Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne

No matter what science fiction purists might write on the subject, Jules Verne is the quintessential adventure writer who enjoyed a prodigiously prolific career penning instantly recognisable classics for younger readers. The second most translated writer in the world, coming behind Agatha Christie but trouncing Shakespeare, his works have reached readers across most language barriers. Youths today however, spoiled as they are by blockbuster superhero films and instant gratification video games, would never have the patience to wade through one of Verne's lengthy tomes. In addition to being one of the most widely translated writers, Verne is also the most heavily abridged. The versions of his books that trickle through to the attention deficit addled public are invariably a quarter of the length, and probably for good reason. I had the good fortune to procure an unravished, non-abridged copy, new to Penguin Classics.

Twenty Thousand Leagues begins with a marine hunt for what everyone believes to be a sea monster wreaking havoc on trading ships. Eventually it turns out to be the elusive Captain Nemo and his submarine, the Nautilus. The three protagonists, Professor Arronax and his man servant Conseil, along with the Canadian harpooner Ned Land, are taken hostage by the unhinged captain and forced to undertake a spectacular underwater voyage around the world. They are made to eat freshly caught, exquisitely prepared fish every day, behold undersea marvels never before glimpsed by the eyes of men, such as the buried continent of Atlantis, and use cutting edge technology decades ahead of its time. Obviously, they must find a way to escape such oppressive bondage, particularly Ned Land, a meat and violence loving man's man who spends his days frustrated watching the feeble professor and his boyfriend cataloguing fish from the submarine's viewing panels. These catalogues are self-admittingly dry and exhaustive, yet Verne relishes in them nonetheless. The insidious writer of the Penguin introduction even advises modern readers to skip over them, and complains how much of a chore they are for translators. I venture that David Coward would do well to find another line of work. The fact of the matter is, nobody cares about zoological classification anymore, or finds it easy to be excited by molluscs and zoophytes. Except for the giant squid of course, everybody loves those bad boys. That's also the only thing film adaptations tend to go in for. The big action moments are few and far between, written in a dry, matter of fact style barely differing from the aforementioned catalogues.

Personally speaking, I have nothing against factual novels, nor museum quality reams of classification, but the characters of the book are flat and under-developed (Conseil even admits to having no personality or individualism beyond being a sounding board!) and the plot meanders aimlessly like the Nautilus' voyage. Captain Nemo is a mopey, hypocritical fellow who disappears into his cabin for days on end, plays the organ at night, and flies into a rage at the sight of ships on the horizon. After delivering a haughty lecture on how man is decimating the oceans' marine life, he immediately goes on a pointless and bloody massacre, destroying a huge pod of cachalots (or sperm whales to use the modern term) which he labels as 'vermin.' The slaughter is sickening, graphic, completely unprovoked and is later repeated on peace-loving manatees. He really ought to grow up and move on from his worldly woes, but that's a tale for another book. 

Rating: 3/5