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I came across this essay via Scribble's review and read it in no time. I thought it would be light reading and it turned out to be something completely different. Satire at its best from Mr Swift.

I read this in the dentist's waiting room this morning and it certainly waylaid my normal fear of going there.

The author has come up with a "modest" (nothing modest here) proposal to aid the Irish economy, stop the begging, give mothers (the breeders) the opportunity to get an income by selling their little children and also the delicate meat will be in competition with pigs. I wonder if human flesh is salty? Perhaps I should go and talk to the cannibals on Borneo or other similar countries?

Imagine having a child of around a year in age, all prepared and ready to be cooked, then eaten. I wonder if they need to be marinated first in wine?

I was particularly taken with:

"I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed, is at a year old, a most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked or boiled; and I have no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricasie, or a ragoust."

Queer spelling but it was, after all, written in 1729.

Everyone should read it and will understand the Irish humour and satire, if not already known.

A delicious, light but yet thought-provoking book on the never-ceasing wonders of the imagination.