by Stefan Ekman
In other words, the northern hemisphere is clearly more common, even when the margin of error is taken into account. One possible explanation is, of course, the preponderance of writers from the northern hemisphere. Despite a growing number of Australian and New Zealand fantasy writers, the vast majority of fantasy writers in English come from the United States and Great Britain. Yet the five maps of a southern hemisphere actually come from three novels by three different writers (Ian Irvine, Sherwood Smith, and Harry Turtledove), with only Irvine hailing from the Antipodes.59 Another possible interpretation would be that the cultural and political bias toward the northern hemisphere that we find in the actual world rubs off on the creation of secondary worlds and the maps that portray them.
2.4. SURROUND ELEMENTS
% of Maps in Sample (n) % of All Fantasy Maps
Water Margins 15.2(14) 8.6–24.2
Map Projection 5.4(5) 1.8–12.2
Legend 23.9(22) 15.6–33.9
Scale 16.3(15) 9.4–25.5
N = 92
Still, at least half—possibly as many as three quarters—of all fantasy maps lack information about where on the globe they are situated. They may not even be situated on a globe at all. To the extent that they are, or are meant to be, most maps also lack any information about what method has been used to project the spherical surface to a plane (see Table 2.4). This can seem like a minor point in relation to maps of imaginary places; the ideological implications of various map projections may carry political relevance and interest in the actual world,60 but do such things matter in a fantasy map? An interesting case is provided by the maps created by author and cartographer Russell Kirkpatrick for his fantasy novels, one of which, The Right Hand of God (2005), is included in the sample. There are four maps in The Right Hand of God: a small-scale map titled “The Sixteen Kingdoms of Faltha”; a medium-scale map of “Westrau, Straux”; an untitled, large-scale map of a mountain pass called The Gap; and a city plan of “Instruere and Environs.” Of these, only the Sixteen Kingdoms and Instruere maps contain any information about their map projections. At the bottom of the Instruere map, a note says, “Nestor’s Equal-Area Projection © University of Instruere.” The Sixteen Kingdoms map lacks explicit information about what projection is used, but has a graticule or “web” of latitude and longitude lines that shows the curvature of the surface (see map 2.2). The scale is small enough to let the map reader perceive how the northern parts bend toward the map’s vertical axis. This bending causes the squares of the graticule to elongate toward the pole, giving an impression of the mapped area’s position between pole and equator. Although no degrees are given, the curves of the longitude lines lead the eye to the projection’s central meridian, the one line of longitude that is running parallel to the map’s vertical axis. Near the map’s center, where the central meridian crosses a latitude line, sits the city of Instruere, its importance emphasized by the map projection.
2.5. HEMISPHERE
% of Maps in Sample (n) % of All Fantasy Maps
Northern 27.2(25) 18.4–37.4
Southern 5.4(5) 1.8–12.2
Both 1.1(1) 0.03–5.9
No Data Available 66.3(61) 55.7–75.8
N = 92
While the importance of Instruere is made clear by the city’s location on, as well as the projection of, the Sixteen Kingdoms map, the note about projection and copyright at the bottom of the Instruere map has a different function. By copyrighting the map to an entity in the secondary world, the map claims itself to be part of the same (fictional) world as that of the city it portrays. The map is no longer an overview of a fictional world; just like Thror’s Map, it becomes part of that world, a product of it. This effect is subtly reinforced by the comment about its projection. Nestor’s Equal-Area Projection, while cartographically valid, is turned into a product of the secondary world as a result of being attributed to a fictional cartographer.61 When the map is commandeered by the fictional world, as in this case, it resists a paratextual perspective, stressing instead how it should be considered a doceme, a part that, together with the text, makes up a greater whole. Examining the map is not a question of entering the story; the fictional world has already been entered.
MAP 2.2. Graticule extracted from the map “The Sixteen Kingdoms of Faltha” in Russell Kirkpatrick’s The Right Hand of God (2005). Adapted from the original by the author.
Of all the maps in the sample, only five have any sort of information about map projection, meaning that of fifty fantasy maps, between one and six maps say anything about projection (Table 2.4). Apart from Kirkpatrick’s Instruere map, only the map of “The World” in Louise Cooper’s Aisling (1994) mentions what projection is used; of the other two maps, one has a graticule while the second has longitudinal degrees running along its left side. On Cooper’s map, the Winkel Tripel projection has been used. Unlike Kirkpatrick’s Nestor projection, the Winkel Tripel projection is an actual map projection, used to represent the three-dimensional actual world in two dimensions; linking it to the map blurs the map’s status as fictional. This emphasizes the map’s nature as paratext rather than, as in the Kirkpatrick case, anchoring the map in the fiction as a doceme.
In his oft-cited discussion of the North Carolina highway map, Denis Wood forcefully denies that legends or keys would be “naturally indispensable to most maps, since they provide the explanations of the various symbols used,”62 and fantasy maps appear to be no exception. No more than a third of all fantasy maps have legends or keys of any sort (see Table 2.4), and of these, none explains all the symbols used. In fact, only one third of the map legends in the sample (seven legends in total) include any symbols for terrain features. Instead, the legends comment on the map and the fictional world. Wood suggests that “the role of the legend is less to elucidate the ‘meaning’ of this or that map element than to function as a sign in its own right,”63 something that is quite obvious from the legends on fantasy maps. These clarify not what separate map symbols mean but what is important about the map; in some cases, they are little more than translation keys that aid in the reader’s understanding of where events take place (for instance, the lists on the maps in Dahut, which offer translations between contemporary place-names and the names of those places in Roman times). Other legends contain symbols for the travel routes of the protagonists, placing the journey through the world at the center (for example, Orson Scott Card’s Seventh Son [1987] and Linda Lay Shuler’s Let the Drum Speak [1996]). Even when the map legend only—or nearly only—contains signs for various terrain features, there is a focus, a comment on the map. Two brief examples:
The legend on Ian Irvine’s Geomancer (2001) map (map 2.3) lists a number of terrain features, including separate symbols for Conifer Forest, Broadleaf Forest, and Tropical Forest. The legend conveys the impression of a world defined by an abundance of terrain types, a world whose climate ranges from temperate or cold (mountains, hills, coniferous forest) to tropical or warm (reef, desert, tropical forest), with landscapes ranging from dry (desert) to wet (marsh/swamp) and with a variety of landforms (from mountains to grassland). Landscape is what this place is all about, the legend says, adding, almost as an afterthought, that there are also people: a symbol for Main Road (a dotted line) crops up below all the terrain elements, although no road can be found on the maps.
On the map in The Burning City (2000), by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle, the legend similarly brings terrain features into focus. The first map element (topmost in the left-hand column) is an icon of a coniferous tree that refers to Redwoods. The importance of redwood trees as opposed to other trees is emphasized on at least three levels: their relative position (the Redwood sign precedes the sign for other trees); their being singled out, as opposed to being part of a group (Redwoods versus Other Forest, or all trees that are not redwoods); and the use of an icon rather than a symbol. The legend also stresses the rough terrain: there is a single element for Cultivated Fields and seven that refer to types of wilderness (the legend
has no signs for houses or roads, although these signs appear on the map). No fewer than three of the wilderness signs have to do with elevated land: Hills, Mountains, and High Mountains. According to the legend, this is a wild landscape where people are present but marginalized, a landscape dominated by tall trees and mountains.
MAP 2.3. Map from Ian Irvine’s Geomancer (2001).
Copyright Ian Irvine, 2001.
A map element that offers a different kind of comment on the map and what it portrays is the scale. As with legends, this is a relatively rare element, which can be found on fifteen of the sample’s ninety-two maps (between a tenth and a quarter of all maps; see Table 2.4). In general, a scale allows you to calculate the area covered by the map. With such a low incidence of scales, little can be said about the actual areas that fantasy maps cover. The values are spread fairly evenly, without any noticeable clusters that would suggest typical area sizes. Excluding a city map that covers about 70 square kilometers, the maps that have scales range in size from about 1,100 square kilometers to 27 million square kilometers (approximately the size of Hong Kong and North America, respectively). In other words, they are all significantly smaller than Earth, a fact that, like the prevalence of land borders, hints at a larger, unmapped world beyond the map’s edges.
Regardless of map area, the presence of a scale suggests a particular control of the world. It hints at the “meticulous care for distances” that Tolkien mentions in his letter, but even more, it implies that this is a world that can be measured. A scale, like information about projection, offers a way to understand positions in map space in terms of positions in “actual geographical” space; the scale on the fictional map announces that there is another space to which the map positions correspond, strengthening the impression that the map not only portrays but represents, that there is a measurable space to which the map refers. This measurability also suggests precision and control, thus either accentuating the author’s role as creator and the world’s status as fictional or (especially if the map is interpreted as a doceme and refers to a specific or implied map object in the fictional world) requiring a level of scientific knowledge that may be incompatible with the fantasy world as a whole.
Types of Map Elements
Table 2.6 lists the various types of map elements that occur in the sample maps. Significantly more common than any others are topographical elements,64 especially mountains, coastlines, and rivers (see Table 2.7) as well as various population centers, often without distinctions between villages, towns, and cities. In her Tough Guide satirical description of maps, Diana Wynne Jones plays on the perceived prevalence of these elements: “[The map] will show most of a continent (and sometimes part of another) with a large number of bays, offshore islands, an inland sea or so and a sprinkle of towns. There will be scribbly snakes that are probably rivers [.…] [The] empty inland parts will be sporadically peppered with little molehills.”65 While inland seas are not as common as Jones implies—large landlocked bodies of water appear on between one and two fantasy maps out of six—she still describes the most common types of map elements (see also Table 2.7). The occurrence of these types of elements in about nine maps out of ten in the sample (corresponding to 85 to 97 percent [topography] and 78–93 percent [towns] of all fantasy maps) is not surprising; on the majority of maps, the landmasses are at least separated from a surrounding sea by coastlines and also include some description of the landforms (two examples of topography). Rivers and mountains seem to be the basic way to define spatial relations; and—especially in portal–quest fantasies—they are both traversed frequently and with some difficulty. Because of the hardships involved in crossing (or failing to cross) mountains, these are often used to define the limits of the world; as Jones puts it, there will be “a whole line of molehills near the top [of the map] called ‘Great Northern Barrier.’ Above this will be various warnings of danger.”66 Such mountain ranges (with or without names and warnings) fulfill the same function as a water margin, although they suggest rather more strongly that land exists on the other side. Such ranges can be found, although without any “warnings of danger,” on 9 to 24 percent of all fantasy maps. (A number of other maps use a variety of wasteland in a similar fashion, as in the Oz map.)
2.6. TYPES OF MAPS ELEMENTS
% of Maps in Sample (n)a % of All Fantasy Maps
Topographical 92.4(85) 85.0–96.9
Population Centersb 87.0(80) 78.3–93.1
Other Constructionsc 67.4(62) 56.8–76.8
Politicald 46.7(43) 36.3–57.4
Demographical/Zoologicale 10.9(10) 5.3–19.1
Otherf 10.9(10) 5.3–19.1
N = 92
a Adds up to more than 100 percent, as each map may contain several types of elements
b Cities, towns, villages
c Roads, buildings, bridges, and other artificial constructions
d Political borders, seats of government, historical sites
e Peoples or creatures inhabiting certain areas
f Includes a wide range of elements, generally peculiar to particular works
2.7. THE FIVE MOST COMMON TOPOGRAPHICAL ELEMENTSa
% of Maps in Sample (n) % of All Fantasy Maps
Rivers 87.0(80) 78.3–93.1
Bays 84.8(78) 75.8–91.4
Towns 79.3(73) 69.6–87.1
Mountains 75.0(69) 64.9–83.4
Islands 75.0(69) 64.9–83.4
N = 92
a The number of occurrences of an element on each map is not taken into consideration.
The group Other Constructions in Table 2.6 (found on two thirds of the maps) is dominated by roads, with only occasional buildings appearing (other than population centers: towers, fortresses, houses). There are rather fewer Ruins, Towers of Sorcery (or other centers of magic), and Dark Citadels (or other edifices of evil) than is implied by the Tough Guide (on eleven maps in the sample—somewhere between 6 and 20 percent of all fantasy maps), but Jones is right in pointing to the almost total absence of inns and rest stops. Not even when “camps” are included would this category be found on more than one fantasy map in seven (six maps in the sample).67 The roads that crawl all over the maps have two main functions. First, as possible travel routes, they tie together the distant points of the map, telling the reader that journeying through this fictional world is possible, even mandatory—the map is a traveling aid, a tool for exploration. This function is particularly prominent in, for instance, Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1900), in which the yellow brick road is Dorothy’s safe way to navigate the fantasy world; and, differently, in D. M. Cornish’s Monster-Blood Tattoo/The Foundling’s Tale series (2006–2010), in which the protagonist is trained to become a lamplighter, one who lights the lamps along the highways of a dark, monster-infested continent. In both cases, the road is meant to offer safe conduct through a dangerous, fantastic landscape. Second, though, not all fantasy journeys follow the roads; staying away from the road is often more important. The road itself can become a dangerous, unprotected place, open and unsafe. The focus shifts to the wild landscape around the road. The dangers of the road are particularly vivid in The Lord of the Rings; it turns into the realm of the enemy, and capture threatens whenever Frodo sets foot on a road. On some maps, the absence or scarcity of roads implies that the world is wild and uncivilized: the few roads that exist are not enough to tame the world, to tie its places together; instead, the world’s inhabitants are left exposed and vulnerable to the trackless wilderness.
The political elements mainly consist of political borders between countries or smaller administrative units (for instance, counties), and they are rather uncommon. At most, they appear on two thirds as many maps as do topographical element types. Still, they can be expected to occur on at least somewhat over a third of all fantasy maps. So, while the importance of political units to the fantasy world should not be discounted, it is clear that fantasy maps are more topographical than political.
To fantasy cartographers, it i
s apparently not particularly important to provide information about what people or creatures live where. In the sample, only 11 percent of the maps contained such information, meaning that as few as one in twenty and as many as one in five of all fantasy maps contain such information in some way. This is a significantly smaller proportion than any of the other map elements, apart from the miscellaneous element types in the Other category. Some of this information might actually be found in the Political category—a certain country could be inhabited by a certain people or type of creature, such as the hobbits in the Shire, or the frequent elven realms, such as Tolkien’s Lothlórien and Feist’s Elvandar (in Magician and other books set in Midkemia). Except for maps in tie-in novels to role-playing game settings (where there are races aplenty, spread over the maps), it is rare to find information such as the “Wood Elves” mark on Tolkien’s map of western Middle-earth. The lack of information about what people and creatures live where (“Here Be Elves” or “Here Be Dragons”) implies both that the variety of inhabitants found in a fantasy world should be taken as a matter of course and, simultaneously, that the world is, in fact, a terra incognita full of secrets, especially in the cases of portal–quest fantasies, in which the secondary world is explored by protagonist/s and reader together.68 Rather than being a paratext offering hints to the reader about what to expect once the fictional world is entered, the map in this respect is more of a doceme—a part of the world it describes—for which obvious information is not required, just as we do not often find (actual) general maps that specify “Here Be Germans” in a cursive script over Germany, or have “Here Be Reindeer” printed over northern Scandinavia.
Hill Signs
The signs for mountains offer a useful litmus test in relating the fictional map to maps of actual historical periods. Map projections deal with the transformation of the three-dimensional surface of a sphere to the two-dimensional surface of a plane, but mapmaking also requires another transformation of three-to two-dimensional surfaces. Although it is possible to imagine a world in which the surface is completely flat, most if not all settings tend to have an uneven landscape with hills and mountains as well as plains and valleys. According to geographer Norman J. W. Thrower, “[d]elineation of the continuous three-dimensional form of the land has always been one of the most challenging problems in cartography.”69 The sign for mountains is also among the most ubiquitous topographical elements on fantasy maps—it crops up on three quarters of the maps, which makes it as common as islands but less common than rivers, bays, and towns. (Taking the margin of error into account, it is actually not possible to say which of these five elements is the most prevalent. See Table 2.7.)
