I absolutely loved Austen's defense of the novel at the end of Chapter 5: Spoiler "And what are you reading, Miss-?" "Oh! It is only a novel!" replies the young lady, while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. "It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda"; or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language." It made me realize how I also feel embarrassment when listing certain books on Goodreads, or when people see me reading certain books in public, like they are not "real" literature, or it doesn't "count." So silly!