A syndicated “Summer Reading List for 2025” circulated by King Features, a unit of Hearst Newspapers, has caused backlash after it was revealed that most of the titles featured were entirely fictional, many attributed to real authors who never wrote them.
Newspapers across the United States, including the Chicago Sun-Times and at least one edition of The Philadelphia Inquirer, published the list, which claimed to spotlight recommended summer reads.
Among the invented titles: Tidewater Dreams, described as Isabel Allende’s “first climate fiction novel,” and The Rainmakers, supposedly set in a “near-future American West where artificially induced rain has become a luxury commodity,” falsely attributed to Pulitzer Prize-winner Percival Everett.
In reality, only five of the 15 books featured in the total list are real. Those include Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine, Jess Walter’s Beautiful Ruins, and Françoise Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse.
The list ran without a byline, but writer Marco Buscaglia has since claimed authorship.
Speaking to NPR via email, Buscaglia confirmed that parts of the list were generated by artificial intelligence. “Huge mistake on my part and has nothing to do with the Sun-Times. They trust that the content they purchase is accurate, and I betrayed that trust. It’s on me 100 per cent”.
The fallout was swift, with writers and readers taking to social media to criticise the newspapers and the growing presence of AI in editorial content.
“It would be cool if the person in charge of recommending books was someone who loved reading and writing about books,” one Reddit user wrote.
“That ‘journalist’ should never be allowed to work in the industry again. This shows an absolute lack of integrity,” said another.
Author and former librarian Kelly Jensen posted on Bluesky, suggesting that the list is a result of a malfunctioning academic system. “This is the future of book recommendations when libraries are defunded and dismantled. Trained professionals are removed in exchange for this made-up, inaccurate garbage.”
In a statement, Victor Lim, marketing director for the Sun-Times’ parent company, said: “We are looking into how this made it into print as we speak. This is licensed content that was not created by or approved by the Sun-Times newsroom, but it is unacceptable for any content we provide to our readers to be inaccurate. We value our readers’ trust in our reporting and take this very seriously. More info will be provided soon as we investigate.”
How far can we really take AI?
The AI summer reading list got B&T thinking, just how far can we stretch the limits of AI? Would it be possible to write an entire novel? We asked ChatGPT to write us the opening chapter of the fictional Hurricane Season novel by Britt Bennett, as listed in the reading list, and the results shocked us.
What the chatbot delivered was a structured opening chapter that, while perhaps lacking in emotional nuance and originality, serves as a solid foundation for the early draft of a novel.
With only a brief summary, title and author name, the technology created complex characters, gave them a foundational backstory and established their personality traits and motives early on.
It started, like most things in this family, with a warning.
“Not the hurricane warning—that came later, hours after every phone in the parish buzzed with the same alert. But the first warning came on a Wednesday, slipped into a voicemail from their mother in the clipped, formal tone she reserved for bad news.
“You all need to come home,” she said. “They say this one’s different.”
Carmen was the first to reply, not because she was eager, but because she always answered her mother. She was still in Atlanta, still practicing law in a firm that had promised her partnership then quietly rescinded the offer once she’d taken maternity leave. Her life was built on spreadsheets and babysitters and silent commutes through Midtown traffic. She hadn’t seen her siblings in over a year.
Next came David, who lived in Houston now. No wife, no kids, just an Instagram of green smoothies and gym selfies that made Carmen roll her eyes. He texted a thumbs-up emoji and a plane time. He wouldn’t be driving. David hadn’t driven in years.
And then there was Lena. Still in New Orleans. Still too proud to call. She didn’t need to evacuate, she said, not for another storm with a fancy name and fake news buzz. But their mother, in that voice that managed to unspool years of resentment in just four syllables—“Do as I say”—got her to agree.
Amazed, we took it a step further and asked it to create a book cover. The tool spat out two very different, yet remarkably stark images that would not be out of place in any Dymocks or QBD.
The AI-made list may have undermined trust in the media platforms that shared it, but overall, it raises bigger questions about authorship and creativity and what we do when the lines blur between humans and machines. If a chatbot can produce a passable opening chapter and a bookstore-worthy cover in seconds, what does that mean for the future of publishing, and for the readers who expect authenticity?
The real issue isn’t just that the list featured fake books. It’s that it was so easy to believe they were real. As newsrooms and publishers lean more heavily on automation, the lesson here is clear: technology may be able to generate stories, but can it replace authenticity and accountability?
