You probably can’t call yourself a book nerd if this article from The Toast doesn’t make you laugh. Here are a few signs you are living out a Jane Austen plot:
- Someone disagreeable is trying to persuade you to take a trip to Bath.
- Someone disagreeable is trying to persuade you to join a game of cards.
- A picnic has gone horribly wrong.
- Someone you know has fallen ill. Not melodramatically ill, just interestingly so.
- A charming man attempts to flirt with you. This is terrible.
- Your mother is dead or ridiculous.
- You are in a garden, and you are astonished.
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