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zachlittrell 's review for:
A Princess of Mars
by Edgar Rice Burroughs
Civil War veteran John Carter fighting 16 feet tall green aliens and saving a super hot babe princess is not nearly as fun to read as I had hoped.
I think the curse to reading A Princess of Mars nowadays is that it was so influential, its themes have been executed by much more talented writers who let their freak flags fly. While Burroughs's imagination made a fascinating world, he doesn't have the writing chops here to make it work. The dialogue is clunky, the plot moves in sudden jerks, and almost all of the conflict is entirely dependent on whether John Carter feels like doing something.
Therein lies my big problem with this book: the big dumb hero from Old Virginny himself. He is so darn obnoxiously perfect: he can kill with one punch, he can perfectly dodge a lethal blow, and really the only thing stopping him from tearing all of Mars a new one is some cockamamie sense of honor. And almost the entire story is from his perspective! How can you not be endeared by a hero who nonstop brags about himself?
What really womps is the beginning and end of the book are actually...pretty cool. When I noticed that the end was heading towards a possibly tremendous anticlimax, I was genuinely astonished Burroughs was willing to go that route. But they're so cool that they feel detached from the meat in the middle, which is mostly aimless world building. Even a cool subplot involving love, betrayal, and vengeance among the 16 foot tall green men of Thark ends up fizzling...because it doesn't involve John Carter so why the hell should he care on concentrating on that? He's gotta talk about how in love he is with that hot alien babelicious princess he barely knows.
Should you take this book very seriously? No. The author didn't intend that anyway. It's a pulpy sci-fi tale meant to be enjoyed like candy. And I dig that some people love it for the strange alien world and goofy cliched plot. I just can't recommend it when its technical flaws kill most of the fun you can find elsewhere.
I think the curse to reading A Princess of Mars nowadays is that it was so influential, its themes have been executed by much more talented writers who let their freak flags fly. While Burroughs's imagination made a fascinating world, he doesn't have the writing chops here to make it work. The dialogue is clunky, the plot moves in sudden jerks, and almost all of the conflict is entirely dependent on whether John Carter feels like doing something.
Therein lies my big problem with this book: the big dumb hero from Old Virginny himself. He is so darn obnoxiously perfect: he can kill with one punch, he can perfectly dodge a lethal blow, and really the only thing stopping him from tearing all of Mars a new one is some cockamamie sense of honor. And almost the entire story is from his perspective! How can you not be endeared by a hero who nonstop brags about himself?
What really womps is the beginning and end of the book are actually...pretty cool. When I noticed that the end was heading towards a possibly tremendous anticlimax, I was genuinely astonished Burroughs was willing to go that route. But they're so cool that they feel detached from the meat in the middle, which is mostly aimless world building. Even a cool subplot involving love, betrayal, and vengeance among the 16 foot tall green men of Thark ends up fizzling...because it doesn't involve John Carter so why the hell should he care on concentrating on that? He's gotta talk about how in love he is with that hot alien babelicious princess he barely knows.
Should you take this book very seriously? No. The author didn't intend that anyway. It's a pulpy sci-fi tale meant to be enjoyed like candy. And I dig that some people love it for the strange alien world and goofy cliched plot. I just can't recommend it when its technical flaws kill most of the fun you can find elsewhere.