Funny story: I’m a bit naive—truth be told. I thought this was a real memoir for like 150 pages, because a lot of my books I read blind, so I had no background on this beforehand. It wasn’t until I retold some of the stories from the book to my husband, and he looked at me and said, “Yeah, that’s not real. It sounds spectacularly made up.” After that this book lost its luster for me and became—what it was probably meant for—an adventure story for little boys. In my defense the account looks real. Even the subtitle is long winded which was the style in 1700’s book publishing. And the writing style is exactly what would be expected in an 18th century memoir. It reminded me of Defoe’s Moll Flanders (and just as sexy and juvenile). 💃
Though at one time publishers thought this was a real account, it has since been proven otherwise. The publishers, Simon and Schuster express their skepticism, “We sincerely hope this is a genuine document…
…On the other hand, it does seem too good to be true.”
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This copy was published in 1954 and is in excellent condition.

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Oil on Canvas by Aleksandar V. Mojovic, 2005 Florence, Italy