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Okay, I just finished Edison's Conquest of Mars. It did turn out to be a lot like watching a Flash Gordon movie serial, in terms of its "quaint" ideas about Mars and technology, and in its melodramatic storyline. Even beyond the Victorian cadence, which I wrestle through regardless, I just found myself struggling to finish this one, hoping I'd find a diamond in the rough in there somewhere.
On the other hand... reading it tended to remind me that a great deal of our present science fiction (cough!-Star Trek!-cough!), mine included, will be considered equally as "quaint" to future readers. It gives one pause to consider what of our current writing will transcend the present age, and what will end up in history's discard bins...
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