Tag Archives: Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Mars, Two

16 Wednesday Jul 2025

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Welcome, as ever, dear readers.

Recently, I’ve returned to my long-term project to learn more about Science Fiction, which I began several years ago.

When I began to assemble a reading list (it keeps growing), I knew that it would include older authors like Jules Verne (1828-1905),

whom I had first met through his novel, Vingt Mille Lieues Sous Les Mers

(first English translation, 1873)

usually (slightly mis-) translated as Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea—but needs a final –s on “Sea-“, which the first English translation, following the original French, added.  At first sight, one might think that those masses of leagues were about depth, but, in fact, they were about length:  the idea being that the Nautilus, the submarine of the antagonist, Captain Nemo, traveled that distance below the waves during the story—that is 20,000 x 2.5 miles—maybe about two circumferences of the Earth.  Here’s the ship from the original French publication—

but, for me, the Nautilus (inspired by an actual submarine experiment in France—see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_submarine_Plongeur ) will always be the ship seen in Disney’s 1954 version of the story.

Some years earlier, in 1865, Verne had written De la Terre a la Lune, trajet direct en 97 heures et 20 minutes—From the Earth to the Moon, Direct Route in 97 Hours and 20 Minutes (usually simply translated as From the Earth to the Moon   You can read about it here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/From_the_Earth_to_the_Moon  and read an early translation here: https://web.archive.org/web/20110520193116/http://jv.gilead.org.il/pg/moon/   Be aware that this is not a very good translation and cuts the text, as well, but it’s free and will give you a general idea of the story).

(the 1874 translation)

In this adventure, an organization called the “Baltimore Gun Club” constructed a giant cannon

(called a “Columbiad” after this heavy coastal defense gun—only much bigger—for more, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Columbiad )

designed to shoot passengers to the Moon.  How they are to return is only revealed in the 1869 sequel, Autour de la Lune—Around the Moon—

(the second translation, 1874)

You can read about it here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Around_the_Moon And you can read the early translation depicted above here:  https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/16457/pg16457-images.html  This book inspired the early French film-maker, Georges, Melies, 1861-1938, to produce his own burlesque version, Le Voyage dans la Lune, 1902, which included that cannon—and a chorus line!)

Along with Verne, H.G. Wells, 1866-1946, was on my list, including The First Men in the Moon, 1901.

Wells’ protagonists reach the moon through a man-made anti-gravity material, called “Cavorite”, after its inventor (one of the two lunar travelers), which is attached in carefully-monitored sheets to a steel and glass sphere.  You can read the book yourself here:  https://ia601308.us.archive.org/2/items/firstmeninmoo00well/firstmeninmoo00well.pdf

(from the original English edition)

Early in my exploration of science fiction writers, I had read Edgar Rice Burroughs’, 1875-1950, A Princess of Mars (serialized 1912, first book edition, 1917).

(You can read about it here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Princess_of_Mars and read the story itself here:  https://gutenberg.org/cache/epub/62/pg62-images.html )

As I said, I had known Verne already, and Wells from The War of the Worlds, (serialized 1897, first book publication 1898)

(read about it here:   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_War_of_the_Worlds and read it here:  https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/36/pg36-images.html ), but all I knew about Burroughs was

and so I was hesitant, but I was pleasantly surprised that, even with a certain amount of what we might call “period” language (and cultural attitudes), this was a very readable book.  (See “Busting Into Mars”, 27 September, 2023, for more.)

Taking a recent pause from my other reading, then, I tackled the next in Burroughs’ series, The Gods of Mars (serialized 1913, first published as a novel, 1918).

And, again, I found myself sucked in.  John Carter, the hero of the previous book, was back and quickly in the thick of it again.  (Here it is for you to read:  https://archive.org/details/godsofmars02burr )

And, as well, I found that part of what had struck me in the first book caught me again:  the attention to the detail of the physical world of “Barsoom” (Burroughs’ local name for Mars).

Burroughs had clearly prepped himself with the latest scientific ideas, many of them from Percival Lowell, 1855-1916, a prominent Victorian astronomer, who had become convinced, having read the work of the Italian astronomer, Giovanni Schiaparelli, 1835-1910, who, in 1877, having closely observed Mars during its nearest approach to Earth, believed that he could see long, straight, intersecting lines across the planet’s surface.  He published a map of Mars in which he called these lines “canali”, which has a number of meanings in Italian, including “ducts” and even “gullies”, but also means “channels” and, fatally, “canals”, which was immediately seized upon by some to suggest that Mars was—or at least had been—inhabited—and by people who had the engineering ability to create many-miles-long canals.

(We should probably consider terrestrial canals here, such as that the long-needed, occasionally-attempted 120-mile (193km) Suez Canal, which had only been relatively recently successfully completed in 1869.  We might add to this the 61-mile (98km) Kiel Canal, finished in 1895.  Could these have appeared as earthly parallels to those who wanted to believe in Martian versions?)

What were they for?  As Mars has a large northern ice cap, which grows and recedes yearly, it’s clear that the canals were used to direct melt across the planet.  But why?  To irrigate a dry planet, of course.  In time, Lowell published three books on the subject:   Mars (1896—read it here:  https://archive.org/details/marsbypercivallo00lowe ), Mars and Its Canals (1906—read it here:  https://archive.org/details/marsitscanals00loweuoft/page/n9/mode/2up ),  and Mars As the Abode of Life (1908—read it here:  https://archive.org/details/marsabodeoflife00loweiala )  They are filled with charts and graphs and illustrations,

piled high to convince his audience that what he observed through his powerful telescope was real.

In reality, none of it was—but it certainly inspired writers like Burroughs, who produced a world with:

1. increasing aridity

2. canals

3. declining civilizations, some of whose elaborate cities had been abandoned, only to be occasionally inhabited by tribes of warrior nomads

4. underground seas

5. 5 races of differently-hued (white, black, green, yellow, red) humanoids (although oviparous) plus masses of creatures, some tamable, some simply monstrous, like the Plant Men who appear in The Gods of Mars, which is, in fact, an ironic title, as what we see are various pretenders to that title, including the Therns, who belong to the white race and who run a kind of confidence game in which they maintain what is supposed to be a peaceful afterlife in a green river valley, but which is, in fact, a feeding ground for those Plant Men and for the fearsome White Apes.

(Michael Whalen—you can see more of his impressive work here:  https://www.michaelwhelan.com/ )

Setting these peoples into an increasingly-harsh environment then allowed Burroughs to explain why certain of these peoples—the green ones, in particular—were themselves harsh, as the declining climate turned them into brutal survivalists.

6. sophisticated aircraft and even submarines (for use on the underground waters)—for more on the aircraft, see:  https://www.erbzine.com/mag28/2806.html  This is from:  https://www.erbzine.com/mag/ the weekly on-line magazine devoted to Burroughs and his output.  I wish that every one of my favorite authors had people as creative and dedicated at work on websites as rich as this one.

7. sophisticated firearms, but, when it comes to real fighting, it is always swords

For more on things Barsoomian, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barsoom as well as the extensive Erbzine.  I’ve already provided the text of The Gods of Mars above, and you can read a plot summary and more here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Gods_of_Mars .  There are the occasional creaky moments, but, on the whole, this was as much fun as A Princess of Mars.  And there’s an added twist here:  it ends as a cliff-hanger.

(This is, in fact, Harold Lloyd, in his comedy Safety Last!, 1923.  Overshadowed in time, I would say, by Chaplin, Lloyd was an accomplished comic actor and this film is a pleasure to watch—and laugh at.  You can see it here:   https://archive.org/details/SafetyLastHaroldLloyd1923.FullMovieexcellentQuality.  It’s one of a great number of early films available at the Internet Archive, which, if you read this blog regularly, you know is my go-to place for any number of different things, from silent films like this one to Percival Lowell on Mars—and much more.)

But there is one little problem.  Verne’s voyagers travel in what is, basically, an enormous artillery shell.  Wells’ two men ride in a sphere powered by some sort of anti-gravity material.  Neither of these, I suppose, is really any more convincing than Cyrano de Bergerac’s claim to have visited the Moon using, in his first attempt, bottles of dew in his L’Histoire comique des Etats et Empires de la Lune, 1655 (You can read about Cyrano’s adventures here:  https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/46547/pg46547-images.html and you can read about the book here:   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comical_History_of_the_States_and_Empires_of_the_Moon  ),

but they at least travel in their bodies.  John Carter’s voyage to Barsoom is done through what appears to be an “astral body”:

“ I made the same mighty and superhuman effort to break the bonds of the strange anaesthesia which held me, and again came the sharp click as of the sudden parting of a taut wire, and I stood naked and free beside the staring, lifeless thing that had so recently pulsed with the warm, red life-blood of John Carter.

With scarcely a parting glance I turned my eyes again toward Mars, lifted my hands toward his lurid rays, and waited.

Nor did I have long to wait; for scarce had I turned ere I shot with the rapidity of thought into the awful void before me. There was the same instant of unthinkable cold and utter darkness that I had experienced twenty years before, and then I opened my eyes in another world, beneath the burning rays of a hot sun, which beat through a tiny opening in the dome of the mighty forest in which I lay.” (The Gods of Mars, Chapter 1, “The Plant Men”)

This isn’t explained, but, however it’s done, Carter is able to use his terrestrial muscles, developed under a much denser gravity, to bounce around the Martian surface, pilot aircraft, and swing a sword, so I, for one, am able to perform a “willing suspension of disbelief” and see how the story gets off that cliff in The Warlord of Mars.

Thanks, as ever, for reading.

Stay well,

When visiting, remember that Mars’ gravity is only 38% of Earth, so look before you leap,

And remember, as well that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

PS

Although he was wrong about those canals, Lowell was a creative and energetic scientist, as well as a highly-intelligent and well-read man—and a very interesting man, as well.  You can read more about him here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percival_Lowell  If you find him as intriguing as I do, here’s the Internet Archive page on his works—which include more than writings about Mars:  https://archive.org/search?query=creator%3A%22Percival+Lowell%22

Who Goes There? (2)

21 Wednesday Nov 2018

Posted by in J.R.R. Tolkien

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As ever, dear readers, welcome.

In our last, we had begun discussion of the use of watchmen/sentries in The Lord of the Rings.  In our last, in fact, we had stopped with what is well-known to have been a strong influence—especially in The Hobbit—upon JRRT:  Beowulf, and its two such figures.  Here’s Beowulf with the first.

image8coastguard

What particularly interests us is that, often when such a figure—or figures—is encountered, it slows the action, but, interestingly, may cause further action at the same time:  the protagonist can be challenged, questioned, or even forced to act—all part of what we call “no fiction without friction”—and we’ll see what this does for the characters now as we’re off on our journey through Middle-earth, beginning  where The Lord of the Rings begins, in the Shire.

image2shire

Before we go farther, however, we would like to expand our definition of watchman/sentry just a little to include the mobile equivalent of sentries, patrols:

“The Shirriffs was the name that the Hobbits gave to their police, or the nearest equivalent that they possessed…There were in the Shire only twelve of them, three in each Farthing, for Inside Work.  A rather larger body, varying at need, was employed to ‘beat the bounds’, and to see that Outsiders of any kind, great or small, did not make themselves a nuisance.”  (The Lord of the Rings, Prologue, 3, “Of the Ordering of the Shire”)

Tolkien says of these shirriffs that “they were in practice rather haywards then policemen”, and “hay” here doesn’t  mean horse and cattle feed  but, rather, it’s an old word for “hedge”(from Old English “haga”) and we see our next sentry at the hedge which surrounds Bree.  Initially, this is “old Harry”, who seems, when the hobbits arrive, a bit too inquisitive:

“They came to the West-gate and found it shut; but at the door of the lodge beyond it, there was a man sitting.  He jumped up and fetched a lantern and looked over the gate at them in surprise.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 9, “At the Sign of the Prancing Pony”)

It says, perhaps, something about the confidence of the Elves that, at Rivendell, there are neither sentries nor patrols—although perhaps the River Bruinen might be considered at least a defense, considering that it sweeps away the Nazgul when they try to cross.

At the Ford, by Ted Nasmith

(Image by one of our favorite Tolkien illustrators, Ted Nasmith)

This idea of a natural force as sentry appears again before the Fellowship enters Moria—although, this time, as they climb along the mountains on the way south, it is decidedly not on their side:

“They heard eerie noises in the darkness round them.  It may have been only a trick of the wind in the cracks and gullies of the rocky wall, but the sounds were those of shrill cries, and wild howls of laughter.  Stones began to fall from the mountain-side, whistling over their heads, or crashing on the path beside them.  Every now and again they heard a dull rumble, as a great boulder rolled down from hidden heights above.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 3, “The Ring Goes South”)

The combination of rock and snow forces the Fellowship to make what seems at the time a fatal decision:  to go not south, but east, into the Mines of Moria, with the disappearance of Gandalf as the consequence.

At the western doors of Moria, however, they encounter another negative force, something in the manmade lake in front of those doors.  It is a watcher, if not an active sentry, although what it really is, even Gandalf doesn’t know:

“Something has crept or has been driven out of dark waters under the mountains.  There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 4, “A Journey in the Dark”)

alan-lee-moria-gate-particolare

Whatever this creature may be (and it has lots of tentacles, which makes us think immediately of the squid with which the crew of the submarine Nautilus has to contend in Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea)

20000detail

their encounter with it insures that their choice of traveling through Moria can’t be revoked:

“Many coiling arms seized the doors on either side, and with horrible strength, swung them round.  With a shattering echo they slammed, and all light was lost.  A noise of rending and crashing came dully through the ponderous stone…They heard Gandalf go back down the steps and thrust his staff against the doors.  There was a quiver in the stone and the stairs trembled, but the doors did not open.”

On the far side of Moria, at the edge of Lorien, the company meets its next watcher—or watchers, rather, a listening post of Elves set on a platform in a tree, where:

“…[Frodo] found Legolas seated with three other Elves.  They were clad in shadowy-grey, and could not be seen among the tree-stems, unless they moved suddenly.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 6, “Lothlorien”)

And here we see an interesting development brought on by contact with the Elves at this sentry-post.  Because the Elves are mistrustful of Gimli, there is an awkward moment:  he is to be led blindfolded into the center of Lorien, something he resists until Aragorn proposes that all be blindfolded, to which Gimli makes a counterproposal that only Legolas need be blindfolded, which Legolas resists, and all are back to Aragorn’s proposal, but the leader of the Elves, Haldir, draws a moral from the situation:

“Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him.”

Our last sentries for this posting are more a symbol in that they are inanimate, but full of warning all the same:

“  ‘Behold the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings!’ cried Aragorn…

As Frodo was borne towards them the great pillars rose like towers to meet him.  Giants they seemed to him, vast grey figures silent but threatening.  Then he saw that they were indeed shaped and fashioned…Upon great pedestals founded in the deep waters stood two great kings of stone:  still with blurred eyes and crannied brows they frowned upon the North.  The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning; in each right hand there was an axe; upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown.  Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished kingdom. “  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 9, “The Great River”)

argonath hildebrandt

But, for all their forbidding look, they spark something in Aragorn—

“ ‘Fear not!’ said a strange voice behind him.  Frodo turned and saw Strider, and yet not Strider; for the weatherworn Ranger was no longer there.  In the stern sat Aragorn son of Arathorn, proud and erect, guiding the boat with skilful strokes; his hood was cast back, and his dark hair was blowing in the wind, a light was in his eyes:  a king returning from exile to his own land.”

And, on that inspiring note, we’ll pause for this posting, saving the rest of the sentries, watchers, and patrols for Part 3.

In the meantime, thanks, as always, for reading.

MTCIDC

CD

Do What I Say, Not What I Speak

13 Wednesday Jun 2018

Posted by in Fairy Tales and Myths, Films and Music, J.R.R. Tolkien, Literary History, Narrative Methods

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Welcome, dear readers, as always.

Ever since we heard the story of “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves” in childhood, we’ve been interested in doors and passwords.

Near the story’s beginning, Ali Baba, a poor woodcutter, happens to observe a group of bandits returning to their cave from a raid.  As he watches, the head of the bandits uses a secret phrase, “Open, sesame!” which opens the cave’s secret door.

[We include a LINK here to the whole story, if you don’t know it.]

Since then, we believe that we’ve had three major examples of the pattern:  door as barrier passed with difficulty.

The first was on a very different level altogether from “Ali Baba”.

After the US passed a law against alcohol just after the Great War, the tumultuous era called Prohibition began.

(The date is 1919 on the newspaper, but the law came into force in 1920.)

For all that the legislatures of various states approved it (“ratified” is the formal word), there were many who did not approve of it.

Because it was national law, however, police everywhere were required to enforce it.

To get around the law, secret bars began to appear.  These received the nickname “speakeasy” because it was a place to relax and drink in (what was hoped would be) safety and privacy.

Such places were made anonymous as possible:  a blank door—with a peephole.

To get in, a potential drinker had to be known—or know the secret password.

This went on until 1933, when the new president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, worked to have the law repealed.

In 1932, the comedy team of the Marx Brothers

included a speakeasy scene in their latest film, Horse Feathers.

This is an almost indescribable scene in which one of the Marx Brothers (Chico—said “CHIK-o”) is on the inside and another (Groucho) is on the outside and then the fun begins—here’s a LINK so you can watch it for yourself.

The upshot (sorry for the spoiler!)—as you’ll see—is that both end up on the outside.  (We told you that this was on a different level!)

Our next example had no secret password, but, instead, it had a door guard and a very silly one, too!

In 1939, MGM released The Wizard of Oz,

based upon L. Frank Baum’s 1900 The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

We doubt that we have to explain the plot to anyone who would read our blog, so we’ll just remind you of the moment when Dorothy and her friends—Scarecrow, Tin Woodsman, Lion—and Toto, too—have reached the Emerald City and have come to the door of the Wizard.

The guard (who bears a suspicious resemblance to certain other characters in the film) at first refuses them entry, saying the now-famous line that the Wizard won’t see:  “Not nobody!  Not nohow!” but eventually crumbles when Dorothy explains her quest and he begins to sympathize with her, finally allowing her and her friends to enter—although what they learn there is not the best news.

Finally, there is this door.

And, with this door, we are back to “Ali Baba”, it seems (if not to Horse Feathers).  When Gandalf and the Fellowship arrive, however, there appears to be no door there at all, just a pair of immense holly trees (probably English holly, ilex aquifolium), overshadowing a blank wall.

As the narrator describes them:

“But close under the cliff there stood, still strong and living, two tall trees, larger than any trees of hilly that Frodo had ever seen or imagined.  Their great roots spread from the wall to the water.  Under the looming cliffs they had looked like mere bushes, when seen far off from the top of the Stair; but now they towered overhead, stiff, dark, and silent, throwing deep night-shadows about their feet, standing like sentinel pillars at the end of the road.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 4, “A Journey in the Dark”)

It is only when Gandalf puts his hands on the rock face and murmurs what appears to be some sort of summoning spell that the doors appear:

“The Moon now shone upon the grey face of the rock; but they could see nothing else for a while.  Then slowly on the surface, where the wizard’s hands had passed, faint lines appeared, like slender veins of silver running in the stone.  At first, they were no more than pale gossamer-threads, so fine that they only twinkled fitfully where the Moon caught them, but steadily they grew broader and clearer, until their design could be guessed.”

As the pattern becomes more visible, so, too, becomes an inscription which reads, in part:

“The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria.  Speak, friend, and enter.”

And trying to make sense of what it means now turns into a very awkward scene in which Gandalf struggles to find the password he believes is requested in that inscription, while the rest of the company gradually becomes more and more impatient (and it doesn’t help that wolves begin to howl in the distance and that there is something about a pool standing opposite the gate which makes them increasingly uneasy).

Finally, Gandalf realizes that what has stopped him depends upon his understanding of a single word in Elvish, a word which clearly has two meanings—and a little more punctuation might have helped!

As it’s inscribed, the vital part of the wording is:

Pedo Mellon a Minno.

As Gandalf originally translated this, it was “Speak, friend, and enter.”  After a good deal of frustration, Gandalf realizes that he has not only mistranslated—slightly—but mispunctuated—or, rather, overpunctuated– as well.  “Speak” and “say” in English are closely related, but there is a difference—for instance, one can “speak English”, but, idiomatically, one would never “say English”.  Thus, no one would ever give the command to someone else, “Say English”, but, rather would say to someone “Speak English”.  The same must be true in Elvish, where, in fact, it appears that “speak/say” is potentially one verb, whose singular imperative (command) is pedo. At first, Gandalf thought that he was being directed to “speak”—but what he was being told to speak he thought was somehow lost or forgotten.  This caused him to overpunctuate:  “Speak, friend, and enter”, where what he was actually being told was “Say [the word] ‘friend’ and enter”.  He finally does so, and the gates open.

In the case of Ali Baba, inside the thieves’ cave are riches, with some of which he quietly makes off.  Groucho and Chico eventually get into the speakeasy and Dorothy and her friends see the Wizard, all of them leaving the problematic entryway behind.  In the case of the doors to Moria, however, what is left behind refuses to stay that way:

“Frodo felt something seize him by the ankle, and he fell with a cry…Out from the water a long, sinuous tentacle had crawled; it was pale-green and luminous and wet…Twenty other arms came rippling out.  The dark water boiled, and there was a hideous stench.”

And this reminded us of something and made us wonder if JRRT had once read the same book we had (there’s nothing in the Letters, unfortunately).  In 1873, the first English translation of a novel by the French science fiction author, Jules Verne (1828-1905),

appeared, slightly mistitled Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.

Like the title, the rest of the book was filled with mistranslations (it should be Seas) and big cuts.  We hope, in fact, that, if Tolkien read the book (and we would be surprised if he hadn’t, it being the typical Victorian “boys’ adventure tale” of the period), we hope that he read the 1892 version, which cleaned up the errors.

If you haven’t read it, it’s the story of a French scientist who is invited by the US government to investigate a sea monster who is attacking world shipping in the later 1860s.  As the professor discovers, this isn’t a monster at all, but an early submarine, the Nautilus, invented and piloted by a man who calls himself “Captain Nemo” (nemo being Latin for “no one”) and who has a grudge against the imperialist nations of the world, against which he uses his submarine.  The professor, his assistant, and a third man, a harpooner, Ned Land, are taken aboard the Nautilus and, at one point, are involved in a combat against a pack of giant squid—each with 8 arms and two longer tentacles, one of which almost drags Nemo to his death until he’s saved by Ned.  Sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it?

Our favorite version of the story is that done by Disney in 1954.

There is only one squid here, but, as the poster shows, that seems plenty!  It’s a well-told version (simplified, but not too much so) and has a really splendid Nautilus in a high-Victorian design (steampunk long before steampunk?).

As we began this post with an opening, it seems appropriate to end with a closing:

“Gandalf turned and paused.  If he was considering what word would close the gate again from within, there was no need.  Many coiling arms seized the doors on either side, and with horrible strength, swung them round.  With a shattering echo they slammed, and all light was lost.  A noise of rending and crashing came dully through the ponderous stone.”

Thanks, as ever, for reading.

MTCIDC

CD

ps

Can you, our readers, think of other doors and passwords?  We’ve intentionally left one out here, although, when the thrush knocks…