Journey to the Centre of the Earth

Jules Verne’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth can be characterised by two quotes from the book.  The first, “when science has spoken, one can only remain silent thereafter!”  Which is followed up later by, “science is composed of errors.”  These two attitudes are at war throughout the book and make it a pretty odd read.  It was written and set during the Age of Enlightenment and there are elements of the contemporary scientific chic running through the story: the parts about palaeontology and geology are full of facts and seem pretty scientifically sound, to a lay person at least.  And then there’s a bit with an ocean underground.  And not an ocean of lava.  One with water, and sea monsters.  It’s an odd juxtaposition.

In many ways it’s like Around the World in Eighty Days.  Predominantly concerned with the madcap adventures of three people, this book too is narrated by the voice of reason.  Axel sets off (despite his frequent and numerous objections) with his charismatic uncle, Professor Lidenbrock.  Like Phineas Fogg, Lidenbrock brokers no argument and sweeps other along in his wake.  One such soul is the doggedly loyal Hans, who is hired in Iceland to guide the pair, but is- naturally- the only reason they don’t both die several times over.  I sort of imagine him like Fezzik from The Princess Bride, a gentle giant type, lumbering along after a hapless protagonist and being slightly wonderful.

I didn’t enjoy this book as much as Around the World in Eighty Days.  I think it’s a combination of knowing what to expect and personal taste.  Aside from a strange pre-pubescent obsession with semi-precious gems, I’m not all that interested in rocks.  All the talk of igneous and sedimentary stones drags me back to the migraine inducing boredom of geography lessons.  There’s also the fact that my copy of Journey to the Centre of the Earth is annotated.  I don’t think that Verne was paying too much attention when he wrote the book and so there are quite a few discrepancies and factual errors, all of which are pointed out by William Butcher’s sarcastic notes.  It’s not even that Butcher’s looking down on the book, in the introduction he goes on about how the entire story is a festival of sexual tension and penetrating pick-axes.  This is bullshit.  Butcher basically just needs to decide whether to treat the book with reverence or derision.

I don’t want to attack Journey to the Centre of the Earth.  It’s a good read for what it is- an adventure story about three people on a suicide mission to achieve an arbitrary goal.  Okay, a fantastic goal.  It’s infuriating to admit, but the main thing I don’t like about the book is that it flies in that face of science.  My literary self wants to scream, “suspend your disbelief, you fool” but I can’t.  It’s not even modern scientific theory that it goes against.  Axel’s main objection to the whole affair is the burning to death in the Earth’s molten core bit.  And starving to death.  And having nothing to drink (Axel does complain a lot).  In retrospect, I might just be a bit too old for this book.

Next up and first in a long line of travelling to the Lake District books is The Comfort of Strangers by (another UEA alum) Ian McEwan.