I started devouring science fiction when I was around 11 and worked my way through both Verne and H. G. Wells alongside more contemporary books. I found Verne stodgy and slow compared with the dramatic power of War of the Worlds or the humour of The First Men in the Moon, but it was still interesting, and Walter James Miller's 1995 translation works better than the version I came across way back then.
What I doubt pre-teen me picked up was the way Verne pokes fun at America where the book is set, though even then I was doubtful about the concept of sending men to the Moon in a projectile from a huge cannon. Surely, I thought, they would be squished, as indeed they would. There is a huge amount of fiddly detail about the construction - at one point Verne gives us three pages just listing the countries who donated to the project and how much they paid (England didn't contribute, I'm glad to say). As a writer this looks suspiciously like Verne having a word count to reach and needing to pad things out.
What is oddly lacking is human drama. The only mild example is a duel, which ends up with both duelists forgetting what they were supposed to be doing and getting over their enmity. I can see why they young me found Verne stodgy - there's so much unnecessary verbiage. And then, as I presume is well-known enough not to be a spoiler, the book dribbles to an end with a description of the devastation caused by the launch, a period of cloud where no one knows what's going on and then the discovery that the Moon probe has gone into lunar orbit. I think young me would have been throwing it against the wall at this point: I suspect I read it in conjunction with the sequel, which at least gives it an ending.
The annotation is somewhat mixed: unlike Gardner's sure touch this is contributed to by a gaggle of academics who bring to it the standard liberal lecturer requirement to include comments on imperialism and to regard the work of a different time through the lens of the present day (at one point, Verne's admittedly heavy handed humour in presenting members of the gun club having lost limbs is accused of being ableism). Even so, there is enough contextual commentary to genuinely add to the experience of (re-) reading the book.
The novel itself is quite short even with the many footnotes and entertaining early illustrations. However, it's sandwiched between three introductions (one to the series) and seven essays, which is where the academics really get a chance to let rip. I admit I only read the first two essays, but they were fascinating because they seemed totally unaware of historical context. There was some analysis of the 'why' of the expedition (inevitably, being contemporary academics, framed as colonialism) without any apparent awareness of the psychology behind real expeditions like those to the North and South Poles. And there was much moaning about lack of representation of women, Native Americans and others, which seemed a pointless attempt to apply modern sensibilities to 1865.
When I compare this with the same publisher's annotated version of Frankenstein (MIT Press), however, the good news is that the modern contributors have done a far better job at giving support to the reader, rather than indulging in endless literary criticism. Subtleties seemed sometimes to elude the annotators, but mostly it was effective. The one specific that caught my eye as dubious is that they felt the need to explain sangfroid, which I thought was fairly well imported into English. In doing so, it was described as meaning cool in both senses, which I think misses the point. 'Sangfroid' implies a sophistication that is lacking from 'cool', which carries more of a feeling of immature smugness.
If you haven't read this classic, or would like to revisit it, I'd recommend giving this version a try.
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Review by Brian Clegg - See all Brian's online articles or subscribe to a weekly email free here
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