Would you read an 18th-century novel entitled The Adventures of an Ostrich Feather of Quality? How about Memoirs of an Old Wig? Because I totally would (and now intend to). The Toast compiled this list of real book titles from the 1700s, and it has suddenly made me very, very curious about a) that particular century, obviously, and b) whether writers were an even stranger breed back then than they are now.
Some of my personal favorites from the (quite long) list:
A Modern Anecdote Of The Ancient Family Of The Kinkvervankotsdarsprakengotchderns
Reft Rob; Or, The Witch Of Scot-Muir, Commonly Called Madge The Snoover
Love And Madness. A Story Too True. In A Series Of Letters Between Parties Whose Names Would Perhaps Be Mentioned Were They Less Well Known Or Less Lamented
The Egg, Or The Memoirs Of Gregory Giddy, Esq: With The Lucubrations Of Messrs. Francis Flimsy, Frederick Florid, And Ben Bombast. To Which Are Added, The Private Opinions Of Patty Pout, Lucy Luscious, And Priscilla Positive. Also The Memoirs Of A Right Honourable Puppy. Conceived By A Celebrated Hen, And Laid Before The Public By A Famous Cock-Feeder