Pirates of Venus Book

Although a case can be made for "science fiction" either inspiring or anticipating scientific developments over the course of the last century, there is very little "science" in the "science fiction" of Edgar Rice Burroughs. Pirates of Venus is no exception. Outside of the speculative suggestion of launching a rocket using, essentially, "rocket sled" technology and the fascinating discussion where the protagonist attempts to use the differences in distances at the equatorial circumference of Venus and the polar circumferences to demonstrate the spherical nature of the planet, the book basically takes the antithesis of prevailing scientific views of Venus and the possibility of autochthonous life forms (even from that of 1932 when it was originally published).

This volume has languished in my science-fiction collection for several decades (it's the 1964 Ace Books printing), but I haven't read it in all of those years. Why? I found these copies at a used bookstore in the '70s. I bought them because of fond memories of John Carter of Mars and my joy at discovering comics and board games (including miniatures) based on this delightful series. John Carter wasn't "scientific" either, but the pacing was tighter and the discoveries delivered at a savory pace. I thought Carson would be the same, but started the book and lost interest even before Carson landed on ERB's fictional Venus.

When I needed bedtime reading the other night (I didn't want my last waking thoughts to be either Napoleon in the lengthy volume I'm reading about the First Consul/Emperor, the detailed rhetorical critical analysis of Isaiah 46, 47 and 48 that I've been delving into, or the book that takes Dawkins and Hitchens to task from a scientific perspective.), I almost picked up a novel by William Gibson but felt like cyberpunk was too depressing for where my head was at. I saw these volumes of the Venus series on the shelves and asked myself if I could remember anything about them. I couldn't, largely because I never actually read them. I had started them, but not gotten into them. So, with lowered expectations, I went back to explore 1930's pulp adventure with a pseudo-scientific (at best) veneer. And I'm glad that I did.

Carson Napier is a discount John Carter. Duare is a Broadway reprise of Dejah Thoris. With only two arms, Kamlot may be no Tars Tarkas (Carter's Green Martian friend with multiple arms) as he only has two of the standard appendages, but it seems clear that ERB is traveling the same trail with only slightly different nuances. For example, "…in the midst of death there is life" is presented as a statement rather than Carter's classic "I still live!" assertion. Yet, once I admitted this was so, I began to enjoy the ride. I decided that the experience was better than the Gor adventures by John Norman (unless you happen to be into the kind of bondage that pseudonymous author advocates) but not quite as engaging as the bulk of the Mars canon.

In addition to the basic pulp adventure elements (being chased by predators, being captured by enemies, as well as improbable escapes and rescues), ERB offers a few observations with bearing upon his personal philosophy. First, and most obviously for a novel originally published in 1932, the villainous force with which the protagonist must deal is a totalitarian empire (most likely a metaphor for the burgeoning Communist empire, but perhaps prescient for what was about to occur in Germany within the next couple of years). Ah, good models for pulp villains are timeless and work on both sides of the ideological spectrum! Second, a little of ERB's personal philosophy seems to show with a recurring observation. On p. 33 of my edition, Napier believes his death is inevitable and observes, "It became apparent that the value of what we see is measurable only by the size of our prospective audience." Later, on p. 190 he offers, "Thus spoke the eternal egotism of man, who, even in death, desires an audience."

There was one more intriguing philosophical note, the reverse side of what would be found in one of John Norman's Gor novels. The exotic "Princess" (known in the series as the janjong) Duare tells the protagonist, "Conditions are very different now from any that I have ever before encountered. The rules and restrictions under which I have lived among my own people cannot, I now realize, be expected to apply to situations so unusual or to people and places so foreign to those whose lives they were intended to govern." (p. 200) To me, it seems like Burroughs recognizes something of the "glass ceiling" imposed by society on women and, in his limited way as a male of the early 20th century, is attempting to look beyond gender to person.