Insult of the Week: inferior poets are absolutely fascinating

Ah, poetry.  One of the great literary forms, with a history stretching back as far as the earliest written word!  Beloved genre of such giants as Sappho, Homer, Chaucer, and the anonymous author of The Poetic Works of a Weird (1827).  Being writers themselves, surely our novelists must have a healthy respect for the poetical…

Happy birthday, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!

Birthday congratulations are in order to the creator of Sherlock Holmes, on his 157th birthday! In honour of the occasion, why not follow Watson’s example and while away some free time (while waiting to be called into action) with a good mystery? (Take your boots off before you sit on the couch, though…)

An injured body: novelists disapproving of novels

In chapter 5 of Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen starts off by describing the activities of Catherine Morland and Isabella Thorpe, but gets sidetracked rather quickly, and spends almost the entire second half in a delightful rant about the hypocrisy of novelists who deride their own genre: I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom…

Alas! Or, Some Titles of “Interest”

Ada Maria Jocelyn, £100,000 Versus Ghosts: A Novel.  1888. UK’s Most Haunted: The 19th Century Edition Anonymous, The Life and Adventures of Toby, the Sapient Pig; with his opinions on men and manners. Written by himself.  1805 (although this date may be inaccurate?). Toby was quite the celebrity in his day, and his memoirs were…

What’s in a name? Waverley and The Sea of Books

The protagonist of Sir Walter Scott’s 1814 historical novel, Waverley, comes from a wealthy family and has the good fortune to be brought up with access to an enormous collection of books: The library at Waverley-Honour, a large Gothic room, with double arches and a gallery, contained such a miscellaneous and extensive collection of volumes…

Insult of the Week: Intolerably Stupid

We may be a little biased, but we feel there’s some truth in this pointed comment from Henry Tilney: The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid. From chapter 14 of Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, published 1817. Read the novel for free at Project Gutenberg!