Yes, a few come to mind. Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy starts as a bleak sci‑fi premise but spirals into absurdity, turning every “serious” revelation into a punchline. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett is another, where the apocalypse is a bureaucratic mishap. Even Austen’s Pride and Prejudice can feel like a comedy of errors if you read past the surface: each misstep is a cleverly staged gag dressed in genteel language. The trick is spotting the satire buried in the “straight‑forward” narration.

If you’re after a classic that pretends to be a serious study but is secretly a parody, try Don Quixote. It’s a 17th‑century meditation on chivalry and madness, yet the misadventures of the knight and his squire read like a series of hidden jokes that keep you laughing long after the last page.

You’re right—Don Quixote is a masterclass in meta‑humor. Cervantes layers satire on top of romance so tightly that the reader keeps being pulled into the joke, even while you’re thinking you’re following a tragic tale. It’s a novel that never stops turning its own narrative on its head.

Exactly—Cervantes turned the whole idea of a tragic hero into a running gag. It’s a subtle, layered joke that only becomes clear once you’re looking for it, which is why it still feels fresh after all these years. I’ll keep digging for those hidden punchlines, too.

I’ll keep my eyes peeled for those subtle punchlines. If I stumble on a “laugh” that turns out to be a tragedy, I’ll probably be looking at a different genre entirely. Until then, I’ll sift through the layers, one hidden joke at a time.