When the unimaginably profound literary dilettantes of the 22nd Century are praising the latest stunningly-packaged edition of Chris Szklany’s “Easter Funday” (as a free give-away promotional gimmick accompanying the latest stunningly packaged edition of The Books of Snakeyf@ck) a few might wisely remark the misfortunate that the masses placed no value on this clearly important work.

With a bit of luck and a swift kick in the ass to our own contemporary methods, we might be able to save Verne’s classic work the same fate. Everyone should read this book, and I mean everyone. What isn’t there to like in this timeless tale? Adventure: Check! Humor: Check! A dash of enlightenment: Check! There’s even some insults thrown the way of the French by a Frenchman. Unthinkable; and for that, this can only receive highest marks.

So, with the coda of the Civil War having been played, and normalcy set to return to the recently-troubled Union, the esteemed upper echelon of the venerable Baltimore Gun Club (and the accolades of the fine, former-warriors within are indeed vast and sometimes comedic) is having some difficulty in deciding how they are going to continue their industry, which is the invention and practical use of larger and more devastating artillery. Naturally, the sensible idea is to find some sort of war to join or provoke, be it domestic or foreign (from neighboring Mexico to anywhere in Europe a stint of jacking around might be afoot). With unknown consideration to preserving the remaining limbs of his fellows, Gun Club President Impey Barbicane decrees that they have a serious effort to embark upon which somehow trumps the majesty of slaughtering 200 hicks from Kentucky with one enormous projectile: the BGC is going to explore the vastness of space by using their unlimited technical knowledge of ballistics to launch something to the moon, extending our planet’s peaceful intentions by delivering a 20,000-pound cannonball to the lunar surface at thousands of miles per hour.

At this point, it’s already promising; these dudes do not f@ck around, and rightfully so, in the company of the maniacal and utterly preposterous J.T. Maston, perchance one of the legitimately funniest characters in all of literature.

Naturally, problems come and go, obstacles which would be insurmountable to most are easily dismissed by their lauded American industrial and engineering wit, leaving behind a trail of devastation that has Texas and Florida nearly to the point of war (in an uncannily academically accurate portrayal of their vying for the USA’s space exploration home base and the reason for it), other countries applauding their valiant efforts and encouraging them with charitable donations, and a bitter armorer from the civil war out to undo their credibility and expose them for frauds. The stakes are raised considerably when Michel Arden, a hellraising, French performer of nearly miraculous stunts, demands that the plans be altered to change the projectile into a capsule for him to make the journey in. The world at large, held constantly captive by all the events relating to this extraordinary event, can no longer control their zeal and begin flocking around the construction site to witness the casting of the 900-foot cannon, the acquisition of 300,000 pounds of guncotton, and the arrival of the unhinged occupant. In perhaps the strangest of all the predictions given to the advancement of space exploration and the human condition, perhaps the most stunning is that Verne accurately declares that Tallahassee will become a laughingstock of a city amongst an array of real metropolises.

*Note: It’s needless to mention that giving two products of France my own seal of meritorious work in a year’s time is painful. In this circumstance, my ego had to take a back seat to brutal honesty.