serving up the BBQ, from Charles Reade's 1861, 15th century set The Cloister and the Hearth--

"The next trifle was a wild boar, which smelt divine. Why, then, did Margaret start away from it with two shrieks of dismay, and pinch so good a friend as Gerard? Because the duke's "cuisinier" had been too clever; had made this excellent dish too captivating to the sight as well as taste. He had restored to the animal, by elaborate mimicry with burnt sugar and other edible colours, the hair and bristles he had robbed him of by fire and water. To make him still more enticing, the huge tusks were carefully preserved in the brute's jaw, and gave his mouth the winning smile that comes of tusk in man or beast: and two eyes of coloured sugar glowed in his head. St. Argus! what eyes! so bright, so blood-shot, so threatening--they followed a man and every movement of his knife and spoon. But, indeed, I need the pencil of Granville or Tenniel to make you see the two gilt valets on the opposite side of the table putting the monster down before our friends, with a smiling, self-satisfied, benevolent obsequiousness--for this ghastly monster was the flower of all comestibles--old Peter clasping both hands in pious admiration of it; Margaret wheeling round with horror-stricken eyes and her hand on Gerard's shoulder, squeaking and pinching; his face of unwise delight at being pinched, the grizzly brute glaring sulkily on all, and the guests grinning from ear to ear."

I first read it (and the whole book is this intense) after buying it for 5p in a jumble sale at the church across the street from our place in Castlehill Road, in Ayr, '69 or '70. A small harcover with limp leather and that deceptive bible paper, so that 700p books could be easily carried into battle or on long ocean voyages. The very sad ending of the book reveals Gerard and Margaret to be the parents of Erasmus. Like a lot of really great books it's not that well known now, but my great fondness for it was validated by finding out that it was one of Baron Corvo's favorites. And it sold boatloads for decades, which is why its easy to find. Reade was best known for such realist Zolaesque "sensation" novels as "Hard Cash" so he knows how to punch everything home and still keep the plot moving. Keep an eye out for it in the small town libraries and mildew'd bookshelves of the former Empire. Don't spend more than two dollars. I had not known that there was a Classics Illustrated version of it until I discovered the whole comic scanned on this strange anti-Catholic website; apparently the Vatican had something to do with the downfall of the Classics Illustrated franchise, who knew? Ignore that and enjoy looking at the anonymous, crude, blocky but effective condensation of Reade's book with only the ending changed, with its washes of blood red and Lichtensteinian facial features. I think the reason I have so much trouble with "graphic novels" is that beyond old Superman, Caspar or Classics Illustrated comics everything was just too overdetailed and impenetrable for me; I could figure out real novels easier than Marvel comics.