about a social-climbing, status-mad banker and the fashionable coterie of vipers he navigates to attain success at any cost is dipped in old-money style and privilege masking an ever-rotting core.

It’s packed with the one thing any great beach read needs: people keeping secrets who will do anything to protect them.    

Ok, so this is not technically midcentury (it was published in 1977), but I had to include one of those amazing 1970s yarns. I chose this one because I remember reading this as an adolescent and feeling it was sort of like a more adult, sophisticated Nancy Drew book, replete with cliffhangers at the end of each chapter.

This global potboiler, about a beautiful pharmaceutical heiress marked for murder, has enough twists and turns to keep anyone reading way past bedtime. I think it also planted the seed for me to write my own novels of courageous, Grace Kelly-style heroines caught up in the throes of romantic mystery and adventure.