Tarzan And The City Of Gold

Tarzan and the City of Gold (1964) by Edgar Rice Burroughs, published by Four Square Books, is a glorious reminder of a time when adventure fiction didn’t overthink itself. A man raised by apes swings through the jungle, encounters peril, meets strange civilisations, and generally behaves like the world’s most athletic solution to every problem. No ISBN (because 1964 paperbacks weren’t trying to be tracked; they were trying to be read on trains). Condition: Good, as sold by Crappy Old Books — and yes, it absolutely belongs in your hand while you dramatically ignore real-life responsibilities.

Tarzan, of course, is one of literature’s most confidently implausible exports: aristocrat-by-blood, ape-by-upbringing, jungle-by-choice, and permanently in possession of the kind of physical competence most of us can’t manage even with a good night’s sleep. He is the original “natural man,” except he’s also strangely good at languages, politics, survival, and turning up exactly when a plot needs him. Which is to say: he is less “man” and more “myth with abs.”

This particular instalment promises a City of Gold, and that’s where the fun starts. Because nothing says “serious anthropological realism” like discovering a hidden civilisation in the middle of nowhere that just happens to have treasure, traps, power struggles, and a handy reason for Tarzan to get involved. Burroughs’ world is built on the principle that the jungle is basically an infinite vending machine of wonders: if you push through enough vines, you will eventually find something astonishing. Probably guarded. Possibly cursed. Definitely dramatic.

And the irony is that the Tarzan books are often sold as uncomplicated escapism — and they are — but they’re also little capsules of their era’s imagination: exoticism, imperial adventure, pulp confidence, and the cheerful certainty that a strong hero can stride into any unfamiliar situation and impose order with a combination of muscles and moral clarity. Modern readers may spot the period attitudes as readily as the swinging. That’s part of reading it now: enjoyment mixed with that slightly raised eyebrow that says, “Ah. Yes. 1964.”

But if you take it for what it is — a fast-moving, high-colour adventure — it’s hard not to admire Burroughs’ sheer narrative momentum. The pacing is brisk, the dangers arrive on schedule, and Tarzan remains the kind of hero who treats complicated dilemmas as if they’re mostly a matter of climbing something and looking stern.

This Four Square edition in Good condition from Crappy Old Books is perfect for:

• pulp adventure lovers

• collectors of vintage paperbacks with proper swagger

• anyone who wants a break from modern fiction’s obsession with nuance

• readers who enjoy hidden cities, lost treasures, and heroes who don’t have meetings

Read it and you’ll feel an immediate urge to:

1. stride purposefully into the wilderness, and

2. acquire a loincloth, purely for practical reasons, obviously.

A classic jungle romp with a golden destination and maximum old-school confidence.
Swing first. Ask questions never.

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