If you want an experience try Wagner the Werewolf by George W M Reynolds. It is brilliantly awful. High Victorian penny-dreadful bodice-ripping melodramatic Gothic at its bonkers best. It was published in weekly parts, written as it was published, and you can see the author frantically trying to keep track of all the plot lines, and constantly scrabbling to dig himself out of the holes he'd backed his characters.
It's a real hoot.
Chapter One:
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It was the month of January, 1516.
The night was dark and tempestuous; the thunder growled around; the lightning flashed at short intervals: and the wind swept furiously along in sudden and fitful gusts.
The streams of the great Black Forest of Germany babbled in playful melody no more, but rushed on with deafening din, mingling their torrent roar with the wild creaking of the huge oaks, the rustling of the firs, the howling of the affrighted wolves, and the hollow voices of the storm.
The dense black clouds were driving restlessly athwart the sky; and when the vivid lightning gleamed forth with rapid and eccentric glare, it seemed as if the dark jaws of some hideous monster, floating high above, opened to vomit flame.
And as the abrupt but furious gusts of wind swept through the forest, they raised strange echoes—as if the impervious mazes of that mighty wood were the abode of hideous fiends and evil spirits, who responded in shrieks, moans, and lamentations to the fearful din of the tempest.
It was, indeed, an appalling night!
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It goes on like that for 470 pages.