Edgar Rice Burroughs' 1929 Tanar of Pellucidar, third in his hollow-Earth "Pellucidar" series, remains an entertaining read nearly a century after its first appearance, so long as we evaluate it by the pulp-fiction standards--and the social standards--of its day. Can the plotting be corny and predictable?--yes. Can the language grow a tad florid?--yes. Can the science be iffy?--mm hmm. Can the outlook be racist and sexist?--of course. These, however, would be silly criteria by which to evaluate a "lost world" adventure written when my own grandfather was still in elementary school, and when many other readers' grandparents had not yet even been born.
As usual for a tale in this series, the books begins with a narrative frame that sets up a truthful-claiming "found manuscript" type of situation. In this one the fictionalized Burroughs has a friend named Jason Gridley, "twenty-three and scandalously good looking," who, expert "in a great many things"--"aeronautics, for example, and golf, and tennis, and polo"--also happens to be "a radio bug" (Early 1960s Ace paperback, page 5). Now, disregarding our much more recent notions of examining both the sources and effects of "privilege" and whatnot, let us instead simply shrug and move on. For Jason in his experimenting has discovered what the pair has come to call "the Gridley wave," which "operat[ing] according to no previously known scientific laws," can be transmitted and received by his equipment "through some strange, ethereal medium that seems to pass through all other waves and all other stations, unsuspected and entirely harmless" (page 6).
Gridley, however, from his set occasionally has heard unexpected "voices, very faintly, but, unmistakably, human voices. They are speaking a language unknown to man. It is maddening" (pages 6-7). "'Mars, perhaps,' [Burroughs] suggest[s], 'or Venus,'" making the the younger man flash "one of his quick smiles" and add, "'Or Pellucidar.'" Gridley then chuckles about how "when [he] was a kid [he] used to believe every word of those crazy stories of [Burroughs] about Mars and Pellucidar" (page 7), whereas now of course he wouldn't believe such guff. So you know what happens in a few more pages, right? After some good-natured joshing back and forth about the author's supposed crazy stories, Morse code starts coming in. "And this is the message that Abner Perry sent from the bowels of the Earth; [sic] from the Empire of Pellucidar" (page 10), ends the Prologue.
The tale of Tanar, son of David Innes's friend and ally, King Ghak of Sari, then is told in third person, unlike the first-person narratives of Innes in the first two books. And a very unhurried and writerly third person it is, too. That is, this is no urgent missive dashed off in excited haste or created on the spot in the telling. No, Perry seems to have had an entire book already written, and as soon as he makes contact with the surface, well, here it comes!
In any event, to the edge of the Empire of Pellucidar have come strangers sailing large ships and equipped with firearms--two things that had seemed unknown before the coming of Innes and Perry--and they are "bloodthirsty," "killing for the pure sport of slaughter" (page 14). Following a hellacious battle against "their savage foes" (page 15), strong young "Tanar ha[s] been retained as a hostage" along with other prisoners (page 16), and then Innes equips a boat with food and water that "might have been adequate for a year's voyage" and gives chase with one trusted friend plus a prisoner to guide them (page 19).
The story is mainly Tanar's--I mean, the book has his name in the title, after all--until Innes reappears much later. There are the "rough and quarrelsome Korsars" (page 22) "with their bushy whiskers and fierce faces," seafaring raiders "bizarre and colorful, wearing gay cloths about their heads, wide sashes of bright colors[,] and huge boot with flapping tops," and carrying "their harquebuses," plus "huge pistols and knives stuck in their belts and at their hips...cutlasses" (page 16). There is Stellara, apparently daughter of the Korsars' leader, she with eyes "brave, and intelligent and beautiful," who in "the quiet courage of her demeanor" protests against mistreatment of the prisoners, and who...well, happens to be a blonde, which "impresses" Tanar greatly (page 25). There are terrible storms, islands of savagery and strange cultures, instances of friendship and of treachery, escapes and recaptures, coincidences and misunderstandings.
All the while, of course, Tanar and Stellara revolve about one another, with Tanar, as the classic Burroughs hero, for the longest time completely oblivious of what it all means. Will Tanar ever free himself from the brutal Korsars intent on this death? Will he and the striking blonde, who in the Roy Krenkel, Jr., cover art of the early 1960s Ace paperback poses with one hip thrust out so that half a buttock is bared from a garment of animal skins, ever understand their true relationship? And what in the world has happened to David Innes on his quest across the sea, he whom Perry first suggests--before tacking artfully away into the adventure--has experienced "disaster" and hence requires "succor...from the outer crust" (page 12)?
Well, as I say, a whole bunch of excitement occurs, and it's quite decent for what it is. And as occasionally happens in Burroughs, by the way, there also occurs a stray piece of cultural or sociological speculation of note. Whereas the people of Tanar's native Sari, for example, are not given to casual displays of emotion, "[t]he tribal life and all the customs" of the island of Amiocap, upon which he and Stellara land after a great storm, are "based primarily upon love and kindness," with "[h]arsh words, bickering and scorn...practically unknown" (page 78). Indeed, Burroughs then gives us this intriguing paragraph:
"The Amiocapians considered love the most sacred of the gifts of the gods, and the greatest power for good[,] and they practiced liberty without license. So that while they were not held in slavery by senseless man-made laws that denied the laws of God and nature, yet they were pure and virtuous to a degree beyond that which [Tanar] had known in any other people." (page 79)
Wow. That ain't what yer maiden Great Aunt Sadie, circa 1929, would have considered "pure and virtuous," but perhaps we can see the first tentative seeds of such thoughts in the "[S]ave for her highly wrought ornaments she was entirely naked, nor could any apparel have enhanced the beauty of her perfect and symmetrical figure" description of Dejah Thoris in the 1912 A Princess of Mars (1981 Del Rey paperback, page 46). And perhaps the fuller flowering is what we finally see in the "nest" of Valentine Michael Smith in Burroughs fan Robert A. Heinlein's 1961 Stranger in a Strange Land, ya grok?
In any event, high literature Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tanar of Pellucidar ain't, but for simple pulp adventure of a century ago it's just fine. The piece also seems a noticeably better read than Pellucidar, the second and predecessor in the series. For its genre the book is a 4 to 4.5 stars, so rounding up will make it 5.