For Sale: Lord Byron's Copy of Frankenstein, Signed by Mary Shelley

Mary Shelley/Portrait by Richard Rothwell via <a href=Wikipedia" />
Mary Shelley/Portrait by Richard Rothwell via Wikipedia

Got an extra $350K laying around? You can buy Lord Byron's personal copy of Frankenstein, signed by the author Mary Shelley in 1818. Wonder if he actually read it? Perhaps we should check whether there's a crumbling volume of Byron's poetry somewhere in the Shelley estate that contains a reciprocal note?

While we're on the subject of stuffy old poets, apparently Lord Alfred Tennyson received a letter from mathematician Charles Babbage (whose work paved the way toward our modern computers) suggesting a change in a line from the poem "The Vision of Sin" to make it more mathematically correct. C'mon, really? It's not like we literary types are constantly correcting everyone's grammar and spelling. Oh wait, yes we are! And truth be told, I'm not wild about Babbage's em dash usage.

Someone on Reddit has shared this incredible collection of Stephen King movie posters done up comic-book style, featuring familiar superheroes in some pretty hair-raising situations. Be sure to scroll down to characters from Carrie, The Shining, and other King classics forming their own hellish Legion of Doom.

Author Karen Abbott has made a career out of combing through historical records in search of salacious tidbits. Her recent article is a purely educational history of Napoleon Bonaparte's penis, which was severed and bandied about as a valuable relic after the French emperor's death in 1821. It's currently owned by a woman in New Jersey, who's turned down offers of over $100K for it. (No word yet as to whether anyone has searched it for a Mary Shelley inscription.)

  • Shiloh

    Just to set you straight on point of fact, Byron did in fact read his copy of Frankenstein, and sent a letter to John Murray to tell him (as well as setting HIM straight on the point of fact that it was Mary who wrote it and not Percy as most people assumed) that he thought it 'a marvellous piece of work, for a girl of nineteen...' Call it damning with faint praise if you like, but he did her the courtesy of reading it - a compliment of sorts, especially when he had so many Venetian courtesans to see to.

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