The Lost Continent, by Edgar Rice Burroughs

Posted by: Redhead on: January 21, 2013

• In: Edgar Rice Burroughs
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The Lost Continent, by Edgar Rice Burroughs (also published as Beyond Thirty)

published in 1916

where I got it: either bought used, or borrowed. it has my friend’s name stamped in the front, so I am not sure!

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Originally titled Beyond Thirty, and printed only once in an obscure magazine in 1916,  The Lost Continent wasn’t available to the masses until the late 1950s. In the introduction to the novel, the Ace editor mentions the only copy he saw until this printing was a fan’s typed version that had been laboriously cribbed from another fan’s typed version or the original magazine printing. For decades, this was the lost manuscript of a master.  To add to the mystery, the copyright page in this Ace printing contains only 4 lines, none of which specify the actual year this version was printed. If anyone can tell by the Frank Frazetta cover art or the suggested retail price of 60 cents, I’d appreciate knowing.

Since the outbreak of The Great War (that would be WWI, for those of us aware of its second incarnation), America has cut off contact with the other continents. For two hundred years Pan-America has kept it’s activities between 30 and 175 degrees longitude.  War ships watch the waves, prepared to slaughter anything that comes across. But nothing, and no one, ever does.

Lieutenant Jefferson Turck grew up reading hearing his grandfather’s stories of England and Europe and studying his grandfather’s forbidden maps.  Not everyone onboard the aero-sub agrees with Turck’s curious thoughts about the outside world or appreciates his ability to move up the military ranks. During a storm while patrolling The 30, his sub is sabotaged, and Turck soon finds himself stranded in a small motorboat with a few other seamen.  And they are, most certainly, beyond the 30.  With no possible way to survive the trip west over the Atlantic, the men row east towards England and the unknown.

Of course Turck has his maps with him, and manages to recognize some smaller islands and landmarks.  All evidence of civilization is gone. No buildings, or bridges, or famous churches remain. His guess is that England was pulverized by bombs during the war. A few families may have survived, but that is all. Turck observes a woman being kidnapped, and in the grand tradition of Burroughs adventure stories, he rescues her, and they fall in love after having some highly entertaining issues with communication issues.  The  surviving tribes of England call themselves the Grubitten (a mangled Great Britain), and the woman Turck saved, Victory, is in fact the hereditary Queen of England.  The tribes don’t know what a Queen is, but they know it is something respectful and worthy of remembering.

The first two thirds of the novel takes place in England, with Turck and his men trying to figure out if any civilization still exists anywhere outside Pan-America.  Once they head over to Europe, the story moves almost too quickly to follow, with Turck and his surviving men, and Victory falling from custody of one nation-state to another. China and The Kingdoms of Africa are still fighting over Europe and hope to claim England eventually too.  On many parts of Earth, the Great War has not ceased for two hundred years.

I really liked the first half of the book. It’s paced nicely, Turck has a few snarky things to say here and there, and Burroughs’ thoughts of the next 200 years of technology (but also what we can forget in 200 years) was entertaining. Victory isn’t your average helpless savage princess either. Turck is always trying to save her and protect her and help her, but she is perfectly capable of climbing trees, starting fires, and killing when need be. Other that a nice piece of meat on her arm, Victory hasn’t much need for this overdressed foreigner! The second half feels incredibly rushed, with the final episode and discovery happening in about 20 pages and a wrap-up conclusion is just a few paragraphs.

What struck me most about this little book from nearly a hundred years ago is the prose style. The sentences are long and highly descriptive, the narrator (Turck) goes on tangents and then apologizes for the tangent a few paragraphs later. The pace is much slowers than today’s fantasy adventure, with a focus on Turck describing the lands and animals that he sees, and hardly any focus on the action and fighting scenes.  Much of what I’ve read that’s been written in the last 5 years I would describe as “sharp”, and by that I mean generally shorter sentences, few if any obscure adjectives, characters are not loquacious (except as an affectation), the writing style is clipped and quick, and well, sharp, almost as if designed to stab at the reader. Burroughs’s writing style struck me as the opposite; not designed to stab or rock my world or change my life, but designed simply to offer me escape into an adventure with little fear of death of violence, and a promise of a generally happy ending for all involved.

It’s fascinating for me to observe changes like these, in what readers look for and describe as “fun”, or “cool”.  My descriptions of contemporary writing styles vs the style from a hundred years ago is simply that: a description.  One is not better than the other,  I simply find the stark differences (and thus, a very different reading experience) marvelously fascinating.

I’ve been listening to Burroughs’ A Princess of Mars on audio, and while I’m loving the story, the quality of the audio is pretty awful so it’s hard to get through more than a half hour or so at a time. I was able to zip through The Lost Continent in a few hours.

Tags: adventure, vintage