|Product dimensions:||4.32(w) x 7.16(h) x 1.74(d)|
|Age Range:||8 - 12 Years|
About the Author
"The reason Verne is still read by millions today is simply that he was one of the best storytellers who ever lived." — Arthur C. Clarke. Jules Verne started out composing librettos, but the French-born author's passion for travel and exploration compelled him to turn to adventure tales, creating the prototype for today's science fiction. One of the most translated authors in the world, Jules Verne is best known for his classics, Journey to the Center of the Earth, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and Around the World in Eighty Days.
Date of Birth:February 8, 1828
Date of Death:March 24, 1905
Place of Birth:Nantes, France
Place of Death:Amiens, France
Education:Nantes lycée and law studies in Paris
Read an Excerpt
It was on Sunday, the 24th of May, 1863, that my uncle, Professor Lidenbrock, came rushing suddenly back to his little house in the old part of Hamburg, No. 19, Königstrasse.
Our good Martha could not but think she was very much behindhand with the dinner, for the pot was scarcely beginning to simmer, and I said to myself:
"Now, then, we'll have a fine outcry if my uncle is hungry, for he is the most impatient of mortals."
"Mr. Lidenbrock, already!" cried the poor woman, in dismay, half opening the dining-room door.
"Yes, Martha; but of course dinner can't be ready yet, for it is not two o'clock. It has only just struck the half-hour by St. Michael's."
"What brings Mr. Lidenbrock home, then?"
"He'll probably tell us that himself."
"Here he comes. I'll be off, Mr. Axel; you must make him listen to reason."
And forthwith she effected a safe retreat to her culinary laboratory.
I was left alone, but not feeling equal to the task of making the most irascible of professors listen to reason, was about to escape to my own little room upstairs, when the street-door creaked on its hinges, and the wooden stairs cracked beneath a hurried tread, and the master of the house came in and bolted across the dining-room, straight into his study. But, rapid as his flight was, he managed to fling his nutcracker-headed stick into a corner, and his wide-brimmed rough hat on the table, and to shout out to his nephew:
"Axel, follow me."
Before I had time to stir he called out again, in the most impatient tone imaginable:
"What! Not here yet?"
In an instant I was on my feet and in the study of mydreadful master.
Otto Lidenbrock was not a bad man. I grant that, willingly. But, unless he mightily changes, he will live and die a terrible origi- nal.
He was professor in the Johannæum, and gave the course of lectures on mineralogy, during which he regularly put himself into a passion once or twice. Not that he troubled himself much about the assiduity of his pupils, or the amount of attention they paid to his lessons, or their corresponding success. These points gave him no concern. He taught subjectively, to use a German philosophical expression, for himself, and not for others. He was a selfish savant— a well of science, and nothing could be drawn up from it without the grinding noise of the pulleys: in a word, he was a miser.
There are professors of this stamp in Germany.
My uncle, unfortunately, did not enjoy great facility of pronunciation, unless he was with intimate friends; at least, not when he spoke in public, and this is a deplorable defect in an orator. In his demonstrations at the Johannæum the professor would often stop short, struggling with some obstinate word that refused to slip over his lips—one of those words which resist, swell out, and finally come forth in the anything but scientific shape of an oath. This put him in a great rage.
Now, in mineralogy, there are many names difficult to pronounce—half Greek, half Latin, barbarous appellations which would blister the lips of a poet. I have no wish to speak ill of the science. Far from it. But when one has to do with rhomboidal crystallisations, retinasphaltic resins, galena favosite, molybdates of lead, tungstates of manganese, and titanites of zircon, the most nimble tongue may be allowed to stumble.
The townsfolk were aware of this pardonable infirmity of my uncle's, and they took advantage of it, and were on the watch for the dangerous passages; and when he put himself in a fury laughed at him, which was not in good taste, even for Germans. His lectures were always very numerously attended, but how many of those who were most regular auditors came for anything else but to make game of the professor's grand fits of passion I shouldn't like to say. Whatever my uncle might be, and I can hardly say too much, he was a true savant.
Though he sometimes broke his specimens by his rough handling, he had both the genius of a geologist and the eye of a mineralogist. With his hammer and steel pointer and magnetic needle, his blow-pipe and his flask of nitric acid, he was a master indeed. By the fracture, the hardness, the fusibility, the ring, the smell, of any mineral whatever, he classed it without hesitation among the six hundred species science numbers to-day.
The name of Lidenbrock was consequently mentioned with hon-our in gymnasiums and national associations. Humphry Davy, Humboldt, and Captains Franklin and Sabine, paid him a visit when they passed through Hamburg. Becqueul, Ebolmann, Brewster, Dumas, Milne-Edwards, Sainte Clarice Deville, took pleasure in consulting him on the most stirring questions of chemistry, a science which was indebted to him for discoveries of considerable importance; and in 1853 a treatise on Transcendent Crystallography, by Professor Otto Lidenbrock, was published at Leipsic, a large folio, with plates, which did not pay its cost, however.
Moreover, my uncle was curator of the Museum of Mineralogy, belonging to M. Struve, the Russian ambassador, a valuable collection, of European celebrity.
Such, then, was the personage who summoned me so impatiently.
Fancy to yourself a tall, spare man, with an iron constitution, and a juvenile fairness of complexion, which took off full ten years of his fifty. His large eyes rolled about incessantly behind his great goggles; his long thin nose resembled a knife-blade; malicious people declared it was magnetised, and attracted steel filings—a pure calumny; it attracted nothing but snuff, but, to speak truth, a super-abundance of that. When I have added that my uncle made mathematical strides of three feet at every step, and marched along with his fists firmly clenched—a sign of an impetuous temperament—you will know enough of him not to be over-anxious for his company.
He lived in his little house in Königstrasse, a dwelling built partly of brick and partly of stone, with a crenated gable-end, which looked on to one of those winding canals which intersect each other in the centre of the oldest part of Hamburg, which happily escaped the great fire in 1842.
The old house leaned forward slightly, and bulged out towards the passers-by. The roof inclined to one side, in the position a German student belonging to the Tugendbund wears his cap. The perpendicular of the house was not quite exact, but, on the whole, the house stood well enough, thanks to an old elm, firmly imbedded in the façade, which pushed its flower buds across the window-panes in spring.
My uncle was pretty rich for a German professor. The house was his own, and all its belongings. These belongings were his godchild Gräuben, a Virland girl, seventeen years old, his servant Martha, and myself. In my double quality of nephew and orphan, I became his assistant in his experiments.
I must confess I have a great appetite for geological science. The blood of a mineralogist flows in my veins, and I never grow weary in the society of my beloved stones.
On the whole, it was possible to live happily in this little house in Königstrasse, notwithstanding the impatience of the owner; for though he had a rough fashion of showing it, he loved me for all that. But, the fact was, he was a man who could not wait, and was in a greater hurry than nature.
When he used to plant mignonette and convolvuluses in his terra-cotta pots in the spring, every morning he went regularly and pulled their leaves, to hasten their growth.
With such an original, there was no alternative but to obey, so I darted into the study immediately.
The study was a complete museum, every specimen of the mineral kingdom was to be found there, all labelled in the most perfect order, in accordance with the three great divisions of minerals—the inflammable, the metallic, and the lithoid.
How well I knew this alphabet of mineralogical science. How many a time, instead of loitering about with boys of my own age, I amused myself by dusting these graphites, and anthracites, and pit coal, and touch-stones; and the bitumens, and the resins, and organic soils, which had to be kept from the least particle of dust; and the metals, from iron up to gold, the relative value of which disappeared before the absolute equality of scientific specimens; and all those stones, enough to build the little house in the Königstrasse over again, and an extra room besides, which I would have fitted up so nicely for myself.
But when I entered the study now, I scarcely thought of those wonders. My mind was entirely occupied with my uncle. He had buried himself in his big arm-chair, covered with Utrecht velvet, and held a book in his hands, gazing at it with the most profound admiration.
"What a book! What a book!" he exclaimed.
This reminded me that Professor Lidenbrock was also given to bibliomania in his leisure moments; but an old book would have had no value in his eyes unless it could not be found anywhere else, or, at all events, could not be read.
"What! don't you see it, then?" he went on. "It is a priceless treasure! I discovered it this morning while I was rummaging about in Hevelin's, the Jew's shop."
"Magnificent!" I replied with forced enthusiasm.
Really, what was the good of making such a fuss about an old quarto volume, the back and sides of which seemed bound in coarse calf—a yellowish old book, with a faded tassel dangling from it?
However, the professor's vocabulary of adjectives was not yet exhausted.
"Look!" he said, asking himself questions, and answering them in the same breath; "is it handsome enough? Yes; it is first-rate. And what binding! Does it open easily? Yes, it lies open at any page, no matter where. And does it close well? Yes; for binding and leaves seem in one completely. Not a single breakage in this back after 700 years of existence! Ah! this is binding that Bozerian, Closs, and Purgold might have been proud of!"
All the while he was speaking, my uncle kept opening and shutting the old book. I could not do less than ask him about the contents, though I did not feel the least interest in the subject.
"And what is the title of this wonderful volume?" I asked.
"The title of it?" he replied, with increased animation. "The title is ‘Heims Kringla,' by Snorre Turleson, the famous Icelandic author of the twelfth century. It is the chronicle of the Norwegian princes who reigned in Iceland."
"Indeed!" I said, doing my best to appear enthusiastic. "And it is translated into German, of course?"
"Translated!" cried the professor, in a sharp tone. "What should I do with a translation? Who cares for translations? It is the original work, in the Icelandic—that magnificent idiom at once grand and simple—which allows of the most varied grammatical combinations and most numerous modification of words."
"Like German," I said, making a lucky hit.
"Yes," replied my uncle, shrugging his shoulders; "without taking into account that the Icelandic language has the three numbers like the Greek, and declines proper names like the Latin."
"Does it?" said I, a little roused from my indifference. "And is the type good?"
"Type? Who is talking of type, you poor, ignorant Axel. So, you suppose this was printed! You ignoramus! It is a manuscript, and a Runic manuscript, too."
"Yes. Are you going to ask me to explain that word, next?"
"Not if I know it," I replied, in a tone of wounded vanity.
But my uncle never heeded me, and went on with his instructions, telling me about things I did not care to know.
"The Runic characters were formerly used in Iceland, and, according to tradition, were invented by Odin himself. Look at them, and admire them, impious young man!—these types sprang from the imagination of a god."
Table of Contents
|1||My Uncle Lidenbrock||1|
|2||The Stange Parchment||7|
|3||My Uncle is Baffled||13|
|4||I Find the Key||21|
|5||Hunger Defeats Me||26|
|6||I Argue in Vain||33|
|8||The First Stage||50|
|9||We Reach Iceland||58|
|10||Our First Dinner in Iceland||66|
|11||Our Guide Hans||72|
|14||A Final Argument||92|
|15||The Summit of Sneffels||99|
|16||Inside the Crater||106|
|17||Our Real Journey Begins||113|
|18||Ten Thousand Feet Below Sea-Level||119|
|20||A Dead End||132|
|21||The New Columbus||138|
|23||We Find Water||148|
|24||Under the Sea||154|
|25||A Day of Rest||159|
|27||Lost and Panic-Stricken||169|
|28||I Hear Voices||173|
|30||An Underground Sea||184|
|32||We Set Sail||199|
|33||A Battle of Monsters||207|
|34||The Great Geyser||215|
|36||An Unpleasant Shock||228|
|37||A Human Skull||235|
|38||The Professor Gives a Lecture||240|
|40||We Meet an Obstacle||255|
|41||Down the Tunnel||261|
|43||Shot Out of a Volcano||274|
|44||Back to the Surface||281|
Reading Group Guide
The intrepid Professor Lindenbrock embarks upon the strangest expedition of the nineteenth century: a journey down an extinct Icelandic volcano to the Earth's very core. In his quest to penetrate the planet's primordial secrets, the geologist—together with his quaking nephew Axel and their devoted guide, Hans—discovers an astonishing subterranean menagerie of prehistoric proportions. Verne's imaginative tale is at once the ultimate science fiction adventure and a reflection on the perfectibility of human understanding and the psychology of the questor. As David Brin notes in his Introduction, though Verne never knew the term "science fiction," Journey to the Centre of the Earth is "inarguably one of the wellsprings from which it all began."
1. Deciphering Arne Saknussemm's parchment does not come easily to Professor Lidenbrock, the profound analyst. Indeed, Verne has shown us, right from the start, that he will not take his audience's suspension of disbelief for granted. Discuss the role of logic in the novel; how does Verne's meticulous manipulation of science and history increase the believability–and ultimately the reader's enjoyment–of the adventure?
2. Dwelling on their shared hardships, Axel says, "My uncle bore them like a man who is angry with himself for yielding to weakness: Hans, with the resignation of his placid nature; and I, to speak the truth, complaining and despairing the whole time. I could not bear up against this stroke of ill-fortune." Compare Professor Lidenbrock, Axel, and Hans in terms of intellect, bravery, determination, and humor. How does each of their personal skills come into play in times of crisis, and how do theirshortcomings complicate the journey? Does Hans, the Icelandic guide of superhuman devotion, even have a weakness? If not, how does this affect your evaluation of him as a whole character?
3. Ingenuity and adaptability are vital to the explorers' success. Trace the many instances of resourcefulness in the novel, considering the adventurers' ingenious use of simple phenomena such as gravity, acoustics, and natural propulsion. How does this relate to David Brin's assertion in the Introduction: "Destiny– readers learned–was something you might craft with your own clever hands."
4. The long and often monotonous trek down to the earth's core poses some plot challenges for Verne. With only three characters, one goal, and little change in scenery, how does Verne create suspense in order to sustain the reader's interest?
5. Compare the competing characterizations of science in the novel: "When science has spoken, it is for us to hold our peace" versus "Science is eminently perfectible." Discuss how Verne's novel can be read as a tribute to scientific progress and the pluck of the explorer who contradicts accepted fact in search of greater truths.
6. Describe Axel's sublime hallucination on the subterranean ocean and the "abyss attraction" which overtakes him earlier in his descent. Why is Axel particularly affected by the romantic conception of the sublime?
7. How is Gräuben a "necessary" character, not only in the beginning but throughout the novel? Evaluate Brin's assertion in the Introduction that "science fictional women tend to be bolder than their eras, and science fictional men seem to like it that way."
8. Describe the subterranean world that the journeyers discover. How does Verne account for the underground ocean and the blanched species of flora and fauna? Did Verne's exposition of this primitive world meet your expectations? What surprises would have been in store in your own imaginative rendering of this peculiar environment?
9. How can Journey to the Centre of the Earth be interpreted as a psychological quest? Consider the roles of ambition, despair, and hope in the novel. Is the journey ultimately more important than the final outcome?
10. Jules Verne's extraordinary tales continue to fascinate readers because they capture the thrill of the unknown. In his Introduction, David Brin writes, "Verne knew what his contemporaries did not. . . . For his tales to continue taking hardy adventurers into strange locales, he would have to redefine the very idea of wilderness, the whole notion of a frontier." Why does the notion of the frontier continue to fascinate us? In this Internet age of globalization and routine space travel, what frontiers are left to science fiction? If not physical, might these remaining frontiers be mental and moral?
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
If you have read other reviews of this book you noticed that some people find it repugnant and others delightful. This is a book for those who truly love to read and who are truly eager to learn. It is best to describe a book in a sentence or two if possible, so here's my try at it: Upon discovering a remarkable map, the nervous Henry and his eccentric Uncle are off to Iceland, where the ancient map leads them to a dormant volcano that witholds the path to the center of the earth. Along with them is their guide, Hans, who, being always calm and cool, leads them imperterbably through fields of diamonds, underground animal habitats, and dangerous encounters. The reader soon finds, along with the entertaining characters, that successfully descending to the earths center will not be as difficult as ascending back to the earth's crust! Again, don't bother reading this book if your attention span is minimal, Jules Verne does sometimes get pedantic! That is why I have given this book four stars. It really is a shame to waste 12 dollars, so I ask that you be a responsible reader and know your interests. If scientific things are not for you than find something else. If your a science-fiction reader, you know that sometimes the author lavishes you with details. So there, I hope this is helpful.
As other Jules Verne books, this has excitement, adventure, danger, monsters, suspense, etc. I loved it as a child and loved it again when I read it to my child.
Jules Verne is an astounding author who, for his time, had excellant scientific ideas. He is known as the father of science fiction for good reason. He set a standard for all authors to come. While the story may begin at a slow pace, it quickly picks up in intensity and realism as our heroes descend to the depths of our planet. For his time, Jules Verne was very advanced. This gives his story an aspect of truth which, with the suspenseful storline, compels you to keep turning the page. I highly recommend this book for any mature reader who wants to be opened to new ideas.
I watched the new movie with Brendan Fraser and thought, it's time I read this book. I found it to be enjoyable, though long in places. Definitely look forward to reading another Jules Verne.
This book is full of imagination and wonder. If you have a big imagination and enjoy science fiction then I recommend reading it. Although the text is somewhat difficult you can feel the amazement an excitement int the protagonist roles. The ending of the story could have been better. It seemed a little over dramatic and hard to believe because of the circumstances . If I could change anything it would be the end of the story.
This is a great book. I liked it very much. It is good for people who like adventure stories and/or unexpectedness. The book is very well written, in my opinion. One of the best books I have read.
If you like adventure in the early 1900's, then this is the book for you. Set in Germany, Professor Otto Lindebrock discovers a hidden, incripted page from the Heims-Kringla of Snorro Turleson, a fomous Icelandic writer or the twelfth century, from Arne Saknussemm, a celerated alchemist of the sixteenth century, that is written in a code. As the Professor and his nephew/lab assistant crack the incription, they find out it is a written discritpion of how to get to the center of the earth. As this journey begains, with the help of and Icelandic guide Hans, they head out for a journey of darkness,strange seas under the earth, wild storms that can eltrify a compass, dormant volcano's to wild rafting up a active volcano. Come and feel the excitement as they take A Journey to the Center of the Earth. What will they find? Will society or family ever hear of these three brave explorer again? How do they live in the center of the earth? Come and join them in this epic advenure.
This is a fun story that was one of my favorites as a child.
This book was nothing like what I had expected. I picked it up because I was in the mood for something fast-paced and action-packed, and I figured this was the perfect book (going off of the movie). It wasn't at all. This book was all science. There were no dinosaurs (though there were prehistoric giant sea-monsters at one point) and *major spoiler* they never made it to the center of the earth. They didn't even get one third of the way there before a volcanic eruption spurted them to the surface again after weeks of traveling. I gave this book 4 stars. Why in the world would I do that? Because I like the way Jules Verne writes. He kept me interested in the story even when there was no adrenaline-rush happening. I admit, if this book had been 400 pages rather than 200 I probably would have given it 1 or 2 stars. Verne can't keep me interested with science facts alone forever!
I loved this book! I seriously cannot believe that I avoided Verne for decades because I found Wells somewhat plodding. Of course, I've seen the movies made of both authors' works, but it was the most recent (2008) version which piqued my interest. By following the story by telling a narrative which encompassed it, I was having so much fun that I decided to read--and what a trip! It's on my favorites list now.
Based on the discovery of a mysterious parchment detailing the entrance to the center of the earth, a passionate scientist drags his nephew to Iceland. There, with the help of their trusty Icelandic guide, they gain entry to travel deep into the earth,, where they have many great adventures including dangerous tunnels, an underground ocean, prehistoric creatures, and other natural hazards.I have seen so many versions of Journey to the Center of the Earth from the good to the very, very bad. This book is so much better than all of them. Much of the book is just traveling through dark tunnels before they make their more outrageous discoveries (the movies seem to insist on adding more complications).I had been worried that it was going to be dry like some books of the older style of prose, but i was pleasantly surprised. The narrative is entertaining throughout, keeping the reader on the edge of their seat, and often quite funny. I loved Professor Liedenbrock, whose wild passions often lead to humorous situations, as well as his more timid nephew Axel, who was not nearly as excited by the trip. I even enjoyed Hans, the silent and stoic guide.This is a fun, entertaining adventure novel. I loved it, and am quite excited to read the rest of Verne's works.
It's...interesting. I hadn't realized how much the story was a treatise on evolution (as understood at the time). Now I need to read more Verne to see if he's done the same (presumably in other fields) in his other books. It's a little hard to read - the viewpoint character is ridiculously variable - wild mood-swings from "We're all going to fail and die! Now!" to "Let's go! We are great adventurers!". Got a bit hard to take. Verne did some neat elision to get past the most unbelievable part - finding the interior cavern; since the VP character (I really can't call him the hero) is unconscious after tremendous strain, that whole event never gets told. And like that. I spent much more time noticing the writing and the agenda of the author than I did enjoying the story. That may be a mood thing, but right now I feel like there's not a lot of story (and _very_ little characterization - lots of cardboard 'traits', though) to this book.
I guess I've been spoiled by modern fast-paced writing. While I did enjoy this book, and it had some great parts, I found a lot of it to be time-killing "filler" type material. Was it really necessary to take 90 pages to actually descend into the earth? Not in my humble opinion.The afterword by Nimoy was interesting, though.
...I lied... Best book ever!!! Haven't even fineshed yet but know it'll be good.
God is out there he loves you as much as anyone he wants you to follow him and he wants to welcome you in with open arms everything i said is true. This book is amazing
She stood up straight wondering if she could go on partol
[Sorry I've been inactive! D:] <p> Karao smiles at the packs growth.
Growls. She snatched her egg and Esme and Fear and flew away fastas lightning.