The days of innocence in thoughts, words and deeds, are long gone – but remain in the written word, such as that of Edgar Rice Burroughs. No review can give him enough merit. I haven't felt so long so much admiration and genuine child-like interest marked by eyes and mouth wide agape in amazement. I held the book every night, till very deep into the night, without skipping a single word, and went to sleep with radiant smile on my face. I knew that Mars described here never existed, but I honestly didn't care, for a world Burroughs created is so enchanting, that I regret it being just an imaginary one. Not that I personally desire to live among those strange yet intriguing Martians he describes (I am too much of a loner and a peevish one too, for so drastically changing my ways) but gosh how I would enjoy listening to the tales of my beloved about it. I always deeply admired the tales other people told me, whether they were true or not, because I like the glimmer in their eyes and the excited voice with which they narrate their stories. That's the way Burroughs writes, with passionate glow emanating from his eyes, just like Howard and Stevenson and many other old masters of adventure storytelling, with a dash of genuine innocence from his very heart, as he speaks in the first person with a reassuring, comforting voice only to you, allowing you to feel just the same joy and excitement.