8 Answers
Short and curious take: the original book 'The Land That Time Forgot' is effectively public domain in many places today. Burroughs published it in 1918 and died in 1950, so between the U.S. publication cutoffs and the life+70 rule used in most countries, the novel itself is free to reproduce in lots of jurisdictions now. That’s why you can find multiple free text versions floating around.
But the important nuance is that adaptations and specific editions aren’t freed just because the source is. Any movie, TV adaptation, modern translation, or newly designed book cover has its own separate copyright owner. So if you want to use a scene from a particular film or a recent illustrated edition, you’ll need permission from whoever controls that version; if you’re just quoting or reprinting the 1918 text in places where it’s public domain, you probably won’t.
All told, the land that time forgot feels more accessible than ever for readers and creators, which always makes me grin — it’s fun to imagine fresh retellings popping up now that the old map’s unlocked.
There’s a neat split between the plain legal facts and how things feel on the ground. From my perspective, the core work — the novel 'The Land That Time Forgot' — is generally public domain now. Because it was published in 1918 and Burroughs passed in 1950, countries that use the life+70 rule moved it into the public domain around 2021, and the United States treats pre-1928 published works as public domain as of 2024. So the text itself is widely usable, which is why you’ll see free ebook editions and reprints cropping up.
But don’t let that make you cavalier: intellectual property isn’t just a single badge. Movie adaptations, soundtracks, and posters retain separate rights. If you’re licensing footage from a 1970s adaptation or using a modern illustrated edition, those are distinct assets controlled by whoever made or owns that version. Even some character treatments or unique screenplay additions in an adaptation might be protected even if the source novel isn’t.
If you were planning a project, I’d advise mapping out exactly which elements you want to use — the raw prose, specific film scenes, a translation, or artwork — and tracing the ownership for each. Personally, I love that the novel’s public-domain status opens up creative possibilities: fan comics, new translations, and indie film homages suddenly feel much easier to explore.
Sometimes I think the phrase 'the land that time forgot' sounds less like a legal question and more like a moral one, and I find that angle fascinating. If you mean an old, forgotten place in the real world — abandoned villages, sacred groves, leftover islands — the legal owner is often a mix of governments, private landowners, or the descendants of original inhabitants. But ownership on paper doesn’t always capture who truly has a claim: cultural ties, historical occupancy, and indigenous stewardship matter a lot.
Modern courts and international bodies sometimes recognize those deeper connections through land claims, restitution, or protected status. So today the 'rights' might be split between municipal authorities, private owners, and communities fighting for recognition. On a personal level I root for the communities who keep those places alive in memory rather than them being carved up purely for profit.
I like to flip the phrase into something a bit poetic: if the 'land that time forgot' is a real place, I feel like no single person should own it outright. Legally, property registers, trusts, or governments often claim ownership, but there’s usually a deeper layer — descendants, local communities, or environmental protections that assert moral rights too. In some modern cases, sites considered forgotten are returned or given protected status through legal claims or conservation designations, which changes who has the right to decide their fate.
If instead you mean the title 'The Land That Time Forgot,' then ownership is split between public domain text in many countries and various private owners of adaptations and trademarks. Either way, I’m happiest when such places or stories are looked after rather than locked away, and that’s how I feel about it.
I get a kick out of tracing who owns the weird corners of literary history, and 'The Land That Time Forgot' is a classic example of how messy ownership can be. The original book by Edgar Rice Burroughs has been around for over a century, and in many places the core text is effectively free to read and reuse because it has slipped into the public domain. That means you can legally reprint the novel or drop the original story into a new anthology without paying the estate in those jurisdictions.
That said, ownership today looks more like a patchwork quilt than a single deed. Film adaptations, specific translations, new illustrations, and trademarked series logos can still be controlled by different studios or rights-holders — the 1970s movie, for example, is a separate bundle of rights typically owned by whoever currently controls that studio’s catalog. So if you want to adapt, reprint, or commercialize anything tied to the title, you have to check both copyright status in your country and who holds adaptation or trademark rights. Personally, I love that the text is widely available now; it feels like opening a dusty map to adventure and sharing it with friends.
If you’re asking strictly about the novel 'The Land That Time Forgot,' in practical terms the original story is treated like public-domain material in many countries now, which means anyone can read, republish, or adapt the text itself without a license. However, that doesn’t mean every related thing is free to use: movie adaptations, later authorized sequels, or distinctive artwork from a particular edition are usually owned by whoever made them — studios, publishers, or artists.
So ownership today isn’t a single name in a registry but a collection of separate rights, and while I’m glad the core tale floats free in many places, I always check who owns any specific adaptation before diving into a remake project.
I tend to think about this from a policy-and-history angle, and the answer is inevitably complex and jurisdiction-dependent. The original author, Edgar Rice Burroughs, created 'The Land That Time Forgot' decades ago, and many countries’ copyright terms mean his earliest publications have lapsed into public domain status. Still, that’s only part of the picture: derivative works, movie versions, stage adaptations, and translated editions each carry their own rights owners—often commercial studios or publishers who bought or inherited those rights.
Additionally, trademarks (titles, logos, or series names) can persist and be enforced even when the text itself is free, so a company might block certain commercial uses to protect a brand. In short, today the land is legally divided among public-domain freedoms and a handful of private rights-holders overseeing adaptations; for me, the patchwork nature of it is both frustrating and oddly charming, like patched sails on a ship of stories.
What an intriguing bit of trivia to chase — I get a kick out of this kind of rights detective work. The short, practical version: the original novel 'The Land That Time Forgot' (published in 1918 by Edgar Rice Burroughs) is, for most intents and purposes, in the public domain in many places today. In the United States that’s pretty clear-cut because works published in 1927 and earlier are public domain; internationally, countries that use the life-of-the-author-plus-70-years rule also let it lapse (Burroughs died in 1950, so those protections generally expired around 2021). That means the text itself can be freely reproduced, adapted, and shared in many jurisdictions without asking an estate for permission.
That said, rights are layered and messy in practice. Film adaptations, stage plays, translations, annotated editions, and new cover art almost always have fresh copyrights attached. So the mid-20th-century movie adaptations and any film footage, musical scores, or unique screenplay elements remain owned by whoever holds those specific rights — studios, distributors, or the creators who were contracted at the time. Also, new translations, critical editions, or illustrated reprints carry their own copyrights even if the underlying novel is free to use.
So if your goal is to publish the original story text or create a new derivative based directly on the 1918 novel, you're largely in the clear in many countries; if you want to use a specific movie clip, novel edition, or branded artwork, you'll need to track down that rights holder. For me, knowing the book itself sits in the public domain makes revisiting Burroughs feel even more liberating — I love imagining new takes on those dinosaur islands.