The Land that Time Forgot by Edgar Rice Burroughs was a re-read. I seem to have changed a lot between then (probably about four years ago) and now because, what was then a glorious romp of utter ridiculousness and joy felt sort of hum-drum and only vaguely silly now. At the time, before, I'd been leaping gleefully into Burroughs' novel after Burroughs' novel, reveling in the formula of them, keeping score and summarizing them, laughing. This time... the magic just wasn't there, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm only meant to read it once (though I read Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar over and over) or if it's because something changed in my character. That said, it's still about The Usual Sort of Hero finding his way to a continent on which dinosaurs still live. There follow the usual sorts of misunderstandings between Hero and his Pretty Lady (he thinks she's in love with a Nazi (er... wait, this is WWI, so a German Officer) and she thinks he's a twerp). She gets captured by various things (Non-Nazi Germans, Man-Apes) and he rescues her. The usual sort of thing. It just makes me sad because I really loved it last time.