It’s no secret that I’m a very big fan of the novels of Edgar Rice Burroughs (1875-1950). I was raised on Tarzan and John Carter of Mars paperbacks when I was a kid, attracted first by Frank Frazetta’s awesome covers, then drawn directly into the fantastic worlds that Burroughs created in his stories.

I was present at the centenary celebration of Tarzan and John Carter in Tarzana, California, in 2012. I have personally met three movie-TV Tarzans — Ron Ely, Casper Van Dien, and the late Denny Miller. I’m even the founder of an Edgar Rice Burroughs fan page on Facebook.

But I’m the first to admit that I sometimes have problems with Burroughs.

One of those problems surfaced recently during my return visit to his seven Pellucidar novels. I first read that series when I was in the eighth grade. The books are filled with thrilling adventures at the earth’s core, neat dinosaurs, cavemen, and at least one beautiful woman (aptly named Dian the Beautiful). That’s all I got out of those stories way back then.

Now, though, I can’t help but see with much more mature eyes a very obvious early 20th century strain of empire-building beyond hero David Innes’ derring-do. The second book, Pellucidar (1915), is about Innes’ return to the center of the earth to find his beloved Dian. But along the way, despite singing high praises for the simpler, more primitive life found in Pellucidar, Burroughs’ protagonist spends a good part of his time dragging the conveniences and weaponry of the “civilized” outer world into his paradise. And in the course of doing so, he builds himself quite a kingdom. Get a load of this:

We have just laws and only a few of them. Our people are happy because they are always working at something which they enjoy. There is no money, nor is any money value placed upon any commodity. Perry and I were as one in resolving that the root of all evil should not be introduced into Pellucidar while we lived.

A man may exchange that which he produces for something which he desires that another has produced; but he cannot dispose of the thing he thus acquires. In other words, a commodity ceases to have pecuniary value the instant that it passes out of the hands of its producer. All excess reverts to government; and, as this represents the production of the people as a government, government may dispose of it to other peoples in exchange for that which they produce. Thus we are establishing a trade between kingdoms, the profits from which go to the betterment of the people — to building factories for the manufacture of agricultural implements, and machinery for the various trades we are gradually teaching the people. …

We are very happy, Dian and I, and I would not return to the outer world for all the riches of all its princes. I am content here. Even without my imperial powers and honors I should be content…

Spoken like a true despot.

Ironically, Edgar Rice Burroughs also wrote what I consider a fine “lost” liberty classic, which I wrote about last year.