2008 has been the worst reading year of my adult life for two reasons: first, I’ve read fewer books this year than in any other since I got out of high school. Second, the overall quality of my reading has been lower.
Since 2001, I’ve kept a list of every book I’ve finished, along with my grading of how much I enjoyed reading them, a purely subjective score that I measure on a scale of 1-10. Most years I average four or five tens. My banner year so far, 2005, was home to a whopping six flawlessly enjoyable benchmark favorites. So far in 2008 (nearly 5/6 of the way through, now), I haven’t read a single book that I’ve given a perfect 10.
Until today.
A couple of weeks ago, I read this quirky piece over at the 2 Blowhards blog where some guys batted around opinions about various visions for cover art for the science fiction classic, A Princess of Mars, by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Burroughs is best known as the creator of Tarzan, but what little I could glean of the plot for this novel seriously piqued my interest, and I put it on my request list at the library.
Incidentally, the edition that came to me was the one pictured here, from 1970, which the Blowhards blog highly praised. It has a great melodramatic, space-opera flair to it that meshes well with the story, and certainly reminds one of the original art for Star Wars, which, after reading A Princess of Mars, gives abundant evidence of having been influenced by Burroughs pretty heavilly. Good thing George Lucas knew his sci-fi classics.
This was one of those awesome books that renew my love for reading in general, the kind of fun that appeals to the very best in me and makes me wonder just how I made it this far in life without having read it yet. My reading universe, with its passions, opinions, prefernces, and sweet memories, will be forvere different for having this titanic Jupiter now among its heavenly bodies. I love it when that happens. As much as any of us ever reads, there will always be a million amazing books–classics and random, obscure bargain bin remainders–that will have the power to elevate us to their own celestial heights.
A Princess of Mars impresses me, first, for the boyish audacity of its plot. What is it about? Well, it’s just another bland little story about a Civil War veteran who is inexplicably transported to Mars where he spends years battling giant green monsters using his newly developed superhuman strength so he can save a jaw-droppingly gorgeous princess. Yeah! Yes, kids, this largely overlooked treasure is Indiana Jones, Buck Rogers, and Flash Gordon combined. No, it’s cooler than that. I can’t wait to read the other ten volumes in the epic saga of John Carter, (wait for it)… Warlord of Mars!
That’s the other thing that hit me so hard. In a book of fewer than 200 pages, Burroughs creates a wholly realized alien world, with multiple species and their politics (not just one or two; hint, hint, Star Trek!), and lots of insanely creative details about weapons, vehicles, battles, and what have you. At one point, I actually worried that such a complete scope was too romantic, was failing to include less savory things like the insects of this planet. A few chapters later, our hero is detained in a dark dungeon for a while and…there are some creepy critters in there. Wow.
There are inconsistencies, of course. Carter says he learns the Martian language in just a few days because it’s so crude and simple, yet their conversations translate into some decently refined English; Martians don’t wear much clothing even though it gets bitterly cold at night; and Carter learns early on not to laugh, because the Tharks interpret that as a desire for violence and death, though Carter and others then laugh on and off throughout the rest of the book for fun. Ah, well, it’s not supposed to be a scientific textbook.
I can’t recommend this one highly enough. It’s totally appropriate for younger readers, and I hope to introduce it to my oldest son soon. It reads like a comic book, but with more action and a style that is never dumbed down (Burroughs seems to represent a transitional generation between the relatively formal popular prose of the 19th century and the more egalitarian 20th century).
And guess what? If you can’t track this one down anywhere, have no fear. It will be celebrating its centennial in a just a few years, and its text is now in the public domain. Thank you, Project Gutenberg!
Gently Hew Stone 
