A Flawed Dejah Thoris

It took me forever to paint this mini, and even with all that work I'm unhappy with the final result. As you can see, I messed up the skirt, couldn't figure out where skin began and clothing ended, and I'm not happy with the skin tone. Sure, she's supposed to have red skin per the novels, but this red? I was hoping for something more like the Michael Whelan art of the 1970s editions of the books--more red-tinged than literally red. Oy, me. 
 

Woola

 

Here is John Carter's pet calot, Woola. He didn't turn out as well as John Carter or Tars Tarkas, but he looks okay on the table. 

I tried to give Woola's skin some shading, but I think the contrast between colours was too subtle. 

John Carter Leaps into Action

Here's a 28mm John Carter of Mars. I like him well enough, though he didn't turn out quite as well as Tars Tarkas. I do like that he has some definition in his face, though, and the metallic parts of his harness provide a hint of realism. 

This side-by-side comparison shows that Green Martians are much taller than humans and the humanoid Martian species. 

Tars Tarkas

Last night I painted this 28mm-scale miniature of Tars Tarkas, one of the savage Green Men of Mars, loyal friend to John Carter. The miniature sculpt is quite detailed and accurately captures Tars' look from the Mars books by Edgar Rice Burroughs. 

In this case, I painted the model's separate pieces individually and then glued them together once the painting was done. This allowed me to reach spots on the model's chest, abdomen, and arms that I wouldn't have been able to access if I'd assembled the model first. It was a bit of a pain, but the effort was worth it. 
 

Tarzan's Mildest Adventure

Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes (Hugh Hudson, 1984) offers a respectful treatment of Edgar Rice Burroughs' original adventure novel. Performances are mostly solid, especially that by Ian Holm; the production is sumptuou; and the screenplay really isn't bad. Indeed, it's reasonably faithful to the first novel in the long-running series.

But somehow the magic is missing. John Clayton's origins are tragic, of course, and that section of the film works. And Burroughs' critique of "civilization" is well-represented. But the spirit of adventure that defined the legend of Tarzan is almost wholly lacking; there is very little derring-do, there are no lost civilizations, treasure hoards, pirates, poachers, or slavers; none of the kid stuff that captivated so many young readers. Plus, what we see of the African jungle feels confined, restrictive, and brutal; its beauty and wide open spaces are barely glimpsed.

I applaud the producers for the effort; this isn't a bad film by any means. It's just a bit dull, and in that sense unworthy of the King of the Jungle.

Earl Woods on Mars

If you've ever wanted to hear me talk about Edgar Rice Burroughs, his creation John Carter of Mars, and roleplaying game systems, you can do so right now by listening to the latest episode of the Massive Damage Adventures podcast. Click on this link for a list of listening choices (Apple, Spotify, or Google Play) and then choose "Bonus Episode 1: John Carter of Mars."

My friend and Stantec colleague Meric Moir invited me to play a round of the John Carter of Mars roleplaying game and then interviewed me for my thoughts on the game and, more specifically, how well it captures the feel of Burroughs' original Mars books. The podcast is almost three hours long, but the interview starts at the beginning if you don't want to listen to the whole play session.

Tarzan in Alberta...Almost

"The sun is an impartial old devil. He shines with equal brilliance upon the just and the banker, upon the day of a man's wedding or upon the day of his death. The great African sun, which, after all, is the same sun that shines on Medicine Hat, shone brilliantly on this new day upon which Tarzan was to die." - Tarzan the Magnificent, chapter 19, Edgar Rice Burroughs, 1939

For obvious reasons this passage jumped out at me when I read it over lunch today. How much notoriety must Medicine Hat have had in the 1930s for ERB to choose it as a point of ironic comparison to Africa?

Scooped Again

Well, it's full disclosure time here at The Earliad: a few days ago I thought I was being clever when I suggested the plots of some hypothetical post-Burroughs Tarzan novels, including one set in Hollywood. But today I started Tarzan and the Lion-Man, in which Hollywood comes to Africa to shoot a jungle adventure movie. It's not exactly the scenario I described, but Burroughs, it turns out, already had something to say about Hollywood's treatment of his most famous character, and didn't need hacks like me to restate the obvious. Back to the drawing board!

The Postwar Tarzan

Last week I noted that Tarzan's adventures could have continued indefinitely, given his immortality. Readers' last glimpses of the canonical occur during and just after the Second World War, and I find myself wondering what might have happened later in Tarzan's life, given the events of the second half of the twentieth century. The last book, Tarzan and the Castaways, might have been followed by:

Tarzan in India
Set in 1946, Tarzan travels to India, fights tigers, rides Indian elephants and is probably pined over by a beautiful Indian princess. Tarzan, as a British peer, is somewhat discomfited by India's march toward independence, but is won over by a brave Gurkha warrior.

Tarzan in Hollywood
In the summer of 1949, Tarzan, Jane, Korak and Meriem visit Tarzan's old friend Edgar Rice Burroughs. Burroughs, growing old and fearing the spectre of death, passes a secret to Tarzan - a secret that requires the ape man to navigate the treacherous waters of the film industry!

Tarzan and the Undersea Kingdom
In 1955, Tarzan finds himself aboard the first atomic submarine, the Nautilus - and while under the north pole, discovers the mythical underwater domain of Atlantis!

Tarzan and the Algerians
In 1958 Tarzan's affection for France and experiences with Arabs tempt him into taking the colonialist side in the Algerian war. But the conflict's complexities, along with his experiences in India, prompt Tarzan to broaden his worldview.

Tarzan the Fearless
In 1962, Tarzan averts nuclear holocaust by infiltrating the Soviet Union.

Tarzan and the Moon Maid
By the early 1970s, the race for the moon has been won by the Americans. But when NASA discovers evidence of a mysterious Moon Maid, they recruit the legendary Tarzan on the strangest adventure of all - within Earth's moon!

Tarzan, Lord of the Urban Jungle
By 1985, Tarzan's African estate is an island of wealth on an impoverished continent. Seeking investors, Tarzan travels to New York, where he must match his jungle wits against wily and treacherous stockbrokers.

Tarzan, Warlord of Africa
In the 1990's Africa is torn apart by war, encroaching upon the peace and prosperity of Tarzan's estate and the Waziri tribe. No stranger to useful violence - that of self-defence or the hunt for food - Tarzan is nonetheless reluctant to take up arms in war, for, as ever, he holds most of civilization in contempt. But he cannot allow his beloved Africa to be torn apart, and having made up his mind to make war, Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, is determined to finish it - on his terms!

Tarzan and the New Millennium
The world - and the jungle - grow smaller, and Tarzan and family are left wondering if they still have a place. Older, wiser, less sexist, less racist, Tarzan leaves the jungle behind and takes his place as a British peer, hoping to build a better world while following the rules of civilization - but can he hold the beast at bay? Should he?

The New Adventures of Tarzan

In Tarzan's Quest (1935), Tarzan, Jane and a monkey are granted immortality. I've always thought it a shame that the Burroughs estate hasn't allowed writers to continue the Tarzan stories into the modern era, since Burroughs himself made such stories possible. Tarzan's canonical adventures end around the time of the Second World War, and I think it would be fascinating to see how Tarzan reacts to the post-colonial era that emerged through the following decades - not to mention all the drama that Africa has faced from then until the present day. Imagine Tarzan taking part in the Suez crisis, or the revolution in Algeria! He'd take the side of the colonial powers, of course, but a good writer could use those conflicts to moderate Tarzan's views and perhaps make him a more well-rounded, modern character.

And of course there are less weighty adventures to be had. Why not send Tarzan to the moon in the early 1970s, to discover, no doubt, some magnificent underground civilization? Or perhaps he could spend some time voyaging with Cousteau, fighting sea monsters. What fun!

The Trouble with Tarzan

Over the course of the last couple of weeks I've read the first twelve of Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan novels. And while I still love the fantastic landscape of Tarzan's Africa, with its magnificent lost cities and vividly painted wildlife, there's no denying that these are books very much of their time - and that time was outright sexist and racist.

Aside from the noble Waziri tribesmen, black Africans are described in the most appalling terms - to Burroughs and Tarzan, they are savage, stupid brutes, superstitious children, or at best, kowtowing servants. And even the Waziri, though they do give Tarzan a little help from time to time, are placed unfailingly in a subservient role. Women sometimes display gumption and bravery, and indeed Tarzan's daughter-in-law Meriem is a warrior in her own right, but most of the time women are merely prizes in Tarzan's world, to be stolen and rescued by men time and again.

From time to time Burroughs flirts with more progressive ideas; in The Son of Tarzan, Tarzan's son Korak falls in love with an Arab girl and Tarzan and Jane bless the coming marriage - but in the final pages it's revealed that Meriem isn't a poor Arab after all, but a lost French girl of noble birth. Burroughs comes so very close, but in the end he just can't countenance an intercultural marriage. (With exactly two exceptions so far, Arabs in the Tarzan novels are depicted as swarthy, lying knaves, interested only in poaching and slavery.)

Even Tarzan's choices are informed by racism. He goes out of his way to rescue white men and white women, and indeed the text makes it explicit that these are the correct and proper choices. It's old-style chivalry and tribalism at its worst. Tarzan is kind to his Waziri warriors but they are *his warriors in a very real sense. They are not slaves, but they are, explicitly, servants, with no agency; they exist to tend to Tarzan's vast African estate and to haul gold from the lost city of Opar whenever the Greystoke estate is running low on cash.

In a way, Tarzan is the ultimate expression of the Victorian form of racism. The white man comes to Africa with nothing; Tarzan arrives as a babe, born on the continent. (His parents are shipwrecked English nobles who die shortly after Tarzan's birth.) Raised by apes, Tarzan is quicker, faster, stronger and smarter than anyone in the jungle, even (perhaps especially) its natives. He grows up, takes and American girl for his wife, starts a plantation, staffs it with black servants, and literally steals the wealth of the continent to enrich himself. To Burroughs, all is as it should be, but to modern eyes he's accidentally created a literary indictment of the era's blinders.

And yet Burroughs' work still has value. Despite the overt racism and sexism, despite its colonialist attitudes, not to mention the wild plot contrivances and coincidences and overused tropes (Tarzan seems to get knocked unconscious by a glancing blow and tied up at least once per novel), these are still crackling adventure stories. I still can't help but get carried away by the romance of Tarzan's Africa, its great unspoiled natural beauty, its hidden dangers and yes, its beautiful damsels in distress. For sheer pulp adventure, Burroughs remains tough to beat. But these novels have to be read with a careful, critical eye.

Paperback on the Edge of Nowhere

Inspired by Jeff's most recent post, I felt the urge to create something retro - in this case, an imaginary paperback from an alternate 1970s. After sketching out the original design, though, I found that giving the cover an authentic aged look with weathering and so on remains beyond my skills. Still, I'm pretty happy with the design itself. I attempted to emulate the look of the first edition cover of Tarzan, by Edgar Rice Burroughs, so I chose a jungle-looking font and a green/black/yellow colour scheme. I'm particularly happy with the tagline, which can be interpreted in two very different ways, but I had a heck of a time finding the right place to put the author name and the "complete and unabridged" text. I'm still not sure they're in the right spots.

You can read two journeys to the edge of nowhere starting here and here.

Last Trip to Greenwoods'

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold. According to rumour, there's a rough beast slouching toward Whyte Avenue's Greenwoods' Bookshoppe - permanent closure.

I was a regular customer at Greenwood's from 1987 until 1999 or so, but my visits grew less and less frequent over the years. It wasn't a conscious choice; I simply moved out of the neighbourhood. I shopped more frequently at Audrey's for a while, and then, after a few months' resistance, I found myself at Chapters more and more often. A few more years have passed and I've found that I purchase books online about 25 percent of the time, especially when I know what I'm looking for and physical bookstores can't or won't carry the often obscure titles I desire.

No one except the Greenwoods knows for sure, but it's easy to surmise that Amazon and other online vendors have contributed to the bookshoppe's pending closure. So this morning, burdened by guilt, I parked at the west end of Whyte Avenue today and took a long penitent walk east to Greenwoods'. There were only two people in the store when I arrived - both staff - and scarcely greater numbers of books. Most of the shelves have been laid bare, and posters declare "All books 50% off - All sales final."

I took a moment to wander up and down the aisles, but there wasn't much to see; just row upon row of empty wooden shelves, shelves that were once crammed to bursting with all manner of literary riches. I remembered all the happy hours I'd spent in the original location next to the Princess Theatre, times when I'd accompany university buddies to catch a show and then pick up some books, or vice versa. After graduation I struggled to find a job in my chosen field and wound up driving a parts truck around the city. I was depressed by the rote nature of the work and the abuse I often endured from a number of my customers, but every Wednesday afternoon I had one escape: I stopped at Warp One to pick up my week's supply of comic books, then crossed the back alley to the back door of Greenwoods' to browse for books. That weekly pleasure never failed to reinvigorate me.

Despite my ability to find all the books I've ever wanted online, I still lament the loss of Greenwoods'. Amazon and other online vendors are wonderful if and only if you already know what you're looking for. But they can't replicate the experience of browsing through the shelves and finding something new and wonderful via serendipity. I estimate fully half the books in my collection were discovered this way.

Now there's one last place to browse, and Edmonton is poorer for the loss. All these thoughts flashed through my mind as I handed over the one book remaining at Greenwoods' to catch my interest: Under the Moons of Mars: New Adventures on Barsoom. I'd never heard of the book before the lurid cover caught my eye on one of those near-empty shelves. One last escape, courtesy of a business that's been a portal to wonder for over thirty years.

Thanks, Greenwoods'. I won't forget you.

A Pastiche of Mars

I am a very young man; how young I do not know. Possibly I am but twelve, perhaps younger; but I cannot tell, for I have never aged as other men, nor do I anticipate adulthood. And yet I feel that I cannot remain a very young man forever, that some day I shall grow to full maturity from which there is no coming back. I do now know why I should fear adulthood, I who have stayed young at heart despite the abuses of a cynical world; but yet the horror of it remains, and it is because of this terror of maturing that I am so convinced of its inevitability.

And because of this conviction I have determined to remain young at heart for as long as possible and write down the stories that keep me that way, the interesting periods of my life and growth.

Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote many such stories, and it is because of that imaginative American that I found my heart ensnared by the wonders of pulp adventure: Tarzan yes, but above all, John Carter of Mars. Burroughs' twelve novels of Mars preserved my heart in a perpetual state of boyhood; in some sense, I shall always be the boy waiting to fall asleep one night on prosaic Jasoom to awaken in wonder on far Barsoom. And with ninth-ray pistol in one hand and sword in the other, I shall fight for fair Helium and the incomparable Sylvia Boucher, (other) Princess of Mars.

It was with such visions in my mind that I and my noble brother Sean ventured to west Edmonton's looming mall to partake in a motion picture, named John Carter; that being Disney's loose but thematically faithful adaptation of Burroughs' first novel of Barsoom, A Princess of Mars.

As a fervent admirer of Burroughs and a skeptic of the works of said Disney, I feared that John Carter, the film, would prove unworthy. What actress could possibly capture the power and beauty of the incomparable Dejah Thoris, Princess of Mars? What actor could embody the savage nobility of John Carter of Virginia? What special effects wizardry could bring to life the arid vistas of dying Barsoom, with its magnificent and terrible beasts - the great white apes, the Tharks, the banths? Could men (and of course women) of the 21st century understand and interpret faithfully stories now a century old?

My fears proved boundless. While John Carter is not the picture-perfect adaptation my twelve-year-old heart has been waiting for all my life, it is a splendid attempt - an adventure in the classic style, with twists and turns and coincidences and derring-do, and most importantly of all, romance. Fathers and daughters are reconciled; new love blooms despite the boundaries of space and time; foes are vanquished; steadfast allies and friendships forged.

Most impressive of all is the magnificent Lynn Collins as Dejah Thoris, here realized perhaps even more fully, if it were not blasphemy to say so, than in Burroughs' original stories. Dejah is lovely, yes, but more importantly she is courageous - the true courage of deep fears valiantly overcome. She is also brilliant, wry, passionate and true; but yet she is not perfect, nor overbearing. In order for the story of John Carter to work, for the titular hero to overcome his war-weariness, the film needed to give audiences a cause worth fighting for; and she is surely that. How unfortunate that Disney chose not to give the film its rightful title, A Princess of Mars, for truly this is Dejah's story.

That is not to sully nor minimize the fine work of Taylor Kitsch as the budding warlord of Barsoom, for he is a fine player who any man should wish to see overcome all his challenges, both within and without. Kitsch portrays Carter as a man who has lost his place in the world, but gradually, believably, finds it upon another. Marvellous too are the players - both actors and special effects artists - who bring the valiant and terrible Green Men of Mars to life, the Tharks, four-limbed, tusked warriors for whom compassion is a weakness; but yet the best of them possess it in full measure.

It is said that the best science fiction evokes a Sense of Wonder. John Carter is wondrous indeed, with scope, majesty, beauty and heart that makes the heart race and the spirit soar with awe at all the stories our vast universe might contain. Recapture your youth and see it today.

Thoughts on the John Carter Teaser Trailer

One day during the golden age of science fiction - that is, somewhere between the ages of 9 and 13 - I chanced upon a copy of Edgar Rice Burroughs' A Princess of Mars at the Leduc public library.

Michael Whelan's cover art, featuring brawny hero John Carter of Virginia standing victoriously over a field of defeated green-skinned Martians with a lovely mostly-naked princess Dejah Thoris of Mars in his arms arrested my preadolescent imagination, and I immediately snatched it up. For once, the story within lived up to the promise of the book's cover. I read all eleven of Burroughs' Mars books as quickly as I could retrieve them from the library, loving the high adventure, the star-crossed romance, the ray guns and swordfights and rescues and diabolical villains and flying ships. Burroughs may not have been the world's greatest prose stylist, but as a pure storyteller he remains one of the greats.

Burroughs' Mars stories are replete with violence and a fairly strong erotic subtext, what with all Martian inhabitants running around wearing nothing but leather harnesses, so I was disappointed when I heard that Disney was making a John Carter film. I worried that Disney would sap all the life out of Burroughs' work, not only the sex and violence, but the sarcastic social critique that Burroughs injected into many of his novels.

Based on the trailer above, however, I am now cautiously optimistic. The incomparable Dejah Thoris, the first book's titular Princess of Mars, may not be as scantily clad as many purists would hope, but she does seem to radiate the grace, intelligence and power that made her such an appealing character in the books. Similarly, John Carter himself seems a little wiry compared to the muscular brute most readers probably imagined. But acting chops are even more important than physique, so we'll see how it all pans out.

The airships of the trailer - at least, I assume that's what the flying machines are supposed to be - are visually arresting and elegant, but I admit I was hoping for floating galleons, absurd as the concept may be.

I'm most thrilled by the inclusion of Burroughs himself as a character, as he is in the books. I didn't think any filmmaker would incorporate this element of the books, but it seems they have. (In the books, John Carter is Burroughs' uncle, and Burroughs presents the stories as true, related to him by Uncle John.)

It's too bad they didn't title this film A Princess of Mars, after the first book. The film's original title was John Carter of Mars, named for the eleventh and final book, but it looks as though they've eliminated "of Mars," which I find a little annoying. Marketing trumps all.

Harry Potter and the Procrastinating Reader

When the Harry Potter series began and took the publishing industry by storm, I promised myself that I would read the series when J.K. Rowling completed it. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released almost three years ago, and only now have I read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, the first book in the series.

But I think I'll finish the series quickly, because Rowling's style is crisp, her characters engaging, her world one that I'd love to visit. I was taken in by the big plot twist, and it's always pleasant to be surprised, especially by a children's book. I look forward to seeing what happens next to Harry and Ron and Hermione and Dumbledore and Snape and all the rest.

Speaking of what happens next, I'm rather surprised that I've managed to remain spoiler-free so far, despite having delayed my consumption of these books. No spoilers in the comments, please, or I'll be forced to curse you. Don't mess with me, I started playing Dungeons & Dragons when I was 12 and I've been refining my skills recently.

I envy the experience of the countless boys and girls who were fortunate to grow up with these books. It must have been a wonderful experience, reading the first book at around the same age as the protagonists and growing up alongside them. The fantasy series I grew up with were already completed long before I came along, and featured adult protagonists - I'm writing here chiefly of the Tarzan and John Carter novels of Edgar Rice Burroughs. Had I been born a decade earlier, I might have had a similar experience following Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the gang through high school and university on television...but alas.

The End is the Beginning

Jim Hole once asked me if I ever skipped to the last page of a book to read the ending.

"I might as well read the whole thing backwards," I said, "you'd spoil the whole book, knowing the ending right at the start."

"Maybe," he said, "But the beginning would sure be a surprise!"

I thought about that conversation tonight as I was doing laundry and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I came to Buffylate; I started watching it in season five, kept watching through the series' end, while at the same time catching up on the old episodes by watching the earlier seasons on DVD. Tonight, having just finished the final episode of season four, I realized that I have come back to the beginning of my Buffy experience - smack dab in the middle of the series.

Watching the first four seasons while knowing the ultimate fate of the characters adds a certain resonance to the proceedings; every line, every action, every revelation is coloured by my prescient knowledge of what's to come. This is especially rewarding with a show like Buffy, where story arcs were planned so far in advance. Emotions are more poignant, and the story's texture becomes deeper, more rich.

I guess this is why I keep my books and comics; the stories are always new, even if I've read them many times before. Reading A Princess of Mars at twelve is very different than reading it at thirty; you could even argue that the book was read by two entirely different people, two individuals merely perceived as a single entity because we share a few common memories and some physical characteristics. Whether Earl at twelve and Earl at thirty were the same person or not, the experience of absorbing that book was different each time, and each experience had its own rewards. We start out younger than major characters, seeing men and women in their twenties as impossibly wise and ancient; and then we suddenly discover, years later, that we have become a year or two older than those same characters. Our heroes and villains become our contemporaries, even our peers.

Stephen Hawking once theorized that at the end of the universe, time would start running backwards, and it would seem quite normal for us to assemble from ashes, grow younger and more vital, then smaller, smaller, more and more helpless, until at last we retreat into the womb and shrink to nonexistence, finally dividing into sperm and egg. If time really does work this way, if our experience of life is an illusion forced upon us by our physical limitations, then maybe reading books or watching television shows out of sequence isn't such a crazy idea. Perhaps we'll get to see it in the "right" order, eventually...even if we have to wait a few billion years.

I guess when you read a book for the first time, the book informs your life and alters your perception of the world. But when you read it again, your experiences suddenly alter your perception of the book, and the expected suddenly defies all expectations. We see what was once invisible, and perhaps lose sight of what once was clear. The same must be true when we examine any work of art.

I have a pretty large collection of books and movies, and sometimes people ask me if I've read them all, and why I don't just sell them off after I've seen them once. I think I have my answer now. My books, my comics, my movies - they are a part of me. They've helped me grow. They connect me to my past and hint at my future, and I hope that when at last I die, I'll have just finished a wonderful story, perhaps a tale that takes me back to the very beginning of it all.

I'll read The End, and then...

The End.