Forgotten Books: Han Solo at Stars' End by Brian Daley

Has it really been forty years?

That Special Pocket of Time in Star Wars Fandom

Travel back, if you will, to 1979. If you were a kid like me, your life probably revolved around comic books, Saturday morning cartoons, The Three Investigators books, and reading everything you could get your hands on regarding the 1977 movie Star Wars. You had the Star Wars action figures and, depending on your allowance or lawn-mowing money, you might've had some extra cash to spring for the additional nine new figures beyond the original twelve. You were already more than a year into reading the Marvel Comics Star Wars issues, and devoured Alan Dean Foster's Splinter of the Mind's Eye the year before.

Maybe you could easily imagine yourself as young farm boy, Luke Skywalker, because he was only slightly older than you were. But who you really wanted to be was Han Solo. And if you couldn't be him, then you wanted more adventures featuring him and his trusted partner, Chewbacca.

A Momentous Discovery on the Bookshelves

I"m sure how many young readers knew the name Brian Daley before April 1979, but they sure knew his name after. Commissioned to write three novels featuring Han and Chewie (although we didn't know it at the time), I think you can image the heart palpitations I experienced when I saw that blue hardcover book on the shelves of either B. Dalton Bookstore or Waldenbooks in Westwood Mall in Houston. My parents being readers, it was not a hard sell to at least go into the bookstores and browse. Naturally, I'd find something, then sidle up to one of them with the innocent question "Did you find something?" Because if they found something, I got a book, too.

They must have found something that day, or knew it would be a losing battle if I didn't walk out of the store with that glorious book with the blue cover.

I have no memory of reading through that book forty years ago and, to be honest, had zero memory of what happened. I don't think I ever re-read it, so last month, when it came time for me to select a novel to read, I had my choice. Perfect, since April 2019 marks the books fortieth anniversary. And, in light of the character's evolution over the decades both in the movies and comics, how would the book hold up?

A New Han Solo Story

In those heady days between Star Wars and its then unnamed sequel, the entire Star Wars universe was wide open. Darth Vader killed Luke's dad without "a certain point of view." Heck, Luke and Leia both faced off against the Sith Lord on the planet Mimban in Splinter of the Mind's Eye. The creatures in the cantina were just a small sampling of the vastness of the galaxy just waiting to be discovered. And, in Brian Daley's new novel, you got to see where Han Solo was before he met that old man and the kid.

He was in hot water. And, if you needed to know just how awesome and grown up Han Solo was to a ten-year-old mind, Han actually drops the "d-word" in the first sentence. Mind. Blown.

In his narrow escape from the ships of the Corporate Sector Authority--the stand-in baddies instead of the Imperial Empire--Han damages his ship, the Millennium Falcon. He even pulls out the maneuver he uses in the asteroid field in Empire Strikes Back when he flies the Falcon on its side through a narrow canyon. The dish atop the ship is knocked off (sound familiar) so he's now blind.  But he knows a guy. Of course he does.

Except after going through all the cloak-and-dagger maneuvers to locate Doc, he's gone. Taken by the Espos, the elite police force of the Corporate Sector Authority. His daughter, Jessa, is willing to make repairs to the Falcon in exchange for Han flying to Orron III and picking up some people. Needing the repairs, Han agrees.

And things go downhill from there.

A New Cast of Characters

Joining Han and Chewbacca on this mission to Orron III are a pair of droids. Well, the template had been set with both Star Wars and Splinter. Later, when the Lando Calrissian books are published, he also has a droid partner.  Bullox is a large, old labor-type droid who is not at all like the prim and proper See-Threepio. He's not exactly smart, but he's very loyal. Who is smart is Blue Max, a smaller, up-to-date droid. The only problem is Blue Max has no means of transportation. Thus, he travels around inside Bullox's chest cavity. When the situation calls for it, someone will take Blue Max out, hook him up to a larger computer, a la Artoo Detoo, and work computer magic.

Am I the only one who thinks this sounds an awful lot like Twiki and Dr. Theopolis from the Buck Rogers TV show?

A few other characters show up, but the discovery of them are more fun when you read the novel.

A Good Space Opera Adventure

But what about the book itself? The story cracked along fine with just enough jolts and twists to keep it interesting. Daley had to know he needed to write the book that would appeal not only to adult science fiction readers but early readers like my ten-year-old self. While there is some shooting and gunfights, the violence is kept to a minimum or described using words to hide the reality. For example: "Red beams of annihilation bickered back and forth." Didn't bother me in the least.

I assume Daley had access to the material on sale at the time--which wasn't much--and maybe a little backstory from creator George Lucas. But I also get the impression the author just imagined his way into a Star Wars universe. At the time, Star Wars wasn't too dissimilar to other far-flung space adventure novels, so Daley just ran with whatever idea came to mind. Orron III, for example, was a planet-sized agricultural farm. Like Dagobah is a planet-sized swamp or Coruscant is a planet-sized city. It's merely a piece of imagination.

As an author myself, I enjoy dropping little side notes that hint at other adventures of my characters. Daley does it here, too, but none so tantalizing to young fan than the reference to "Freedom's Sons" in the same sentence as mention of the Jedi Knights! Did Daley know something we didn't? Would Freedom's Sons get into a comic or the next movie? The possibilities were endless.

 I really enjoyed the swiftness of the story. It was a lean 183 pages in my paperback copy. There was a time, even when the property was not from a movie, where a SF author could write a book and it clocked in under 200 pages. Now, so many novels top 400 or 500 pages, if not more, that I hesitate to even start. Granted, Daley didn't need a lot of world building, but I enjoyed that which he gave, including the slang and other parts that contributed to the 'lived in' nature of Star Wars. He went on to flesh out the first Star Wars movie in his fantastic script for the Star Wars radio drama, but that is another post.

Overall, I really enjoyed revisiting this book, and I'm already moving on to the second, HAN SOLO'S REVENGE.

Best Quote of the Book

"Han made a sour face. "I happen to like to shoot first, Rekkon. As opposed to shooting second.""

Forgotten Books: Mascarada Pass by William Colt MacDonald (2019)

(2019 update. On a lark, I scoured this blog to see the book I reviewed first for Patti Abbott's Friday's Forgotten Books way back in 2008. How ironic, then, did I rediscover it was a mystery set in the old west by a railroad detective.

In my introduction to EMPTY COFFINS, the first Calvin Carter: Railroad Detective book, I openly acknowledge the role Gregory Quist played in forming my own character. Back in 2008 when this review was written, I began looking for old Quist novels in used bookstores. I found a few to add to the collection I inherited from my grandfather, but I only read two of them. Now, in 2019, as I've written six Carter novels, I may have to read another Quist novel and see how Carter and Quist compare. From what I can remember about Quist, he was a true cowboy whereas Carter is a refined actor. To be honest, Quist and Carter's partner, Thomas Jackson, would probably get along just fine.

Anyway, I thought I would republish my very first Forgotten Book today.)

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After Patti Abbott graciously invited me to submit a book for her Friday Forgotten Books collection, I was excited and worried. You see, I’m putting myself through a sort of self-education in crime fiction, learning its history, and determining where my own fiction fits in. Thus, books that are forgotten by many readers are brand-new to me. You can peruse my reviews of other crime fiction here on my blog and get my take on what I've read so far. But today I begin with a western--a western mystery, that is--by an author I never heard of until I opened a box of books my grandfather owned.

When one thinks of westerns, three names immediately come to mind: Louis L’amour, Max Brand, and Zane Gray. At least that’s how I see it as a lifelong SF geek looking through the barbed wire fence at the pasture that is the western genre. My dad got the box of L’amour books. I got the box of everything else. And, amid all the Luke Shorts and Giles Lutz books--and a few Perry Masons, Cool and Lams, Ellery Queens, and Mary Rogers Rinehearts--I found about ten novels by William Colt MacDonald. Cool western writer name, to be sure. Among the MacDonald books were six books about Gregory Quist, a railroad detective for the Texas Northern and Arizona Southern Railroad Company. Shoot, I thought, how unique is that. If I’m going to read a western, might as well be one with a mystery involved.

Mascarada Pass (1954) is the earliest of the novels I have so I started with it. One of the words MacDonald uses to describe Quist’s features is his ‘aquiline nose.’ Any reader of Sherlock Holmes will know that the English detective has the same adjective used on him as the railroad detective. With a deft use of one word, MacDonald let us in on Quist’s secret weapon: his mind. But this is a western and you know Quist is handy with a six-shooter. And he has ample circumstances to demonstrate his prowess.

Quist is dispatched to the town of Masquerade City once the railroad company determines that the recent freight train derailment was “man-impelled.” He arrives only to discover that one of the more respected men in town, Reed Haldane, took his own life the very night of train crash. Quist’s reputation precedes him and two of Haldane’s hands--Ramon and Chris who constantly feud with each other for Quist’s attention--enlist the detective’s help in discovering the culprit who killed Haldane. They don’t think Haldane took his own life. They believe it was murder.

Like a good pulp story, the two seemingly unrelated story lines are connected but Quist has no evidence. And it is through the method Quist gathers his evidence that the true charm of the book shines. Unlike Sherlock Holmes who rarely doubts his own abilities, Quist constantly questions himself at places throughout the book, even going so far as to question his own assumptions. Quist sends Chris and Ramon on various errands, gathers their results and the evidence they’ve seen, and pieces it all together. He deals with the rival family Haldane crossed twenty years before. And, as in all good pulp stories whether western, crime, or SF, he has to deal with the alluring daughter of the recently deceased.

My research into William Colt MacDonald revealed that he only wrote westerns but Mascarada Pass would fit nicely into anyone’s mystery collection. He plants the clues for Quist to find and for the reader to digest. And, in good Nero Wolfe or Nick Charles fashion, Quist keeps the results to himself and gathers all concerned for the big reveal. I won’t spoil the ending here but, suffice it to say, I saw part of the ending coming. I guess that makes me as smart as Gregory Quist. But not nearly as fast with a gun as he is.

In my review of Allan Guthrie’s Kiss Her Good-bye, I make mention of casual violence. That is, violence that seems to erupt out of nowhere and is gone almost as fast. That is the kind of violence in Mascarada Pass. It’s swift and brutal, but not gory. Death happens in a matter of fact way. It’s a part of life in the old west.

MacDonald’s writing style is somewhat dated. The story is all third-person with only the first two chapters not featuring Quist. Once he steps on stage, MacDonald never leaves Quist’s POV. As was customary back in the 50s, MacDonald uses adverbs profusely (heh) whereas we modern writers strive for a near adverb-less style. Like a good Elmore Leonard character, Quist’s personality emerges through his dialogue, at times laconic and hard-edged. MacDonald also uses dialogue as shorthand for personality. Ramon Serrano, one of Quist’s helpers, is a Mexican-born character and his dialogue is written as if it were from a 1940s western movie, dialect intact. For example: “Eet was my idea--” Serrano cut in indignantly.” The same technique was applied to the town drunk: “What in. . hic! . . you care . . where I buy’em?” It was annoying at first but I got used to it. Different time, different style.

The one charming aspect of the book I really enjoyed was the chapter titles. Remember those old Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew books with those fun chapter titles? Remember how, as you started a new chapter, you wondered what the cryptic chapter title really meant? That’s how it was with Mascarada Pass. I haven’t read a book like that in a long time.

Mascarada Pass was a fun book, especially as a first western for me. It checked off all the major things a western needs--gun fights, ambushes, dusty towns--and filled in the cracks with a solid mystery. Gregory Quist is a good character, complete with good brains, a little self-doubt, but fortitude enough to get the job done. It goes without saying that I’ll be reading the other Quist books in my collection. I recommend Gregory Quist as a character that needs to be remembered again. Go ahead and start with Mascarada Pass.

Forgotten Books: The Fourth Gunman by Merle Constiner

Sometimes, a western features a guy walking, riding, talking, and thinking. But little in the way of shooting.

THE FOURTH GUNMAN by Merle Constiner is the first book I’ve read by him. It is one half of an Ace Double, the flip side being SLICK ON THE DRAW by Tom West. I own a handful of Ace Doubles and, based on the description, I chose Constiner’s book first.

The story revolves around George Netfield, proprietor of a saloon up in Kirkville, Wyoming (I think). He is what you’d typically find in a western written in 1958: tough, lean, cunning, quick on the draw, but quicker on talking. But the end of chapter 1, one of his workers lays dead. He realizes there are some bad men roaming around the county, many of them from the 7 Diamond ranch. Additionally, some of the finer men in the county are gathering up steam in a more legal manner. Lastly, a small cadre of gun totters made their presence known. I think you can guess how many there were by the title.

Little by little, Netfield seems to be the only man who discerns what’s really going on. He’s out to stop it, but roadblocks and bad hombres keep getting in his way. A rich man by the name of Crewe, old and somewhat enfeebled, doesn’t think much of Netfield’s suspicions, especially considering Crewe has employed two of the bad guys. Little by little, the noose around Netfield tightens, and he has only a few allies…if they can stay alive.

Perhaps it’s just an assumption but I’ve always thought of westerns, especially older pulp-inspired westerns from the 1950s, as action-packed romps with lots of shoot-outs and fighting. THE FOURTH GUNMAN certainly has its share of fighting, but it is few and far between. There are a few fine action sequences, one in a lumber yard that’s positively stellar. But I have to admit much of the action was over so quick that I have double-back and re-read certain sentences to verify bullets were loosed. The action was so quick that the gunshots were over in a sentence. At first I was surprised, but the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that true violence back in the old west was often swift, brutal, deadly, and over within seconds. Then my respect for Constiner’s book grew.

But still it seemed that Netfield did a lot of talking. The story read a bit like a detective tale, where Netfield would go here or there, gathering pieces of information, and then piecing it together. He wouldn’t always tell other characters and, thus, we readers would also be in the dark. But along the way, the cast of suspects keeps growing and  you pretty much figure out what the bad guys are up to, and then it is only a matter of time to see how Netfield would get through the book.

Whenever I read westerns—heck, any book really—I always have a pencil in my hand so I can circle or underline a word, a phrase, or a bit of history. There were few pages without a mark when I completed this novel, not the least of which was Constiner’s great descriptions of the landscape and the towns. For a genre that likes and prefers lean storytelling and descriptions, Constiner made the extra effort to color his prose well.

I enjoyed THE FOURTH GUNMAN and will certain pick up future Merle Constiner books when I see them.

Anyone else read this book? Any recommendations for other Constiner books?

Forgotten Books: The Pulp Jungle by Frank Gruber

When I read Frank Gruber’s retelling of his days as a struggling then successful pulp fiction writer from the 1930s, I realized something important: I don’t have it so bad here in 2017.

Frank Gruber was one of the more well-known and prolific authors to emerge from the pulp fiction years from the 1920s through World War II. By his own estimates, Gruber wrote more than 300 pulp fiction yarns, 60 novels, and more than 200 screenplays and television scripts. THE PULP JUNGLE is his retelling of his time as a writer, how he started, how he persevered, the decisions he made, and how it all turned out.

In a word, it is a sobering read.

Like many of the successful pulp writers in the depth of the Great Depression, Gruber wrote everything. A ledger from the months August 1932 to June 1934 indicated he wrote 174 “pieces” which totaled 620,000 words, all on a Remington manual typewriter. He called himself a sloppy writer, so he had to retype everything after he corrected the manuscript. The fiction spanned the gamut: Sunday School stories, detective stories, love stories, spicy stories, sports stories, etc. Those words were not solely fiction. He wrote tons of articles often on topics he had to learn on the fly. In the book, Gruber lists the dollar amounts he earned for various pieces. Even in 1932 dollars, those meager sales didn’t add up to a living wage.

But he persevered. His move to New York in 1934 proved to be the kind of starving artist story that sounds good when you’ve made it but horrible at the time. He arrived in the Big Apple with the Remington, clothes that fit into a suitcase, and $40 after paying rent. And “I had something else…the will to succeed.” But those early New York years were bad. He “existed. Some days I had a single meal, some days I tasted no food at all other than the tomato soup at the Automat.” The tomato soup in question is actually warm water (which was free), catsup (also free), and crackers (free). That was the “soup.”

Gruber got two breaks that helped him on his way. One came from honesty. He had been paid twice for a single story and, reluctantly, Gruber had sent the second check back. That ended up paying dividends when the editor of Writer’s Digest came calling to see the man who had returned that check. The editor paid Gruber to be a contact in New York.

The other break—The Big Break—came in 1934 in one of those great true tales you hear. Gruber gets a call on Friday afternoon. Operator #5 was going to press the next day but was a story short. Could Gruber write a 5500-word story overnight? In his retelling, he started at 8pm and had a character. Two hours later, he had his leading lady. By 3:30am, he had his big finale…but still needed a plot thread to weave it all together. He got it, and delivered the 18 pages by 9am. He didn’t hear back for a few days. He started to worry, so he called on the editor. Oh, he was told, we pay on Friday. Pay? Yup, the story was purchased. And then he was asked for another. According to Gruber, “I was ‘in.’”

From that moment on, Gruber worked steadily and for higher paying markets. He cracked the big dog on the block—Black Mask—and kept going. The key factor here was that Gruber never stopped working. Yes he had made it, but in those days, a writer was only as good as the next sale. Not like today. So he kept working on stories, then branched out into novels, both detective stories as well as westerns. All the contacts he had made during the lean years paid dividends later on, including when he moved to Hollywood.

THE PULP JUNGLE is chock full of great little nuggets of truth. Writing to market is a growing aspect of indie writers, but Gruber and his pals did it back in the 1930s. They had to or they didn’t eat. Another modern trend is books or courses or classes on writing. Yes they serve a valuable purpose—I greatly benefited from two online courses with Dean Wesley Smith late in 2016—but constant writing means a writer is constantly improving his craft. By definition, each story or book is better than the previous. I can attest to that as well.

For any person who dreams of a full-time writing career in 2017, that dream is still attainable. But what the story of Frank Gruber’s professional life suggests is that hard work, determination, and perseverance will enable a writer to hone the skills necessary to become a full-time writer. It also demonstrates that writers must recognize and seize opportunities when they present themselves. Don’t think you could write a story overnight (or insert your own personal challenge here)? Perhaps Gruber didn’t think he could do it either…until he said “yes” and then he delivered.

You can, too.

Reading THE PULP JUNGLE is a great snapshot into the life of a real pulp fiction writer and might be essential reading for any writer who is considering the professional writing life.

Forgotten Books: Return of the Rio Kid by Brett Halliday

In 2010, while vacationing in and around San Diego, I happened into a used book, as I am wont to do. I found a book called Death on Treasure Trail. It had a nice, bright yellow cover, the kind that nearly every western novel had back in the day. Erle Stanley Gardner even wrote an introduction. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the setting of the novel was in Texas’s Big Bend region.

Yet I never read the book. Cut to July 2016 and our trip out to Big Bend. I’m a fan of reading books on vacations that are set around the places I’m visiting so Death on Treasure Trail was tops on my list. But the book is pretty beat up, so I took to the internet to find an electronic copy for my Kindle. Imagine my surprise when I discovered not only Treasure Trail, but the other two Rio Kid books all available as ebooks. Well, seeing as how Treasure Trail was third of three, I went ahead and got Return of the Rio Kid, the first book in the trilogy.

The author on my physical book is listed as “Don Davis” but, in reality, the man behind the typewriter was none other than Brett Halliday, the writer who created the Michael Shayne private eye series. However, “Halliday” is merely the most famous pen name for the actual man, Davis Dresser, but that name won’t sell many ebooks, so the good folks at Open Road Media made sure Brett Halliday supersedes the title on the new covers.

When the book opens, the Rio Kid has been hiding out in Mexico after fleeing Arizona on a false murder charge three years before. Sure, the Rio Kid has killed men before, but the one that got his visage on a wanted poster was falsified. Having grown into manhood in a foreign land, the Kid wants to return to Arizona and clear his name. He chooses the Big Bend region as his crossing point, but not before trouble starts.

On the Mexican side of the border sits a small town under the thumb of ruthless hombre, Pedro. He rules the town in much the same way Gene Hackman’s character does in Unforgiven. Being a western paperback of the 1940s, the Kid gets himself in a fight when he refuses to remove his twin .45s strapped to each leg. He hightails it out of town, leaving one mess behind. He crosses the Rio Grande and finds himself in another mess, this one partly of his own making. You see, there’s a small town on the Texas side. A poker game is being played and a young man is betting when he should be folding. The Kid gets himself mixed up in the game and ends up winning the young man’s ranch. A ranch that, not coincidentally, is one of two parcels of land a ruthless (is there any other kind?) cattle rancher wants to own. Well, you can imagine what happens from here.

But you’d be partially wrong. Sure, the Kid—whose real name isn’t given—does what all flawed heroes with prices on their heads do: the right thing. Mostly. But the folks he’s trying to help and those he’s trying to stay away from, have other ideas. It makes for entertaining reading, that’s for sure. I especially liked the secret the Rio Kid uncovered and how he turned his attention to putting it to good use.

Halliday chose a curious method to get across how folks talked to each other. He spelled out the Rio Kid’s drawl phonetically. Granted, when I read the first few passages, I assumed Halliday was going to provide this kind of dialogue as an example and then revert back to standard spelling, letting the reader fill in the blanks. Nope. The Kid mutters through the entire book. Others, too. Here are a couple of examples.

“I’ll just keep my guns on, I reckon,” he drawled, “’less yo’re of uh mind tuh take’em offa me.”

And:

“Say, yo’re jes spoilin’ fer uh six-foot hole, ain’t yuh? Yuh cain’t buck Pedro, I’m tellin’ yuh.”

Yes, it leaves the reader with absolutely zero leeway in hearing the voice in the mind, but it’s a pain to type. I understand one or two words consistently spelled like they sound, but almost all of them? Aw, shucks. Who am I kiddin’? I liked ’em all.

Oh, and all that joy I experienced when I realized I was going to read a western set in Big Bend while actually being in Big Bend? That excitement held all the way until Halliday namedropped a mountain range that, upon consultation with the internet, was actually located in Arizona. No big deal. All I had to do was look out the window of my hotel and get my bearings straight.

But don’t let that dissuade you from reading this enjoyable first book in the Rio Kid Trilogy.

Forgotten Books: Ed McBain

Today, on Friday's Forgotten Books*, Patti Abbott suggested we focus on Ed McBain. I didn't read a new book for this week's post, but I'm posting my three former reviews.

The Gutter and the Grave


Cop Hater


"Monsters"


For the complete list, head on over to Patti's blog.

Forgotten Book (Collection): Jungle Tales of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs

(This is my latest entry to Patti Abbott's Forgotten Book Project. Today, we're reviewing story collections. For the complete list of links, head on over to her website.)

What a difference context makes.

Back in 2008, I read my first Tarzan short story, “The Nightmare.” It’s part of “Jungle Tales of Tarzan,” a collection of twelve short stories that was published as the sixth book in the Tarzan saga. Back then, I had no ideas about the literary Tarzan. Now, having reads Tarzan of the Apes, The Return of Tarzan, and The Beasts of Tarzan, I have a better understanding of where “The Nightmare” fits into the canon.

Billed as a short story collection, Jungle Tales is all but a novel. Yes, it takes twelve snapshots of the life of the youthful ape-man but they all build on each other. The Wikipedia entry for this book lists it as a midquel, taking place between chapters 11 and 12 of the first novel. If I had to pinpoint the type of stories these are, they fill in the blanks on the growth of Tarzan from boy to man, just before he meets the Europeans.

The tales run the gamut of emotions and events in a young boy’s life. Tarzan falls in love with one of the she-apes, Teeka, a friend of his since boyhood. Gradually, through the course of the story, his “otherness” seeps into his mind (he doesn’t have hair like the other apes) and he learns to accept his status. Bukawai the witch-doctor makes a trio of appearances, as does Tantor the elephant, and Taug, the ape closest to Tarzan.

These are fun stories and show how Tarzan’s innate humanness begins to take a hold of him during adolescence. It’s fascinating to see how Tarzan works through problems and resolves issues. As a writer, creating these stories, Burroughs must have had to stop and un-think certain aspects of what it means to be a civilized human as Tarzan often does the opposite of what you or I would do. Burroughs’ cultural biases are on full display here but, as I’ve mentioned before in my other reviews, you just have to deal with them.

Jungle Tales of Tarzan isn’t really the first book to read for anyone wanting to start reading the literary adventures of Lord Greystoke. This novel is much more fulfilling if you’ve already read the first book. But I think this novel is essential for all fans of Tarzan. It’s re-whetted my appetite for his adventures. Well, here comes summer reading time...

Forgotten Books: Justice, Inc. (The Avenger #1) by Paul Ernst

(This is my latest contribution to Patti Abbott's Forgotten Book Project. For the complete list, head on over to her website.)

Two thoughts come to mind when I finished reading Justice, Inc., the debut novel featuring the pulp hero, The Avenger. On the one hand, I thought sometimes, enough is enough. On the other, the timing of the novel’s publication couldn’t have been worse.

Let’s take the date first. The cover of the new Avenger magazine is September 1939. I haven’t read any of the World War II-era novels of Shadow, Doc Savage, or the other pulp heroes but I suspect all of them seemed trite when facing the onslaught of Nazi Germany. As relentless as Richard Benson, the Avenger, is, Hitler was rolling through Europe in his own relentless drive for the Third Reich. How terrifying must that have been.

Having said that, had the Avenger been slightly more original, he might have had a longer shelf life. Other than his malleable face, Richard Benson’s story is not very original. By 1939, Doc Savage and his team had been fighting bad guys for six years. The Shadow a year longer. Tarzan was out there. So was Zorro, Sam Spade, Superman, and the new guy on the block, Batman. Now, again, there was a lot of borrowing of ideas back in the 1930s but the Avenger, at least in this first book, didn’t have that special spark needed to carry a series.

That’s not to say Justice, Inc., isn’t entertaining. The setup at the beginning of the book is pretty good. Self-made millionaire adventurer Richard Benson, along with his wife and young daughter, force their way onto a public airliner from Buffalo, NY, to Montreal. His mother-in-law was dying and they needed to get there. Benson visits the lavatory and, upon exiting, finds no trace of his family. Moreover, everyone on board asserts that he boarded the plane alone. Benson has a breakdown and winds up in a mental asylum with a curious physical reaction: his hair is completely white, as is his face. His face, succumbing to the shock of the situation, becomes paralyzed. He learns that he can push the skin of his face around...and it remains in the altered shape. This comes in handy as Benson starts to investigate what really happened on the airplane as he can disguise himself.

The writing style is pure pulp: lots of action, lots of reiteration, and lots (and lots) of words describing the nature of Benson’s eyes. I started rolling mine when the author, Paul Ernst, would describe eyes. Isn’t there another aspect of Benson you can describe?

What follows now is pure SPOILER so, if you’re intrigued about the story and want to read it, skip this paragraph. As a reader, the more I learned about the bad guys, the more I realized what happened to Benson’s wife and daughter. Like any protagonist (and me, had I found myself in a similar position), Benson holds out hope of a happy ending, of finding his family alive and well. It wasn’t to be. Ernst leads the reader on in a few places but it ultimately falls to one of the supporting cast to tell Benson the honest truth. The ending makes sense and, with it, Benson creates Justice, Inc. to combat evil. It’s a Batman-esque origin story and a worthy origin at that. It’s just not original. But, then again, how many origin stories are original?

Justice, Inc. is a very quick read. I listened to the free version over at Uvula Audio, the same place you can get Doc Savage #1. In fact, they are going to record some additional Savage stories this summer, something to which I’m looking forward. Chances are, I won’t be reading another Avenger novel.

Anyone out there want to let me know if there are additional good Avenger novels to read? Am I being too harsh?

Forgotten Books: Doc Savage #2: The Land of Terror

Doc Savage and dinosaurs. Do you need any other enticement to read this book?

The Land of Terror was the second Doc Savage novel, published in April 1933, a mere month after Doc’s debut in print. It’s an interesting time to have a new superhero to follow. The Great Depression was in full swing, America had a new president, and pulp novels and stories were in great demand.

Never one to waste time, author Lester Dent (writing under the house name Kenneth Robeson), launches the story in a single paragraph. Jerome Coffern, chemist and friend of Doc, is murdered by a poison gas dubbed the Smoke of Eternity. This isn’t some supernatural creature; this is a weapon shot from a gun. The end result of a Smoke of Eternity strike is the body completely dissolving save for a forearm that extended outside the cloud. Doc, of course, was waiting for Coffern and chases the thugs who killed his friend. After a scuffle, Clark Savage, Jr., determines the men worked for a criminal mastermind (is there any other kind?) nicknamed Kar. He is responsible for creating this death cloud and weaponizing it.

Now, judging by the cover image posted above (from the Bantam edition), you’d be expecting Doc and his Fabulous Five Friends to get to wherever the dinosaurs are as soon as possible. Oddly, you don’t. More than half the book is spent with Doc investigating clues to discover more truths about Kar, why he wanted to kill Coffern, and all sorts of other dastardly deeds. Along the way, the team picks up Oliver Wording Bittman, a taxidermist who saved Doc’s father sometime before. Together, all seven men fly across the continent and land on a South Pacific island named Thunder Island. It’s the source for the chemicals used to make the Smoke of Eternity. Oh, and there are dinosaurs.

Doc saves the day and constantly saves his friends, too. Hey! I didn’t give anything away. There are still 179 more books to read, okay. How he does it never fails to impress and entertain. There’s a big plot twist my 2010-era brain saw coming miles away but it’s still fun to see it play out.

The body count in this novel is higher than in the debut novel. Doc gets mad and kills the criminals—usually in self-defense—but he also kills some of the dinosaurs. I’ve read elsewhere that Lester Dent toned down the violence in subsequent books. I was okay with the violence here, especially given the era in which it was written. Things were bleak in early 1933. Sometimes, our entertainment merely mirrors what’s already in the world. That would include some of the cultural biases of white folks against native Pacific islanders. I don’t hold that against Dent. It was the time, after all.

This book is quick, escapist, adventure-filled fun. You don’t need a lot of brain cells to enjoy this stuff. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Adventure House publishes two novels in a single volume. They also include historical essays and background information on Dent, Doc Savage, or other pertinent subjects. Plus, you get the black-and-white illustrations to boot. I’ll easily be reading more adventures in the coming months and years.

Forgotten Books: Gateway by Frederik Pohl

(This is my latest entry for Patti Abbott's Friday's Forgotten Books. See her blog for the list of other participants.)

I’ve joined a small, four-man reading group with a focus on science fiction and fantasy. We each pick a book and take a month to read it. The beauty of this arrangement is that we’re reading books we might not normally have picked up individually. The most recent book we read was Frederik Pohl’s 1977 book, Gateway. It’s one of those rare SF novels that won both the Hugo (fan-voted) and the Nebula Award (fellow-writer-voted) in the same year. Curious, we all charged into Pohl’s book.

The novel’s protagonist has an interesting name and he’s best introduced in his own voice: “My name is Robinette Broadhead, in spite of which I am male.” He lives in an undated future and he is a prospector. No, he doesn’t sift river sand for gold. Prospectors in this future hop a ride on an alien spacecraft and see where it goes and if there is anything of value at the other end. An ancient alien race, named the Heechee, took a huge asteroid orbiting our sun perpendicular to the elliptical plane, and made it a docking station for many of its spaceships. These ships have pre-programmed coordinates that they fly to and from without the need for additional steering. Humans discovered this asteroid and named it Gateway. Each ship is capable of faster-than-light travel. The catch is this: you don’t know how long the flight will be. Thus, the roundtrip may take longer than humans live or the entire trip may be a bust if there isn’t anything of value at the other end.

The book is structured with two interrelated storylines. In the present tense, Robinette is talking to his psychiatrist, an artificial intelligent computer he names Sigfrid von Shrink. He goes to weekly sessions with Sigfrid and they work through many of Robinette’s issues. The past tense story, also told in first person, Robinette describes his life’s history and how he came to be a prospector and his missions. This type of storytelling works well since each thread feeds on the other. The relationship between Robinette and Sigfrid is often contentious, a direct contract to Robinette’s sometimes milquetoast past history.

Those readers looking for descriptions of the spacecraft or the planets being explored better look elsewhere. As my reading group all commented, we don’t really have a good idea of the interior of the Heechee ships in which the humans travel. It’s just not that important and Pohl doesn’t waste time explaining it. Likewise, when Robinette arrives planet side, what he does there is glossed over. It’s not important and it’s not what the book is about. It’s about him, directly, and humankind, indirectly.

I found the first person POV sucked me in easily. In recent months, I’ve read Old Man’s War, The Forever War, and Starship Troopers, all told in first person. I think SF is served well with an intimate narrator. It makes the fantastic believable.

The verdict of the group was that we all liked it. I happen to be the one who, while I still enjoyed it, liked it the least. Now, if I were to grade the book, I’d give it a solid “B” so you can tell how low I rate the book and how high my three amigos rate it. They are intrigued to read the other three Heechee books Pohl wrote. I was curious enough to read the synopses online but I might not read the other three books. But I do think Gateway, as a stand-alone, is worth your time, both for the powerful writing and as a snapshot of SF in the mid-1970s before Star Wars hit the theaters.

Forgotten Books: The League of Frightened Men by Rex Stout

I tried. I really did. With a renewed interest in traditional mysteries, I gave Nero Wolfe another go. I re-read the Sherlock Holmes novels in December and I've been working through the short stories in January so I thought coming back to Nero Wolfe now would be a good thing. You see, when I read the first Nero Wolfe story—Fer-de-Lance—I was in the midst of reading a lot of hard-boiled stories. As such, I didn’t think much of it. Now, with an idea of what Nero Wolfe really is, I decided to read the second book in the series, The League of Frightened Men.

In short, it might be my last. I just don’t get how these books are so popular. The set-up for League is at least intriguing. Well, if you overlook how it all started. Wolfe and Archie Goodwin (his Watson) are hanging around the brownstone when Archie points out an article in the newspaper. The author, Paul Chapin, a man who walks with a cane, is on trial for obscenity. The two men argue then Wolfe sends for a copy of the book in question. He reads it overnight and then tells Archie that a man named Andrew Hibbard had contacted Wolfe recently about a case. Hibbard wants protection from a man he didn’t name. After reading Chapin’s novel, Wolfe deduces that Hibbard fears none other than Chapin. Now, Hibbard himself has gone missing.

The reason Chapin is now lame is because of a college hazing prank. Chapin got injured and the rest of the college gang feel sorry for him. They name themselves the League of Atonement and give Chapin pity and recompense these last twenty years. After Wolfe has tracked down most of the members of the League, he learns that the group thinks Chapin is not only responsible for the deaths of two of their number as well as the Hibbard disappearance, but also the poem they each received all but claiming retribution against them all was written by Chapin. Got that? Well, it’s a bit flimsy to hang a story on and it didn’t get much better the longer the story progressed.

Archie as Narrator is the absolute best thing about this book (and the one previous). His wit, world view, and doggedness could easily carry his own series of stories. And I’d devour those in a heartbeat. But he defers to his boss, Wolfe, all the time. Moreover, Wolfe can be an ass. I understand that’s part of his “charm” and Holmes, too, can be abrupt. But Wolfe seems, at least in this book, to relish his brusqueness. At one point, he commends Archie for sound logic but then chastises him for being completely wrong. It made me want to reach into the book and slap Wolfe on the face hopefully with a glass of beer in his hand.

When you read a hard-boiled story or watch an action movie, boredom is something you don’t usually experience. Even your standard hour-long television crime drama can sweep you along without the need for gun play or violence. I can get behind that kind of storytelling. However, this entry in the Nero Wolfe canon bored me. I got to where I didn’t care who the culprit was. I didn’t care what type of logic Wolfe used to expose the bad guy. With Holmes stories, the great detective knows things we don't know and then presents them in a big, and usually satisfying denouement. Not here. I listened to this one on audio (8 CDs) and I had to struggle to get through it. You know, face Houston traffic with or without the audiobook. There were afternoons where silence won.

I’ve read all about how famous Wolfe and Goodwin are in the greater corpus of mystery literature. I understand why some folks appreciate these characters. Heck, I’d love to see Wolfe go to the sanitarium and keep Archie, Fritz the Butler/Cook, and Saul Panzer, one of the PIs Wolfe hires out. Those would be books I’d read. I’m not sure I’ll get to another Wolfe book. Wait, actually, I will. David Cranmer, a fan of Nero Wolfe and his creator, Rex Stout, has asked me to read his favorite, Some Buried Caesar, before I make a final judgment on Wolfe and Goodwin. This I shall do. Just not anytime soon.

Forgotten Books: Batman: R.I.P. by Grant Morrison and Tony Daniel

(My latest entry to Patti Abbott's Friday Forgotten Books. For the complete list, head on over to her blog.)

How does one sum up, in words, a comic story arc that blows the top of your head off and creates lots of new wrinkles on your gray matter? Needless to say, it's difficult. But, then, "Batman, R.I.P." (RIP) is no ordinary comic book. It’s penned by Grant Morrison, something of an avant-guard writer. More and more, the word "visionary" is linked with Morrison's writing and I'm beginning to think that's just code for mind-blowing. You read some of his work and you be the judge.

The trade paperback version of RIP collects Batman #676-683 but adds (I think as I've not read the actual monthly titles) a prelude. Batman and Joker, in Arkham Asylum, with Joker laying out cards. It's a clue yet I didn't see it.

The main story picks up following the events of The Black Glove arc (my review). The new group of baddies, The Black Glove, is led by a man named Doctor Hurt. He's out to get Batman where other bad guys have yet to penetrate: his mind. And he has the weapons to do it. You see, Batman can't find anyone who (a) knows about the mysterious Black Glove criminal organization or (b) believes him when he says it exists. They all point to an old film noir with the same name. Even Bruce Wayne's new flame, Jezebel Jet, doesn't believe him and she knows the truth about Wayne's alter ego. Without warning, Bruce lurches into some sort of coma while puzzling over the evidence. Members of the Black Glove (which look like cast-offs from "Who Wants to Be in Batman's Rogue's Gallery") invade the Batcave and take out Alfred while Robin escapes.

Oh, and that's just by the second issue. Things really get weird from here on out. Bat-Mite even shows up and his presence is explained as well. One of the parts of the story is Batman's black casebook. It includes all wild and far-out cases of Batman's career. In reality, Morrison has taken some of the weird elements from the 1950s Batman stories and ret-conned them back into the mainstream Batman story line. Thus, from a 1950s story of Batman in a multi-colored costume--The Batman of Zur-En-Arrh (don't ask)--comes a modern-day coping mechanism Bruce uses to battle Doctor Hurt. It's a brilliant stroke of imagination on Morrison's part. The narrative of RIP shows why Batman is, arguably, the most compelling superhero on the market. Batman is always called the hero with no superpowers. He has one: his mind. It's on a level like no other hero and it's in the mind where much of this story takes place. The epilogue of RIP, a two-issue story that peruses much of Bat-History, ties in directly with the larger story that was then being published by DC Comics, "Final Crisis" (currently reading it now).

The biggest complaint I have about Morrison's style is the quick cuts without any warning. You get a two-page spread of one storyline and then the next page is something different. It's difficult to build up steam and get all the facts correct. I can't imagine reading this over a series of months. You really do need the compressed nature of a trade.

A companion to this story is a trade paperback entitled "The Black Casebook." Here DC reprints the original 1950s stories that inspired Morrison. He gives an introduction to each story and explains why it helped him create RIP.

Tony Daniel is the artist for RIP and his work is spectacularly detailed. Looking over the book again, there are visual clues that foreshadow the ending twists. His version of the Joker is scary: a tall, thin, and gaunt, usually only sporting his trademark purple pin-striped pants and suspenders, his skeletal body weirdly strong. But it's Joker's eyes that haunt your dreams.

By the end of this story, coupled with the big event in "Final Crisis," you have another, giant mystery. I really can't name it here for it gives away the ending of RIP. Rest assured, however: the events of the DC Universe in 2010 will provide you the answer.

Batman, R.I.P. is a phantasmagorical romp in the grandest sense and is essential reading for any fan of The Dark Knight.

Forgotten Books: Batman - The Black Glove

(My latest entry in Patti Abbott's Friday Forgotten Books. For the complete list, head on over to her blog.)

Most of these forgotten books are rare gems out of the public eye that bloggers want other readers to remember. I mean, really, why would a blogger spend the time to post a “Keep Away” sign for a book best left forgotten? The good folks over at DC Comics probably have some hopes that various titles throughout it’s long publishing history remain forever forgotten. You wouldn’t think Batman would be on that list and he isn’t...assuming you overlook the 1950s output. This is the era where Batman fought aliens, met various Batmen of other countries, and had a bunch of silly adventures that don’t fall in line with the darker tone most prominent in the 1940s and from the 1970s onward.

Grant Morrison didn’t overlook the 1950s. In fact, he took a most novel approach: reincorporate some of the more outlandish elements of the 1950s Batman stories and put them back in the larger canon. Batman: The Black Glove is one of the story arcs that does precisely that.

In Part I of The Black Glove, Batman and Robin (Tim Drake) travel to an isolated Caribbean island to meet up with other crime fighters from across the world. These guys (and one gal) are The International Club of Heroes, AKA “The Batmen of Other Nations” story from the 1950s. You have the Indian Batman, a dude called Wingman, a swashbuckling swordsman, a guy from England. (Hey! This was the 1950s, remember?) Once the Dynamic Duo arrive on the island, a sort of “Ten Little Indians” scenario starts where certain characters start being killed and it’s up to Bats, Robin, and the other Club members (who don’t necessarily trust Batman) to solve the problem before they all perish.

Part II of the story arc involves a Gotham City Police Department initiative to train certain policemen to be Batman in case the real hero dies. Bat-mite shows up in this one as Bruce/Batman has a heart attack and is captured. Here, Bruce remembers forgotten events (i.e., the original 1950s Batman stories) as he attempts to defeat his kidnapper. The end result sets up a couple of things. One, the giant “R.I.P.” story line, and two, the presence of a dark, criminal group known as The Black Glove whose sole purpose is a years-long undermining and destruction of Batman himself.

It’s a good story, although I think the first part is more fun. The second is deeper with a decided psychological bent to it. Morrison delves into the elephant in the room when it comes to the Dark Knight: that, technically, Bruce Wayne is mentally disturbed to do what he does. A new lady friend of Bruce, Jezebel Jet, calls him on it and puts a name to it. And, just like any good monthly comic, the last panel is one of the biggest cliffhangers I’ve seen in a long time.

As I catch up on the Bat-stories I’ve missed these past few years, I started here. It leads into the “R.I.P.” story arc, followed by “What Ever Happened to the Caped Crusader” and “Final Crisis.” I enjoyed the books and the fresh take on an era most people dismiss out of hand. The artwork by Tony S. Daniel is vivid, colorful, evocative, and fluid. There’s a great number of visual homages to earlier stories that I enjoyed discovering and his use of various shapes and panels to tell the story was terrific.

DC Comics may have forgotten the stories from the 1950s but Grant Morrison didn’t. Now you can revisit a forgotten time in Batman’s history and see where it leads him. My review of Batman: R.I.P. will be next in this series.

Forgotten Books: A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle

(This is my latest contribution to Patti Abbott's Friday Forgotten Books project. For the complete list, head on over to her blog.)

I think it’s safe to say that Sherlock Holmes will never be forgotten. New editions of his stories are published every year, with Hard Case Crime being the latest. This month, we have a new movie based on him, one that could start a film franchise, with another on the way. Holmes has also made his way into comics this year with Dynamite Comics’ “The Trial of Sherlock Holmes.”

In advance of the new movie, I decided to read the four Holmes novels: A Study in Scarlet (1887), The Sign of Four (1890), The Hound of the Baskervilles (1902), and The Valley of Fear (1915). I’ve read the first three before but it has been many years.

A Study in Scarlet (Scarlet) is Holmes first adventure. Upon re-reading it, I realized I had forgotten lots of the nuances of the book. I also realized that, had it been published today, for modern readers, it might not have caught on. Well, let me back up: it may not have gotten passed the editors.

Dr. John Watson, as everyone knows, is the chronicler of his adventures with Sherlock Holmes. As Scarlet opens, Watson recounts his deployment and wounding in Afghanistan and his subsequent recovery. Running out of money he received from the army, he’s looking for a roommate. A fellow army buddy, Stamford, comments that he knows of another man also seeking a roommate. Upon seeing Watson’s eagerness, Stamford makes the following reply:

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass. “You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion.

It’s a wonderful way to set up Holmes’ introduction later in the chapter. For those of us now, more than a century removed from Holmes’ arrival on the world stage, the line of dialogue comes across with a wink and a sly grin. For Doyle’s contemporaries, it was something altogether different.

The two men agree to take rooms at 221B Baker Street. The second chapter is a dissertation on Holmes’ methods. Like any student in geometry class, one Holmes explains his methods, they seem easy even though Watson scoffs at them more than once in this novel.

The heart of the book is the mystery brought to Holmes by the Scotland Yard detectives Gregson and Lestrade. In a house in Brixton there is a corpse of a man. On the wall, above the body, written in blood, is the word ”Rache.“ Holmes invites Watson to accompany him. With Watson, we see Holmes’ methods up close, his minute inspection of seemingly random objects as well as the contempt Holmes has for the London police.

The bulk of this section is pretty standard (although, at the time of the writing, there was barely a standard created). Holmes’ reveal of the killer is showy, sudden, and out of thin air. This happens at the end of part one.

My biggest beef with Scarlet is the second part of the book. In an attempt to give background to the killer, Doyle breaks with the established train of the story, shifts to third person POV, and throws the reader across the Atlantic and into the wilderness of the American Rocky Mountains. What the hell? For five chapters, we get the background of who the killer is and his relationship with the the victim. Only in the last two chapters of the book do Holmes and Watson reappear.

This kind of storytelling would never fly in the modern world. Part way through Part II, I kept thinking ”I know this has a point but I can’t figure out what it is.“ Gradually, the names that you’ve read in Part I show up and you figure out what Doyle is doing. Late in Part II, when the focus shifts back to our heroes, the killer speaks and confirms the data in the five preceding chapters.

Doyle was twenty-seven when he wrote this and it was his first novel. However, the book would have been so much more powerful if the killer had told the story, adding the backstory along the way. The big shift totally throws the reader out of the moment and it’s the biggest flaw in the story.

Unlike so many other adventures (A Scandal in Bohemia, Blue Carbuncle, Silver Blaze, Red-Headed League, The Final Solution, The Hound of the Baskervilles), A Study in Scarlet is not one of the stories to which you’re likely to return over and over. Nonetheless, this is how the Holmes phenomena started. For that alone, it’s an important book. It’s definitely worth reading for anyone who enjoys Holmes, Watson, and their adventures.

P.S., this review is part 1 of 4.
Part 2, The Sign of Four, will be published 11 December.
Part 3, The Hound of the Baskervilles, will be published 18 December.
Part 4, The Valley of Fear, will be published Christmas Day.

Forgotten Books: Batman and Tarzan: Claws of the Cat-woman

(My latest entry in Patti Abbott’s Friday’s Forgotten Books. For the complete list, head on over to her blog.)

One definition of a forgotten book is forgetting you even have a copy. As I leafed through all of my graphic novels, I stumbled upon Batman and Tarzan: Claws of the Cat-woman. Since I’ve read and written about the first three Tarzan novels, of course I’d select this book. This is the new Tarzan Blog. (No, not really, but those of you who only read my FFB entries certainly might think so.)

In comicdom, Dark Horse Comics owns the rights to Tarzan nowadays. Ten years ago, they teamed him up with DC’s Batman. Hmm: two rich guys, both lost their parents early on (at least Bruce knew his), both patrol their respective “jungles,” what’s not to like? I have to say, going in, I was wondering how much of the Burroughs world was going to make it in the book. A good amount, really.

The story takes place in this kind of nether world: the time is vague, Batman exists in Gotham, and John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, aka, Tarzan, is a famous figure, having had his exploits written by “a writer” (that’d be your ERB wink). Bruce Wayne has financed an expedition to Africa and Finnigan Dent (note the name) brought back some rare artifacts to be displayed in the new Thomas and Martha Wayne wing of the natural science museum. Later that night, a person dressed as a cat breaks into the museum and Batman stops her. And then Tarzan, decked out in a white (!) loincloth *in Gotham*(come on, at least let it be leather; and why a loin cloth? You’d think he’s just take off his shoes or something.) waylays Batman. No sooner does Tarzan figure out who Batman really is (can’t hide your scent) than a band of Masai warriors attacks them. Battle ensues.

Here’s where we get the typical posturing when two characters meet for the first time. If you’ve read the Tarzan books, you know he kills his enemies if that’s the only way to protect those around him. In Gotham, he’s about to throw a warrior off the roof when Batman stops him. “No murder in my city.” (You know where this is going, right?) The different dynamic duo win and discover the “cat woman” is Princess Khefretari of the hidden city of Memnon. Mr. Finnigan Dent (there’s that name again) looted the city and plans to return to finish the job. To the Batplane, Tarzan!

Predictably, Batman and Tarzan have to travel on foot to get to the hidden city. There are some humorous (and weird) episodes along the way. When they first land, Bats is taken aback with Tarzan’s pet lion. I mean, really! If Bats knows who Greystoke is, then he’s got to know the man is at home with wild animals. Cut to a later scene when Bats thinks the bull ape is friendly...and gets himself nearly beaten to death. It takes Tarzan’s fighting abilities to save the day.

Naturally, Finnigan Dent tries to kill our heroes but not before said lion rends one half of Dent’s face. Yes! Now I know where I know the name. Dent now has, say it with me: two faces. There are enough escapes and fights to make any fan of pulp fiction happy. The best one is when our heroes are chained together and thrown into the alligator pool. After their escape (giving nothing away here), you have the single best frame of the book. Tarzan, bleeding from a shoulder wound, is stopped by Bats for a field dressing. Igor Kardey’s art shows Tarzan, eyes rolling, head tilted, assenting to Batman’s ministrations, with one line, “Very well.” This from a man who had part of his scalp torn from his head in the first book. Next, Tarzan compliments the field dressing. Batman’s reply: “I’ve had practice.” So much said in so few words.

It’s a fun story although far from earth-shattering. The art is well done. Kordey gives Batman black eyes most of time, a neat take on the standard white. Tarzan is rendered fantastically, all muscles yet haunted eyes. You have a lot of little moments (like the field dressing scene) that pay homage to various things in each character's past. I remember reading it back in the day but, as I mentioned before, forgot I even had it. Come Christmas, I’ll probably forget it again. But, as part of my All Things Tarzan mode I’ve been in, I enjoyed it and would like to read another adventure with these two quintessential heroes.

Forgotten Books: The Beasts of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs

You have to give Edgar Rice Burroughs credit, the man knows how to start a story. When we last saw our hero in The Return of Tarzan, John Clayton had married his true love, Jane Porter. The sweeping soundtrack played in your mind and the sun set on the Atlantic Ocean. You might be tempted to think that the opening scenes of the third book in the series, The Beasts of Tarzan, would show Lord and Lady Greystoke and their gushy love at peace in Scotland.

You’d be wrong. Chapter one’s title, “Kidnapped,” provides the first hint, paragraph one gives you all you need to know about this book: Tarzan arch enemy, Nikolas Rokoff, has escaped. Three pages later, the final piece of the plot: a piece of paper, written by his wife, to Tarzan: “Jack [Tarzan’s infant son] stolen from garden through complicity of new servant. Come at once. Jane.”

And we’re off. I don’t know enough pulp history to determine who was the first author to give a readership a series of cliffhangers but ERB is a likely candidate. Through manipulations a plenty, Tarzan finds himself captive on a boat headed to...Africa! No, seriously. I tell you what: if I’m Rokoff, I’m taking the Lord of the *Jungle* to Antarctica or the Sahara, anywhere but the very same jungle from whence he came. Now, truth be told, Rokoff maroons him on a jungle island (later named Jungle Island) where hoards of wild beasts have never heard of Tarzan. They must challenge the white man. They do.

They lose. Tarzan still knows how to speak ape and tussles with the king ape of a different tribe. Tarzan kills said ape and, after a bit, wins over the allegiance of the rest of the apes, about a dozen or so. At this stage, Tarzan becomes a cross between Dr. Doolittle and Aquaman: he recruits the apes (that's Akut on the cover image), Sheeta the leopard, and an African, Mugambi. We won’t even discuss the fact that the beasts of Tarzan include a man. Nevertheless, When Tarzan’s in trouble, he can send out a signal and his hoard come to his rescue.

With his posse in tow (literally, these apes help Tarzan row a boat from Jungle Island to the African mainland), Tarzan hunts Rokoff. Tarzan thinks Jane is in London but that his boy is with Rokoff. Jane, meanwhile, really *is* in Africa, having been captured by Rokoff but then escaping from him. Along the way, she gets an infant she *thinks* is hers but doesn’t find out the truth until later (i.e., daylight). The poor baby dies and, when Tarzan hears the news, he thinks it was his kid that died, not even knowing that the white woman is, in fact, his wife.

Burroughs packs in a lot of chases, near misses, deadly battles, into this book. With all the misdirection and mistaken identities, it’s almost like an episode of the old TV series, “Three’s Company.” As I mentioned earlier, ERB knows how to grab a reader and keep those pages a’ turnin’. At certain places, just when one hero is at the highest danger, ERB shifts focus to the other hero. He brings the second hero to death’s door...and then throws you back to the first hero. It’s Saturday morning serial storytelling at its best.

The kicker is the last chapter, when you learn about the fate of the infant and what he’s been doing while his parents are fighting wild beasts and crazed Russians. Granted, glancing at the title of the fourth book pretty much laid your fears to rest, but, still, it was kind of funny the way the whole thing turned out.

Burroughs writes in the omniscient narrator POV all the time and he breaks the fourth wall on the last page. “Possibly we shall see them [Tarzan, Jane, et. al.] all there amid the savage romance of the grim jungle and the great plains where Tarzan of the Apes loves best to be. Who knows?” Like Tarzan’s first two adventures, The Beasts of Tarzan was serialized first (in All-Story Cavalier magazine) and later published as a book. Burroughs knew what he was doing when he wrote those last words: leaving it up to the readers to demand the next exciting adventure of Tarzan.

Writing note: Burroughs started writing this third adventure of Tarzan in January 1914. He finished one month later. One. Month. Later.

Wow.

Forgotten Books: The Return of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs

(My latest contribution to Patti Abbott's Friday Forgotten Books. See her blog for the complete list.)

I did not hate this book. I really enjoyed it and easily recommend it as part of the one-two punch that is the origin story of Tarzan. But Edgar Rice Burroughs put so many “Come On!” moments in the novel that he would be slaughtered at any modern critique group. So, don’t forget: I liked the book.

When we last saw Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, (as recent as my forgotten book last week), he had made a decision that made the happy-ending part of me scream. And growl. And beat my chest like a gorilla. Well, not really. My family was still asleep.

Nevertheless, Tarzan leaves America and cruises across the Atlantic on an ocean liner. He injects himself in a quarrel not of his own making...and earns himself a dreaded enemy, the dastardly Nikolas Rokoff and his comrade-in-mischief, Alexis Paulvitch. Tarzan disembarks in Paris and stays with his friend, Paul d'Arnot, and, of course, Rokoff tries to off Tarzan again. And again. And again. Guess the hatred’s pretty deep.

After a time, Tarzan gets himself a job in Algeria and steams out of Paris. Lo, and behold, who should be on the ship? None other than Hazel Strong, Jane Porter’s best friend. Come on! They talk but she doesn’t know who he is. Rokoff’s there and manages to throw Tarzan overboard. And then he swims to shore. Come on! And lands right where he dad and mom were marooned early in the first book. Seriously?! Whereupon he delves back in the jungle and becomes, through various little incidences that don’t amount to much, the King of the Waziri people.

Later, Jane Porter, her dad, Tarzan’s blood cousin William Clayton, Rokoff (now in disguise as Thuran, all get shipwrecked *right where Tarzan just swam to shore*! Yeah, really. I’ll admit I was rolling my eyes at some parts of this story, not a good idea while listening to the audiobook and commuting in Houston rush hour traffic. I almost let out my own Tarzan yell when a car swerved near me.

Finally, there’s a lost city--found by Tarzan--, the great city of Opar. Tarzan himself gets captured but escapes. Yeah, really. Then--and you’re not going to believe this one--his one true love, Jane, gets herself captured, too. Yes! And Tarzan has to rescue her. Yes way! And then some other stuff happens that round out the book and make for a nice happy ending.

Lesson I take from reading The Return of Tarzan: coincidence must’ve been a lot more permissible in the 1910s as opposed to the 2000s. Some of Tarzan’s coincidences I could’ve stomached. But the landing exactly where he used to live. No way.

Taken together, however, The Return of Tarzan and Tarzan of the Apes is a great, pulp, adventure read. There are a couple of books I’ve enjoyed just a bit more this year. Other than those two, I haven’t enjoyed a book (they really are one giant adventure) as much as I enjoyed these two this year. They are great fun. Period.

You know, there’s another giant book out this week that lots of people are criticizing. I’ve started it already. I quickly realized that, yes, I have read this story before. But you know what? I don’t care. I had fun reading Tarzan and I’m going to have fun reading Dan Brown’s book, too. Fun is fun.

I’m pretty psyched about reading more Tarzan adventures. I’ve got about ten or so old paperbacks here on my shelf. I’ve mentioned before that I inherited boxes full of old westerns from my grandfather. In those boxes were the old Tarzan books. I recently asked my mom who bought those books. Without a word, she just smiled and tapped her chest with her thumb. Ah. Those are *her* books. Way to go, Mom.