The world knows Jules Verne as the father of science fiction—the submarine, the spaceship, the hyper-speed train. But this notebook, penned in his own hand from 1891-1892, reveals the author’s true foundation: the soil. This is not a literary draft but a scholar’s workbook, and its 41 pages of methodical notes prove that Verne’s towering imagination was built upon a bedrock of earthly, practical science.
The notebook immediately establishes its serious intent, framing agriculture not as a rustic chore but as a strategic, intellectual pursuit. “Agriculture is a true industry that has to compete against foreign competition,” Verne declares, adding that “one of the most detrimental causes to the progress of this science is the belief that it is not necessary to be educated to cultivate the land.”
Verne’s notes move from grand principles to the mechanics of life itself, dissecting processes with a novelist’s eye for cause and effect. In his study of plants, “In winter the sap thickens and remains stationary: in spring, the heat sets it in motion and makes it circulate throughout all parts of the plant.” This is the observation of a naturalist who sees narrative in nature—the same mind that would personify the ocean currents and electrical forces in Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.
Most tellingly, we see the spark of his historical passion ignite even here. His entry on the potato transcends agronomy to become a tribute to human progress. He writes, “Therefore, the Frenchman who spread the cultivation of this precious tuber should be considered a benefactor of humanity. His name is Parmentier.”
The equipment he catalogs is not just listed but understood. His description of the Dombasle plow, with its regulator that “makes the share penetrate more or less into the earth,” mirrors his meticulous explanations of the Nautilus’s diving planes. For Verne, the principle is identical: technology is an extension of human will over nature.
Finally, the journal reveals the breadth of his curiosity, extending to “industrial plants” like flax for linen and madder for dye. He details specific processes, such as flax stems undergoing “the retting operation, which consists of leaving them to soak in water for about ten days.” This is the mind of a systematic world-builder. To imagine a self-sufficient colony on Lincoln Island, he needed to know not just how to grow food, but how to transform raw materials into the fabric of civilization.