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A History of the World in 12 Maps
A fascinating look at twelve maps—from Ancient Greece to Google Earth—and how they changed our world
In this masterful study, historian and cartography expert Jerry Brotton explores a dozen of history’s most influential maps, from stone tablet to vibrant computer screen. Starting with Ptolemy, "father of modern geography," and ending with satellite cartography, A History of the World in 12 Maps brings maps from classical Greece, Renaissance Europe, and the Islamic and Buddhist worlds to life and reveals their influence on how we—literally—look at our present world.
As Brotton shows, the long road to our present geographical reality was rife with controversy, manipulation, and special interests trumping science. Through the centuries maps have been wielded to promote any number of imperial, religious, and economic agendas, and have represented the idiosyncratic and uneasy fusion of science and subjectivity. Brotton also conjures the worlds that produced these notable works of cartography and tells the stories of those who created, used, and misused them for their own ends.
In this masterful study, historian and cartography expert Jerry Brotton explores a dozen of history’s most influential maps, from stone tablet to vibrant computer screen. Starting with Ptolemy, "father of modern geography," and ending with satellite cartography, A History of the World in 12 Maps brings maps from classical Greece, Renaissance Europe, and the Islamic and Buddhist worlds to life and reveals their influence on how we—literally—look at our present world.
As Brotton shows, the long road to our present geographical reality was rife with controversy, manipulation, and special interests trumping science. Through the centuries maps have been wielded to promote any number of imperial, religious, and economic agendas, and have represented the idiosyncratic and uneasy fusion of science and subjectivity. Brotton also conjures the worlds that produced these notable works of cartography and tells the stories of those who created, used, and misused them for their own ends.
521 pages, Hardcover
First published September 6, 2012
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 233 reviews
April 14, 2014
Wow, I'm actually pretty impressed with myself for finishing this book. It certainly took a while. This isn't a reflection on the book's quality, more so it's style, since this is very much a textbook, massive massive textbook. As oppose to a lighter armchair historian/cartographer volumes like for instance Ken Jennings' lovely book on maps. This book is dense, crammed with information, at times overwhelmingly so. Then again is there really such a thing as too informative. There is so much here about maps, their creators, the sociopolitical conditions that necessitated them and profited from them, the way the human perception of the world has changed over time from ancient world to world wide web. It is exhausting, but it's also absolutely fascinating and exceptionally educational, which is what I personally look for in nonfiction reads. It also has terrific map reproductions in black and white and vivid color. This weighty behemoth was a somewhat laborious, but a rewarding, interesting and enlightening read.
June 23, 2013
Maps are sexy. They are rich founts of information in text and picture form: layers of semantics crowded on rectangles or squares of paper, pixels of possibility on a 3D representation of the world. They are an essential form of communication, but they are often overlooked. Let’s face it: we take maps for granted. This is especially true now that Google and other companies have made it easy to explore the Earth virtually. As these tools become commonplace, the technology fades into the background and becomes more like a pencil (a piece of technology, but one so familiar as to be rather unremarkable) than a supercomputer. So it behoves us to stop and consider the staggering achievement that is mapping, particularly when so much of what we know stretches all the way back to a time before we had precise ways to measure time and space. Contrary to popular belief, the ancient Greeks figured out that the Earth was round pretty quickly. And Plato’s imaginary depiction of the Earth as observed from space is similar to what we actually found when we finally made it up there in the twentieth century.
Jerry Brotton has written a history of the world, and he chose to do it through maps. Make no mistake, though: A History of the World in Twelve Maps is mostly about maps. Shocking, I know. For the history component, he traces the social and scientific forces that influenced the production of the different maps he discusses. He links mapmaking to the search for knowledge as well as our desire to organize that knowledge. Finally, he explains how different maps served different purposes—some practical, some political, but all philosophical. Mapmaking is both a science and an art, but regardless of its classification, it is an ideological exercise.
One striking thing about this book is its remarkable evenness. I find that with non-fiction that takes a segmented approach like this, most books tend to be uneven: a few chapters are very interesting, most are reasonably interesting, and then a few are just not that satisfying—kind of a normal curve of chapter quality, if you will. This isn’t the case here. I’m not saying that every chapter is amazing, and I raced through some while lingering in others. But every chapter is informative, interesting, and intriguing in its own way. Brotton has selected a good sample of maps throughout the ages. He begins each chapter by introducing the map (or mapmaker) before backtracking, explaining the historical context in which the map arose. From this, we come to understand how the drive for the acquisition of knowledge in Alexandria influenced Ptolemy’s groundbreaking maps based on geometry. We learn how the relationships between China, Japan, and Korea influenced the mapping of North Korea in the sixteenth century. We learn how revolutionary France delayed the completion of the most ambitious survey project for its time, and property disputes in England resulted in British Africa and India being better-mapped than the UK.
Got all that? Good, there’s a test at the end.
As you might have gathered, there is a lot in this book. It was a good deal, considering that it comes with two sections full of colour plates of various maps. Brotton has obviously done the research (which, much to my pleasure, he has meticulously documented in endnotes). The result is an information-dense look at history and mapmaking, and while this is never boring or dry, at times it is a little overwhelming. I’m not sure how much I will retain a month or a year after reading this book.
This is always a danger with these kinds of books, and it’s a difficult pitfall to avoid. By covering so many topics, even with the depth and interest that Brotton displays, A History of the World in Twelve Maps becomes little more than a survey of world history. Entire books can be (and have been) written about Ptolemy, or revolutionary France, or Mercator. Still, this is a minor complaint—and, considering I’m complaining about how much the book tells me, not really a complaint at all. If anything, this just means that I have a better idea of which books to seek out next....
In this respect, A History of the World in Twelve Maps reminds me a great deal of A Short History of Nearly Everything , a similarly sprawling survey of history through the lens of scientific discovery. I love the latter so much, and while Brotton’s style isn’t quite as engaging or stimulating, he manages to replicate a lot of the sense of wonder that Bryson creates. He communicates how polarizing the use of maps was in sixteenth century Europe, when Castile and Portugal were fighting over the rights to the entire world. He replicates the excitement that must have been palpable for those mapmakers involved in the surveying of eighteenth-century France. These days, maps are a commodity (or a service)—then, maps were a staggering achievement of science, art, and engineering.
As a mathematician, I particularly enjoyed when Brotton mentioned the mathematics behind mapmaking. The Earth is round (an oblate spheroid, to be pedantic about it), and it is not possible to project the curved surface of the Earth onto a 2-dimensional piece of paper with perfect fidelity. You either get distorted areas or distorted angles (or both), which means your map will look funny, or it will be useless for navigation, generally considered two very important aspects of a map. For as long as we have been making maps, we’ve tried to determine the best way to approximate the 3-d curvature of the Earth on a 2-d piece of paper. (Brotton also goes Borgesian and talks about how we can’t have a "perfect map" unless the scale is 1:1, which would be silly. I remember talking about this back in my Philosophy of Science class days.) Now, for those of you who have been reading this paragraph and are about to scramble wildly to cancel your Amazon order, wait! There are no complicated equations in here, no mathematical sleights of hand. Brotton merely mentions the tricky and impressive math involved (or highlights when some, like Mercator, deduce a projection without knowledge of the math involved). So it’s possible to appreciate the beautiful and necessary mathematics here without becoming drawn in too deep.
Of course, as with any survey-type book of history, there are things that Brotton left out that I would have liked to see. He laudably devotes a chapter to China and Korea, but the rest of the book is very much about the Western world. Absent is any discussion of Australian Aboriginal songlines or the mapping techniques of the indigenous peoples of the Americas. Brotton describes attempts to map Africa but spends no time discussing how the indigenous inhabitants found their way around for tens of thousands of years. Of course, it’s true that many of these cultures don’t have maps in the conventional sense; they rely on oral tradition and reckoning by the sun and the stars. Even if that is the case, Brotton makes a passionate plea for a very open definition of a map in his introduction. He doesn’t want to limit himself to discussing small rectangles of paper—and so, it would have been nice to see him branch out some more.
The book is at its best when Brotton explains how the desires or aims of a government or an individual influenced the development and deployment of maps in that time period. (I was very fascinated by his recounting of the conflict between Castile and Portugal and Magellan’s subsequent, ill-fated circumnavigation.) He makes it very clear that mapmaking is not something done in isolation; it is a political and philosophical activity that relies as much on the allegiances of the mapmaker as it does the objectivity of the Earth’s landscape and geography. The premise, telling the history (or selected parts of history) through maps is quite cool. Brotton largely succeeds at what he sets out as his mission in the introduction. At times the information he includes is a little much for a book of this type, but that’s not a deal-breaker. With amazing maps and enthusiastic explanations, Brotton educates and captivates.
Jerry Brotton has written a history of the world, and he chose to do it through maps. Make no mistake, though: A History of the World in Twelve Maps is mostly about maps. Shocking, I know. For the history component, he traces the social and scientific forces that influenced the production of the different maps he discusses. He links mapmaking to the search for knowledge as well as our desire to organize that knowledge. Finally, he explains how different maps served different purposes—some practical, some political, but all philosophical. Mapmaking is both a science and an art, but regardless of its classification, it is an ideological exercise.
One striking thing about this book is its remarkable evenness. I find that with non-fiction that takes a segmented approach like this, most books tend to be uneven: a few chapters are very interesting, most are reasonably interesting, and then a few are just not that satisfying—kind of a normal curve of chapter quality, if you will. This isn’t the case here. I’m not saying that every chapter is amazing, and I raced through some while lingering in others. But every chapter is informative, interesting, and intriguing in its own way. Brotton has selected a good sample of maps throughout the ages. He begins each chapter by introducing the map (or mapmaker) before backtracking, explaining the historical context in which the map arose. From this, we come to understand how the drive for the acquisition of knowledge in Alexandria influenced Ptolemy’s groundbreaking maps based on geometry. We learn how the relationships between China, Japan, and Korea influenced the mapping of North Korea in the sixteenth century. We learn how revolutionary France delayed the completion of the most ambitious survey project for its time, and property disputes in England resulted in British Africa and India being better-mapped than the UK.
Got all that? Good, there’s a test at the end.
As you might have gathered, there is a lot in this book. It was a good deal, considering that it comes with two sections full of colour plates of various maps. Brotton has obviously done the research (which, much to my pleasure, he has meticulously documented in endnotes). The result is an information-dense look at history and mapmaking, and while this is never boring or dry, at times it is a little overwhelming. I’m not sure how much I will retain a month or a year after reading this book.
This is always a danger with these kinds of books, and it’s a difficult pitfall to avoid. By covering so many topics, even with the depth and interest that Brotton displays, A History of the World in Twelve Maps becomes little more than a survey of world history. Entire books can be (and have been) written about Ptolemy, or revolutionary France, or Mercator. Still, this is a minor complaint—and, considering I’m complaining about how much the book tells me, not really a complaint at all. If anything, this just means that I have a better idea of which books to seek out next....
In this respect, A History of the World in Twelve Maps reminds me a great deal of A Short History of Nearly Everything , a similarly sprawling survey of history through the lens of scientific discovery. I love the latter so much, and while Brotton’s style isn’t quite as engaging or stimulating, he manages to replicate a lot of the sense of wonder that Bryson creates. He communicates how polarizing the use of maps was in sixteenth century Europe, when Castile and Portugal were fighting over the rights to the entire world. He replicates the excitement that must have been palpable for those mapmakers involved in the surveying of eighteenth-century France. These days, maps are a commodity (or a service)—then, maps were a staggering achievement of science, art, and engineering.
As a mathematician, I particularly enjoyed when Brotton mentioned the mathematics behind mapmaking. The Earth is round (an oblate spheroid, to be pedantic about it), and it is not possible to project the curved surface of the Earth onto a 2-dimensional piece of paper with perfect fidelity. You either get distorted areas or distorted angles (or both), which means your map will look funny, or it will be useless for navigation, generally considered two very important aspects of a map. For as long as we have been making maps, we’ve tried to determine the best way to approximate the 3-d curvature of the Earth on a 2-d piece of paper. (Brotton also goes Borgesian and talks about how we can’t have a "perfect map" unless the scale is 1:1, which would be silly. I remember talking about this back in my Philosophy of Science class days.) Now, for those of you who have been reading this paragraph and are about to scramble wildly to cancel your Amazon order, wait! There are no complicated equations in here, no mathematical sleights of hand. Brotton merely mentions the tricky and impressive math involved (or highlights when some, like Mercator, deduce a projection without knowledge of the math involved). So it’s possible to appreciate the beautiful and necessary mathematics here without becoming drawn in too deep.
Of course, as with any survey-type book of history, there are things that Brotton left out that I would have liked to see. He laudably devotes a chapter to China and Korea, but the rest of the book is very much about the Western world. Absent is any discussion of Australian Aboriginal songlines or the mapping techniques of the indigenous peoples of the Americas. Brotton describes attempts to map Africa but spends no time discussing how the indigenous inhabitants found their way around for tens of thousands of years. Of course, it’s true that many of these cultures don’t have maps in the conventional sense; they rely on oral tradition and reckoning by the sun and the stars. Even if that is the case, Brotton makes a passionate plea for a very open definition of a map in his introduction. He doesn’t want to limit himself to discussing small rectangles of paper—and so, it would have been nice to see him branch out some more.
The book is at its best when Brotton explains how the desires or aims of a government or an individual influenced the development and deployment of maps in that time period. (I was very fascinated by his recounting of the conflict between Castile and Portugal and Magellan’s subsequent, ill-fated circumnavigation.) He makes it very clear that mapmaking is not something done in isolation; it is a political and philosophical activity that relies as much on the allegiances of the mapmaker as it does the objectivity of the Earth’s landscape and geography. The premise, telling the history (or selected parts of history) through maps is quite cool. Brotton largely succeeds at what he sets out as his mission in the introduction. At times the information he includes is a little much for a book of this type, but that’s not a deal-breaker. With amazing maps and enthusiastic explanations, Brotton educates and captivates.
June 11, 2018
A wide-ranging, deftly told history of the world. The book ranges from the very earliest maps in the Babylonian world to modern geospatial applications such as Google Earth. This book could have been complete drudgery in the hands of a lesser author, but Brotton creates a compelling narrative in each chapter, weaving a tapestry of many key threads through world history. And I really do mean world history - while Eurocentric, map-making in China, Korea, and the Americas is discussed, as well as the impact of map-making on European colonialism (and no, what you think about the Mercator projection is probably simplistic and wrong).
The book is clearly well researched with lashings of references, and felt similar in tone to the also excellent Infinitesimal: How a Dangerous Mathematical Theory Shaped the Modern World by Amir Alexander - if you liked one of these books then you'll definitely enjoy the other. It did drag a bit for the first third, but after that the book skips along nicely and is a compelling read. Highly recommended.
The book is clearly well researched with lashings of references, and felt similar in tone to the also excellent Infinitesimal: How a Dangerous Mathematical Theory Shaped the Modern World by Amir Alexander - if you liked one of these books then you'll definitely enjoy the other. It did drag a bit for the first third, but after that the book skips along nicely and is a compelling read. Highly recommended.
January 6, 2018
One of the disadvantages of having a kindle, is not knowing the actual size of a book. This was a huge and challenging one. There is a lot of information in this book and one learns some pretty interesting stuff. But it is also a very "dry" reading. Boring most of the time. I had my share of "wows" - "wow, so this was how America appeared on the map" type of wows but that was it. A lot of dates and history facts which bored me to the core.
DONT READ IT ON A KINDLE. In the end there are a lot of fotos, all the maps discussed in the book are presented there. A black and white kindle is an unfortunate medium to see them.
As I said, very informative. Nothing more nothing less.
DONT READ IT ON A KINDLE. In the end there are a lot of fotos, all the maps discussed in the book are presented there. A black and white kindle is an unfortunate medium to see them.
As I said, very informative. Nothing more nothing less.
March 13, 2023
3.6 Stars
I can’t believe I am saying this about any book ever but this book is (unfortunately) too long (and I usually love long books).
The problem is not about the length per se but that:
1) it’s not quite about “history of the world” and more (A LOT more) about map: by map I mean “cartography”. I understand that it should make sense since the book claim to explain the history of the world through map but there’s another problem -
2) the key idea is just the one thing - maps aint originally about “geography”: that it’s more philosophical than that - that it’s about human trying to understand relations of things including ourselves to the world - the gods/ the universe. And this key idea is just stretch out with A LOT of historical facts that are (again, can’t believe I am saying this) too much/ too many throughout the book.
Reading the Introduction chapter and I was there speechless staring at the book. Such an amazing thing to have learned about - a map. And I am grateful for it. Then the first chapter - Ptolemy? Homer? Awesome!
And then the second chapter came with different stories and facts but still explain the same key learning and then the Third and I realizing myself again I have already lost my interest at the mid-second chapter (The worst part is that it almost turned me bored about history/ ancient history in general)
If you want to learn about “history of the world” not sure if this book is for you. But if you want to learn about maps (as in both arts and its methodology) - highly highly recommend - you’ll probably the only genre of scholar/human being still feel the “wow wow” I felt at the beginning of the book throughout the whole thing.
If the author ever write a book that is “Normies” (as in people not in the field) friendly and solely about maps and the history of them. I will definitely check it out.
I can’t believe I am saying this about any book ever but this book is (unfortunately) too long (and I usually love long books).
The problem is not about the length per se but that:
1) it’s not quite about “history of the world” and more (A LOT more) about map: by map I mean “cartography”. I understand that it should make sense since the book claim to explain the history of the world through map but there’s another problem -
2) the key idea is just the one thing - maps aint originally about “geography”: that it’s more philosophical than that - that it’s about human trying to understand relations of things including ourselves to the world - the gods/ the universe. And this key idea is just stretch out with A LOT of historical facts that are (again, can’t believe I am saying this) too much/ too many throughout the book.
Reading the Introduction chapter and I was there speechless staring at the book. Such an amazing thing to have learned about - a map. And I am grateful for it. Then the first chapter - Ptolemy? Homer? Awesome!
And then the second chapter came with different stories and facts but still explain the same key learning and then the Third and I realizing myself again I have already lost my interest at the mid-second chapter (The worst part is that it almost turned me bored about history/ ancient history in general)
If you want to learn about “history of the world” not sure if this book is for you. But if you want to learn about maps (as in both arts and its methodology) - highly highly recommend - you’ll probably the only genre of scholar/human being still feel the “wow wow” I felt at the beginning of the book throughout the whole thing.
If the author ever write a book that is “Normies” (as in people not in the field) friendly and solely about maps and the history of them. I will definitely check it out.
December 17, 2013
A fascinating study of the history of maps, and of the concerns of the map-makers.
For a further review: http://susannag.booklikes.com/post/73...
Thanks to Net Galley for the ARC.
For a further review: http://susannag.booklikes.com/post/73...
Thanks to Net Galley for the ARC.
March 4, 2017
I was fascinated by the idea of this: of course maps are a huge part of how we understand our world, and the way we format our maps is a big giveaway to the way we feel about the world. A map covered in clearly-marked borders marks separations and national boundaries; different maps with disputed borders show areas of conflict. Maps can reveal belonging and isolation and the limits of the human imagination.
Unfortunately, Brotton’s writing is really dry, from my perspective, and I wasn’t always convinced about his choice of maps. Or rather, he would pick maps and then talk about almost everything but the map: the context the map came from, yes, the politics of those that made it, yes. But the map itself, less so. Now, context is a great thing — hello, I was pretty much exclusively a new historicist as a literature postgrad — but I wanted more about the maps. More images would probably have helped, too.
If you’re more interested in the history of cartography and geography than I am, this is probably a great book. It just didn’t quite take the angle I was looking for.
Originally posted on my blog.
Unfortunately, Brotton’s writing is really dry, from my perspective, and I wasn’t always convinced about his choice of maps. Or rather, he would pick maps and then talk about almost everything but the map: the context the map came from, yes, the politics of those that made it, yes. But the map itself, less so. Now, context is a great thing — hello, I was pretty much exclusively a new historicist as a literature postgrad — but I wanted more about the maps. More images would probably have helped, too.
If you’re more interested in the history of cartography and geography than I am, this is probably a great book. It just didn’t quite take the angle I was looking for.
Originally posted on my blog.
August 5, 2016
Var droši teikt, ka cilvēks ir centies saprast savu vietu pasaulē jau no pašiem pirmsākumiem. Taču droši par kartēm kā tādām var sākt runāt tikai no senās Babilonas laikiem. Tieši no šī perioda ir saglabājies priekšmets, kuru var nosaukt par karti. Modernā ģeogrāfija aizsākās Ptolemaja laikos, un beidzas viss ar kartēm, kuru izveidošanai tiek izmantoti zemes mākslīgie pavadoņi. Karte tāda, kādu mēs pazīstam tagad, neradās uzreiz, lai cik tas loģiski nešķistu. Sākumā karte bija vairāk mākslas objekts, kurš parādīja cilvēka vietu visumā, un pareiza vietu attēlošana bija tikai papildus bonuss. Galvenais bija atšķirt pazīstamo no svešā un parādīt, ka Debesis ir tikpat reālas kā Elle.
Pirms sākt lasīt grāmatu es biju visnotaļ augstās domās par savām zināšanām kartogrāfijas vēsturē. Jā, es zināju faktus, cilvēkus un kā viss agrāk tika attēlots. Taču es nekad nebiju aizdomājies par karti kā kompleksu objektu, kuru reizē rada cilvēki un to zināšanas un to, kādas zināšanas tā dod noteiktiem sabiedrības pārstāvjiem. Kā šī savstarpējā mijiedarbība lēnām, bet neapturami maina pasauli un līdz ar to pašas kartes. Kādreiz un tagad kartes jau nezīmēja tāpat vien prieka pēc, tās parasti tika veidotas kādas ideoloģijas kontekstā. Ideoloģija variēja katrā vēstures posmā, ja kādreiz centrālā ideja bija reliģija, tad ar laiku tā izauga kā nācijas apzināšanās, vai kā pēdējos laikos - kā tirdzniecības iespēja.
Savulaik kartogrāfijas kā tādas nebija, un līdz pat viduslaikiem bija grūti saprast, kas tad tā īsti ir zinātne vai māksla. Vairāk vai mazāk karšu sastādītāji centās ietvert abus šos elementus. Tad nu laiku gaitā lēnām kartes nonāca līdz mūsdienu veidolam. Autors gan uzskata, ka nekas vēl nav beidzies. Izmainītā realitāte ļauj kartēm uzlikt daudz vairāk informācijas slāņus par vienkāršu ģeogrāfisko vietu uzskaitījumu. Ja kāds netic, var uzspēlēt Pokemon Go un pārliecināties, ka karte jau sen vairs nav pie sienas piekarināma lieta, kurā viss ir noteikts un piefiksēts. Nedaudz ir aizskarts arī senais kartogrāfu sapnis - izveidot karti mērogā 1:1. Mūsdienās tas teorētiski būtu iespējams, taču pat šādai kartei piemistu visu karšu vaina, tā atspoguļotu pasauli neprecīzi, jo būtu fiksēta noteiktā laika sprīdī.
Lasīšana gan nav no vieglajām, autoram reizēm neizdodas labi ietērpt savu domu skaidrā teikuma struktūrā. Neliegšos, ka laiku pa laikam viņa man palīdzēja labi aizmigt, jo smadzenes vienkārši nespēja tikt galā ar informācijas gūzmu. Tāpat laiku pa laikam nācās apstāties lasīšanā un jauniegūto informāciju iekārtot jau agrāk rakstīto darbu gaismā. Piemēram, Umberto Eko Bodolīno es atklāju veselu līdz šim nepamanītu šķautni. Man jau vairāk patiktu, ja autoram tekstā pieminot kartes viņš uz tām atsauktos precīzi, jo citādi brīžiem ir jāmeklē tās klātpievienotajās bildēs.
Lieku 10 no 10 ballēm. Jā, ir nedaudz pasausa, varbūt vietām autors pārāk brīvi interpretē vēsturisko kontekstu sava darba vajadzībām, taču ieguvums atliku likām pārspēj visus mīnusus. Izlasot šo grāmatu noteikti iegūsiet padziļinātu priekšstatu par kartogrāfiju. Noteikti radīsies vēlme iegādāties vismaz kādu seno karšu atlasu, lai paskatītos uz pasauli no cita laikmeta skatupunkta. Iespējams, tagad vērojot kādu karti pievērsīsiet uzmanību ne tikai pašam vietām , bet arī izmantotajai projekcijai un pielietotajam mērogam. Noteikti iesaku izlasīt!
Pirms sākt lasīt grāmatu es biju visnotaļ augstās domās par savām zināšanām kartogrāfijas vēsturē. Jā, es zināju faktus, cilvēkus un kā viss agrāk tika attēlots. Taču es nekad nebiju aizdomājies par karti kā kompleksu objektu, kuru reizē rada cilvēki un to zināšanas un to, kādas zināšanas tā dod noteiktiem sabiedrības pārstāvjiem. Kā šī savstarpējā mijiedarbība lēnām, bet neapturami maina pasauli un līdz ar to pašas kartes. Kādreiz un tagad kartes jau nezīmēja tāpat vien prieka pēc, tās parasti tika veidotas kādas ideoloģijas kontekstā. Ideoloģija variēja katrā vēstures posmā, ja kādreiz centrālā ideja bija reliģija, tad ar laiku tā izauga kā nācijas apzināšanās, vai kā pēdējos laikos - kā tirdzniecības iespēja.
Savulaik kartogrāfijas kā tādas nebija, un līdz pat viduslaikiem bija grūti saprast, kas tad tā īsti ir zinātne vai māksla. Vairāk vai mazāk karšu sastādītāji centās ietvert abus šos elementus. Tad nu laiku gaitā lēnām kartes nonāca līdz mūsdienu veidolam. Autors gan uzskata, ka nekas vēl nav beidzies. Izmainītā realitāte ļauj kartēm uzlikt daudz vairāk informācijas slāņus par vienkāršu ģeogrāfisko vietu uzskaitījumu. Ja kāds netic, var uzspēlēt Pokemon Go un pārliecināties, ka karte jau sen vairs nav pie sienas piekarināma lieta, kurā viss ir noteikts un piefiksēts. Nedaudz ir aizskarts arī senais kartogrāfu sapnis - izveidot karti mērogā 1:1. Mūsdienās tas teorētiski būtu iespējams, taču pat šādai kartei piemistu visu karšu vaina, tā atspoguļotu pasauli neprecīzi, jo būtu fiksēta noteiktā laika sprīdī.
Lasīšana gan nav no vieglajām, autoram reizēm neizdodas labi ietērpt savu domu skaidrā teikuma struktūrā. Neliegšos, ka laiku pa laikam viņa man palīdzēja labi aizmigt, jo smadzenes vienkārši nespēja tikt galā ar informācijas gūzmu. Tāpat laiku pa laikam nācās apstāties lasīšanā un jauniegūto informāciju iekārtot jau agrāk rakstīto darbu gaismā. Piemēram, Umberto Eko Bodolīno es atklāju veselu līdz šim nepamanītu šķautni. Man jau vairāk patiktu, ja autoram tekstā pieminot kartes viņš uz tām atsauktos precīzi, jo citādi brīžiem ir jāmeklē tās klātpievienotajās bildēs.
Lieku 10 no 10 ballēm. Jā, ir nedaudz pasausa, varbūt vietām autors pārāk brīvi interpretē vēsturisko kontekstu sava darba vajadzībām, taču ieguvums atliku likām pārspēj visus mīnusus. Izlasot šo grāmatu noteikti iegūsiet padziļinātu priekšstatu par kartogrāfiju. Noteikti radīsies vēlme iegādāties vismaz kādu seno karšu atlasu, lai paskatītos uz pasauli no cita laikmeta skatupunkta. Iespējams, tagad vērojot kādu karti pievērsīsiet uzmanību ne tikai pašam vietām , bet arī izmantotajai projekcijai un pielietotajam mērogam. Noteikti iesaku izlasīt!
May 18, 2016
From the first known world map engraved on a cuneiform clay tablet to Google Earth's interactive three-dimensional image of the world, History of the World in Twelve Maps is a wonderful introduction to the history of cartography. As the title suggests, Jerry Brotton picked twelve maps and placed them in their historical context, dedicating one chapter to each map. At first sight, his choice may seem arbitrary enough - why pick the Hereford map and not the Ebstorf map, or Pietro Vesconte's map, or Fra Mauro's Mappamundi? - but it all becomes clear when reading through the chapters. Since the earth cannot be comprehensively mapped onto a flat surface, maps are necessarily a distortion of reality and, Brotton argues, shaped by the worldview of their makers. Each of the twelve chosen maps represents a worldview of a particular time in history and each of them has an interesting story to tell.
Read this if you'd like to know why, in medieval times, maps by Islamic mapmakers tended to face south while Christian maps faced east and Chinese maps faced north (which, incidentally, made the latter ones look surprisingly modern); how Mercator was arrested and imprisoned for heresy and why his 1569 world map has been unfairly labelled as the ultimate symbol of Eurocentric imperial domination over the rest of the globe; or why Arno Peter's "equality map" was so highly criticised by the cartographic community and yet so popular with development aid organisations such as Oxfam and UNDP.
Brotton being a professor of Renaissance Studies, it is not surprising that his narrative comes most alive when describing the maps that were being made when Europeans started to explore entire continents that were previously unknown: the Waldseemüller map which was the first to name and describe America, Diogo Ribeiro's map as an attempt to claim the riches of the Indonesian spice islands for the Spanish crown, Mercator's projection for navigators, Joan Blaeu's atlases for the VOC and the wealthy merchants of Holland. These "Renaissance chapters" are really excellently done.
Having worked with maps for most of my adult life, these Twelve Maps and the stories behind them weren't new to me, but some of the observations were. Although Eratosthenes is generally thought of as the father of geography, Brotton pointed out that the description of the shield of Achilles fashioned by Hephaestus in Homer's Iliad is actually the first account of what we would now call geography: "…at its centre were the earth, and sky, and sea, the weariless sun and the moon waxing full, and all the constellations that crown the heavens. Moving out, the shield portrayed two fine cities of mortal men, one at peace, one at war; agricultural life showing the practice of ploughing, reaping and vintage; the pastoral world of straight-horned cattle, white-woolled sheep; and finally the mighty river of Ocean, running on the rim round the edge of the strong-built shield…", and this prompted me to read the Iliad again - a fine translation by Robert Graves.
All in all, this book is a fascinating overview of mapmaking throughout the history of humankind. I loved it.
Read this if you'd like to know why, in medieval times, maps by Islamic mapmakers tended to face south while Christian maps faced east and Chinese maps faced north (which, incidentally, made the latter ones look surprisingly modern); how Mercator was arrested and imprisoned for heresy and why his 1569 world map has been unfairly labelled as the ultimate symbol of Eurocentric imperial domination over the rest of the globe; or why Arno Peter's "equality map" was so highly criticised by the cartographic community and yet so popular with development aid organisations such as Oxfam and UNDP.
Brotton being a professor of Renaissance Studies, it is not surprising that his narrative comes most alive when describing the maps that were being made when Europeans started to explore entire continents that were previously unknown: the Waldseemüller map which was the first to name and describe America, Diogo Ribeiro's map as an attempt to claim the riches of the Indonesian spice islands for the Spanish crown, Mercator's projection for navigators, Joan Blaeu's atlases for the VOC and the wealthy merchants of Holland. These "Renaissance chapters" are really excellently done.
Having worked with maps for most of my adult life, these Twelve Maps and the stories behind them weren't new to me, but some of the observations were. Although Eratosthenes is generally thought of as the father of geography, Brotton pointed out that the description of the shield of Achilles fashioned by Hephaestus in Homer's Iliad is actually the first account of what we would now call geography: "…at its centre were the earth, and sky, and sea, the weariless sun and the moon waxing full, and all the constellations that crown the heavens. Moving out, the shield portrayed two fine cities of mortal men, one at peace, one at war; agricultural life showing the practice of ploughing, reaping and vintage; the pastoral world of straight-horned cattle, white-woolled sheep; and finally the mighty river of Ocean, running on the rim round the edge of the strong-built shield…", and this prompted me to read the Iliad again - a fine translation by Robert Graves.
All in all, this book is a fascinating overview of mapmaking throughout the history of humankind. I loved it.
March 13, 2014
This is not so much a history of the world in twelve maps as the stories of twelve maps and their places in history. The author's main premise is that maps are inherently subjective and are influenced by the culture that produces them and its motivations for that production.
The premise is elegantly explored through twelve chapters, each with a single word title describing the main influence on the map's production. Thus we see medieval mappae mundi that set out to describe the world with reference to biblical details ("Faith"), the assertion of a proud new dynasty in the Korean peninsula, overshadowed by its neighbour ("Empire"), an exploration of the mapmaking of the Dutch East India Company ("Money"), all the way up to Google Earth ("Information").
It turns out that the history of cartography is not simply a tale of filling in the gaps, occasionally spiced up with a complicated treatise on a new projection. It is a discipline that has varied hugely in why it is done, who it is done by, and who it is done for. The strength of this book is that it doesn't shy away from technical details and in depth discussion of cultural and political forces in play during a given period, and the author makes this completely accessible. There is human interest and a sweeping historial picture, but not enough to dilute the focus.
An excellent read. I like maps a lot, and this probably the best book on maps I have read.
The premise is elegantly explored through twelve chapters, each with a single word title describing the main influence on the map's production. Thus we see medieval mappae mundi that set out to describe the world with reference to biblical details ("Faith"), the assertion of a proud new dynasty in the Korean peninsula, overshadowed by its neighbour ("Empire"), an exploration of the mapmaking of the Dutch East India Company ("Money"), all the way up to Google Earth ("Information").
It turns out that the history of cartography is not simply a tale of filling in the gaps, occasionally spiced up with a complicated treatise on a new projection. It is a discipline that has varied hugely in why it is done, who it is done by, and who it is done for. The strength of this book is that it doesn't shy away from technical details and in depth discussion of cultural and political forces in play during a given period, and the author makes this completely accessible. There is human interest and a sweeping historial picture, but not enough to dilute the focus.
An excellent read. I like maps a lot, and this probably the best book on maps I have read.
Read
January 13, 2024I wish some mention had been made of Marcus Agrippa's map, made of stone and in the Roman Forum for all to see from 5 A.D. on, but otherwise an exhaustive (and on occasion exhausting) examination of how map makers created physical representations of the world we live in, many with kings and popes looking over their shoulders, which could and did affect what was shown to be at the center of the world and where the borders went (see page 375, one of many propaganda maps made by Nazi Germany). A book made for map geeks like me who skim until a name like Eratosthenes or al-Idrisi jumps out. Lavishly illustrated, you can spend a lot of time drooling over the maps and wishing you could pinch them out.
July 8, 2017
3.5 stars rounded up. Jerry Brotton’s A History of the World in 12 Maps (paperback edition) has an interesting but narrow hypothesis. His intent is to limit his discussion to just world maps and thereby artificially promote his belief. I accept his argument that maps reflect the purpose of the map maker but I am not sure that his conclusion is as significant as he does. 12 Maps gave me a lot of history and a lot to think about. The writing tends to be ponderous. This makes it hard to be sure who he is speaking to. The style is not academic nor particularly inviting to a general reader. For me, tugging through Brotton’s book was worth it. I am not sure what readers will most enjoy his book.
The central thesis of A History of the World in 12 maps is that maps, and especially world maps are heavily reflective of the times and purposes of the both the map maker and the spirit and philosophy of their times. The earliest Western maps, mostly represented by the mapaemundi can be thought of as maps made to illustrate the prevailing belief in the Holy Trinity as being mirrored by a cruciform image of the earth. By the 3rd map we are introduced to the political map, drawn closer to a modern form but serving the imperial and diplomatic needs of the earth bound governments in Asia and later dividing the newly discovered lands between Spain and Portugal. Eventually map will be designed to serve commercial needs and even humanitarian ones.
By the time Brotton discusses the important maps designed in France and the Netherlands, he concludes an earlier argument that there can never be a 100% accurate, flat, world map and that the best humans can do is make and remake new maps as humans change the geography of the planet and new methods are developed to portray geography.
If we strictly limit ourselves to world maps produced for official purposes, to stand church based illustrations or submitted for government negotiations, it is not hard to accept that these maps have no day to day practical function. That they reflect prevailing beliefs and the needs of the institutions that sponsors them seems, if only upon reflection, obvious. Brotton makes no mention of the types of navigational charts that traders and sailors would have needed to cross the Asians grasslands or the Mediterranean Seas. I do not remember much discussion of maps in the works of Cesare, but it is an old Army truism that geography is fate. It is hard to believe that there was no one producing the kinds of maps that were designed to give navigators local or regional maps to serve the less<?> exhausted purposes such as marking out the location and frequency of safe water along desert trades routes or safe harbors for ships crossing the Indian Ocean.
If we limit ourselves to just these maps, this question goes unanswered. The absence of this answer itself invokes a larger discussion that Brotton could have productively addressed. Initially Brotton gives himself an out by declaring his examples limited to world maps. But many of his maps are not. The wonderful maps of Napoleonic France, reflecting Cassinni surveys and Capitaine skills are wonderful. But they were intended to be maps of France. They helped Napoleon’s General to plan their movements, if only those maneuvers conducted in France, again begs the question: what had been generals been doing before Cassinni?
When Brotton discusses Mercator, we are suddenly presented with the fact that there had been a number of projections developed before the Mercator projection. When? By Who? For what purpose? Why are these maps not important if we are to understand the relationships between maps and the societies that created the need for them?
In terms of the production of the book, there was a convention in book publishing that discussions of illustration in the book should be referenced. The description of the floor maps in the Amsterdam Town Hall, should direct the reader to Illustration 37. The absence of this kind of help tends to make it hard to know that a particular map is illustrated in the book and where to find it. Too often important maps are not illustrated.
A delicious speculation by Brotton is that the map makers of the time can to accept the name America as an act of political correctness. Brotton retells the problems with and the understanding of Amerigo Vespucci’s naming rights to the New World. Almost every aspect of these claims can now be regarded as doubtful. His contemporaries were clearly not unanimous in there their support for his primacy, but they may have given over the argument rather than place themselves in awkward positions between rival religious and national claims against naming rights
The central thesis of A History of the World in 12 maps is that maps, and especially world maps are heavily reflective of the times and purposes of the both the map maker and the spirit and philosophy of their times. The earliest Western maps, mostly represented by the mapaemundi can be thought of as maps made to illustrate the prevailing belief in the Holy Trinity as being mirrored by a cruciform image of the earth. By the 3rd map we are introduced to the political map, drawn closer to a modern form but serving the imperial and diplomatic needs of the earth bound governments in Asia and later dividing the newly discovered lands between Spain and Portugal. Eventually map will be designed to serve commercial needs and even humanitarian ones.
By the time Brotton discusses the important maps designed in France and the Netherlands, he concludes an earlier argument that there can never be a 100% accurate, flat, world map and that the best humans can do is make and remake new maps as humans change the geography of the planet and new methods are developed to portray geography.
If we strictly limit ourselves to world maps produced for official purposes, to stand church based illustrations or submitted for government negotiations, it is not hard to accept that these maps have no day to day practical function. That they reflect prevailing beliefs and the needs of the institutions that sponsors them seems, if only upon reflection, obvious. Brotton makes no mention of the types of navigational charts that traders and sailors would have needed to cross the Asians grasslands or the Mediterranean Seas. I do not remember much discussion of maps in the works of Cesare, but it is an old Army truism that geography is fate. It is hard to believe that there was no one producing the kinds of maps that were designed to give navigators local or regional maps to serve the less<?> exhausted purposes such as marking out the location and frequency of safe water along desert trades routes or safe harbors for ships crossing the Indian Ocean.
If we limit ourselves to just these maps, this question goes unanswered. The absence of this answer itself invokes a larger discussion that Brotton could have productively addressed. Initially Brotton gives himself an out by declaring his examples limited to world maps. But many of his maps are not. The wonderful maps of Napoleonic France, reflecting Cassinni surveys and Capitaine skills are wonderful. But they were intended to be maps of France. They helped Napoleon’s General to plan their movements, if only those maneuvers conducted in France, again begs the question: what had been generals been doing before Cassinni?
When Brotton discusses Mercator, we are suddenly presented with the fact that there had been a number of projections developed before the Mercator projection. When? By Who? For what purpose? Why are these maps not important if we are to understand the relationships between maps and the societies that created the need for them?
In terms of the production of the book, there was a convention in book publishing that discussions of illustration in the book should be referenced. The description of the floor maps in the Amsterdam Town Hall, should direct the reader to Illustration 37. The absence of this kind of help tends to make it hard to know that a particular map is illustrated in the book and where to find it. Too often important maps are not illustrated.
A delicious speculation by Brotton is that the map makers of the time can to accept the name America as an act of political correctness. Brotton retells the problems with and the understanding of Amerigo Vespucci’s naming rights to the New World. Almost every aspect of these claims can now be regarded as doubtful. His contemporaries were clearly not unanimous in there their support for his primacy, but they may have given over the argument rather than place themselves in awkward positions between rival religious and national claims against naming rights
April 14, 2014
Good popular geography highlighting twelve maps which changed the conception of the known world, or which illustrate the way in which the mapmakers located themselves and their people in the world. Brotton makes sure to make this a global survey, with the Korean Kangnido World Map of 1402 and al-Idrisi's friendship with Roger II of Sicily resulting in the Book of Roger. Good work for generalists, with explanations of cartography and techniques.
November 25, 2022
Un libro che spiega in maniera esaustiva l'evoluzione della cartografia e della visione che gli uomini hanno avuto del mondo in vari contesti storici e temporali.
Una lettura lunga, corposa, ma molto molto interessante!
Una lettura lunga, corposa, ma molto molto interessante!
July 14, 2020
I have to admit I hit and missed the final half of the book. It reads like a text book with dozens of references on each page that can divert your attention.
It appears to be extremely well researched and then all the research is crammed into each page.
Not my cup of tea
It appears to be extremely well researched and then all the research is crammed into each page.
Not my cup of tea
November 5, 2013
In lots of ways this is a fascinating book, picking up on the trend to look at a historical subject in the context of a single item or area. It was first started by the book A History of the World in 100 Objects.
There are lots of images of ancient maps, the detail and depth that the book goes into are impressive, and the credentials of the author are impeccable. And yet it doesn’t work for me. There is a mass of detail in here, from some of the very first maps by Ptolemy and other significant ones like the Mappi Mundi in Hereford cathedral, to the Mercer projection and the origins of the OS, and onto Google earth. It covers all the really important maps and individuals involved in the creation of those maps, and has some superb images of the maps in colour.
What makes this book so difficult to read is the text; it feels like it is written like a academic paper most of the time. It does improve towards the end, but it did make it very hard reading for most of the book, and that is a shame.
There are lots of images of ancient maps, the detail and depth that the book goes into are impressive, and the credentials of the author are impeccable. And yet it doesn’t work for me. There is a mass of detail in here, from some of the very first maps by Ptolemy and other significant ones like the Mappi Mundi in Hereford cathedral, to the Mercer projection and the origins of the OS, and onto Google earth. It covers all the really important maps and individuals involved in the creation of those maps, and has some superb images of the maps in colour.
What makes this book so difficult to read is the text; it feels like it is written like a academic paper most of the time. It does improve towards the end, but it did make it very hard reading for most of the book, and that is a shame.
December 1, 2018
Mi aspettavo qualcosa di un po' più scorrevole, ma si tratta comunque di una serie di mappe che aiutano a capire dodici differenti "modi di vedere il mondo".
Non sono dodici finestre sulla storia del mondo, sono dodici modi diversi di osservarlo e di rappresentarlo, ciascuno con i suoi meriti e i suoi svantaggi ma tutti a loro modo interessanti e affascinanti.
Ogni capitolo si apre con una mappa ma poi fa una rassegna del momento storico, della cultura e della produzione cartografica coeva dell'esemplare preso in esame: per esempio, nel capitolo sulle mappe di Cassini non si parla solo di quelle ma anche della National Ordnance Survey; nel capitolo su Peters si parla (ovviamente) anche di Galls e si spazia più sulle motivazioni socio-politiche che su quelle geografiche.
Se siete già appasionati di cartografia ve lo sconsiglio, perché le mappe prese in esame sono sicuramente quelle più famose e note agli addetti ai mestieri. Se però volete un'infarinatura che non sia stringata come la voce di Wikipedia, allora questo libro è sicuramente una lettura piacevole.
Avendolo letto in ebook non ho potuto apprezzare a dovere le riproduzioni delle mappe, che oltretutto il lettore di MLOL non consentiva di ingrandire.
Non sono dodici finestre sulla storia del mondo, sono dodici modi diversi di osservarlo e di rappresentarlo, ciascuno con i suoi meriti e i suoi svantaggi ma tutti a loro modo interessanti e affascinanti.
Ogni capitolo si apre con una mappa ma poi fa una rassegna del momento storico, della cultura e della produzione cartografica coeva dell'esemplare preso in esame: per esempio, nel capitolo sulle mappe di Cassini non si parla solo di quelle ma anche della National Ordnance Survey; nel capitolo su Peters si parla (ovviamente) anche di Galls e si spazia più sulle motivazioni socio-politiche che su quelle geografiche.
Se siete già appasionati di cartografia ve lo sconsiglio, perché le mappe prese in esame sono sicuramente quelle più famose e note agli addetti ai mestieri. Se però volete un'infarinatura che non sia stringata come la voce di Wikipedia, allora questo libro è sicuramente una lettura piacevole.
Avendolo letto in ebook non ho potuto apprezzare a dovere le riproduzioni delle mappe, che oltretutto il lettore di MLOL non consentiva di ingrandire.
December 17, 2012
This is a very good book. It could potentially have been better titled as "A history of twelve world maps" or something like that, but I guess the current title works. The premise of the book is that a map of the world is a rich statement that speaks about places on the globe but also about the political, cultural, religious, and technological age in which it was developed. That means that world maps (and really all maps) are evidence of the times in which they are created, provided one takes the time and effort to dig deep. The author then goes ahead and digs deep -- very deep -- on a series of twelve maps ranging from Ptolemy in AD 154 to Google Earth today. The maps also span cultures and include significant East Asian and Islamic examples. All of the chapters read like well designed academic papers (which they likely were in some form) that could be presented separately and tell their own stories. The broader continuities and contrasts among them are also well developed in a really thoughtful book that takes some digesting. The first chapter drags a bit but after that the flow is less of a problem. Technical issues such as the perennial problem of how to project a spherical surface onto a flat surface are mixed together with broader metaphysical questions of how religion and science fit together without heresy. These issues are not just "historical". Mapping programs from Google and others are used everyday and their failures (such as with google maps) make the news. Geography is still important in global politics. The chapter on Mackinder is still relevant today with unease over the breakup of the Soviet Union and the rise of China to economic dominance. I could go on, but will not. The book is superb.
January 23, 2015
The author has chosen twelve maps that were each made for a different purpose and which show the state of cartography as it changes across cultures and over time, from ancient Babylon to Google Earth. He shows that the great turning points of our world’s history have been both reflected in and changed by maps. Each chapter focuses on a particular map and who made it and why. It becomes very clear that maps are tools that let the viewer see the world from the perspective of their maker. Brotton shows that all maps are made with an intended purpose and what they choose to show is determined by that purpose. He has created a book that is both erudite and informative and which keeps the reader interested.
The experience of looking at a map for me, is almost magical. It allows me to leave the space I am in and go exploring without getting up out of my chair. As the author says of maps in the introduction, “In the act of locating themselves on it, the viewer is at the same moment imaginatively rising above (and outside) it in a transcendent moment of contemplation, beyond time and space seeing everything from nowhere.” I was looking forward to reading this book and it did not disappoint. It is a perfect fit for anyone with an affinity for maps.
The experience of looking at a map for me, is almost magical. It allows me to leave the space I am in and go exploring without getting up out of my chair. As the author says of maps in the introduction, “In the act of locating themselves on it, the viewer is at the same moment imaginatively rising above (and outside) it in a transcendent moment of contemplation, beyond time and space seeing everything from nowhere.” I was looking forward to reading this book and it did not disappoint. It is a perfect fit for anyone with an affinity for maps.
August 20, 2017
企圖宏大，但用二手資料談中文免不了用詞怪怪——作者說「北」和「背」同義源於「皇帝永遠背向北方」，但皇帝可是西元前三世紀才出現的啊（應當不是翻譯問題）。
September 19, 2018
fascinating but a slog. It's more of a history of map-making that a history of the world, so hard for a generalist like me. The technical stuff is daunting and the prose is sometimes turgid but the rewards are many.
January 31, 2024
Fabulously educational. A great history of mapmaking.
Read
August 3, 2014Nonostante la traduzione italiana a volte affannosa, conserva dell'originale la narrazione di grande respiro, ricchissima di informazioni ma sempre di piacevole lettura.
La materia estremamente vasta costringe l'autore ad alcune scelte: si potra' forse obiettare che, eccetto il capitolo dedicato alla cultura coreana e cinese, resta un libro fortemente eurocentrico, ma del resto la cartografia moderna e' nata in Europa, pur con l'apporto di varie tradizioni. Forse ancora insufficiente e' lo spazio lasciato al contributo arabo (poco si dice della strumentazione, per esempio), ma e' lodevole l'aver presentato con grande onesta' intellettuale il multicularismo di Al-Idrisi e aver sottolineato l'importanza capitale dell'esperienza di Al-Andalus.
Probabilmente un maggiore spazio si sarebbe potuto dedicare ai portolani che per secoli hanno prodotto navigatori spesso rimasti anonimi, come pure sarebbe stato interessante approfondire il legame fra mitologia e geografia, anche se vi sono per accenni alla mitica Thule, ma non per esempio al paese di Punt cosi' come lo tramando' l'antico Egitto, e molto si sarebbe potuto dire dire sulla tradizione babilonese o persino Maya e Azteca, tutte tralasciate a favore di una in ogni caso ben approfondita indagine sul lascito greco-romano alla tradizione giudaico-cristiana.
Merita una speciale menzione il capitolo dedicato a Google Earth, con una dettagliata descrizione del modello di "googleconomics" e un tentativo di analizzare dal punto di vista sociale come si sia progressivamente passati da una visione ego-centrica a livello di dominio di potere (prima temporale, poi religioso e infine commerciale), poi a livello di nazione (da "La carte Cassini" in poi) ed infine, oggi, a livello individuale. Altro si potrebbe certo dire sul tema, ma esula dagli scopi del libro che, seppure ha il grande e raro merito di arrivare ai giorni nostri, nulla ad esempio dice su una esperienza paradigmatica come quella di OpenStreet Maps.
In ogni caso, per chi desidera una lettura mai banale eppure godibilissima, e' senz'altro consigliato.
La materia estremamente vasta costringe l'autore ad alcune scelte: si potra' forse obiettare che, eccetto il capitolo dedicato alla cultura coreana e cinese, resta un libro fortemente eurocentrico, ma del resto la cartografia moderna e' nata in Europa, pur con l'apporto di varie tradizioni. Forse ancora insufficiente e' lo spazio lasciato al contributo arabo (poco si dice della strumentazione, per esempio), ma e' lodevole l'aver presentato con grande onesta' intellettuale il multicularismo di Al-Idrisi e aver sottolineato l'importanza capitale dell'esperienza di Al-Andalus.
Probabilmente un maggiore spazio si sarebbe potuto dedicare ai portolani che per secoli hanno prodotto navigatori spesso rimasti anonimi, come pure sarebbe stato interessante approfondire il legame fra mitologia e geografia, anche se vi sono per accenni alla mitica Thule, ma non per esempio al paese di Punt cosi' come lo tramando' l'antico Egitto, e molto si sarebbe potuto dire dire sulla tradizione babilonese o persino Maya e Azteca, tutte tralasciate a favore di una in ogni caso ben approfondita indagine sul lascito greco-romano alla tradizione giudaico-cristiana.
Merita una speciale menzione il capitolo dedicato a Google Earth, con una dettagliata descrizione del modello di "googleconomics" e un tentativo di analizzare dal punto di vista sociale come si sia progressivamente passati da una visione ego-centrica a livello di dominio di potere (prima temporale, poi religioso e infine commerciale), poi a livello di nazione (da "La carte Cassini" in poi) ed infine, oggi, a livello individuale. Altro si potrebbe certo dire sul tema, ma esula dagli scopi del libro che, seppure ha il grande e raro merito di arrivare ai giorni nostri, nulla ad esempio dice su una esperienza paradigmatica come quella di OpenStreet Maps.
In ogni caso, per chi desidera una lettura mai banale eppure godibilissima, e' senz'altro consigliato.
March 22, 2015
Excellent overall, an interesting way of surveying the history of civilization. Each map requires enough context to be understood and appreciated that Brotton does end up providing something like a coherent history rather than just a series of snapshots - but it won't make much sense to anyone who doesn't have a pretty decent grasp of world history to begin with. It's no introduction, that's for sure, but it's rich with anecdote and keen observation.
But I did find the repeated insistence of Botton's anti-positivist, postmodernist view of maps a little tiresome. I don't entirely disagree with him that it's important to bear in mind the cultural assumptions of mapmakers and map readers, and the social and political forces that lie behind the production of maps, rather than naively viewing them as wholly neutral and objective creations; but I think Botton's a bit overeager on this point, that he discounts the seemingly obvious and undeniable level on which maps have in fact become ever more accurate depictions of the shape and features of the surface of the earth. Sure, ideologies remain embedded in the systems which produce a Rand McNally atlas or the images of Google Earth, but it's hardly blinkered positivism to acknowledge that there's much more - and more accurate - representation of the earth's physical surface in my 2012 atlas than in the Hereford mappamundi.
On the other hand, it's certainly true that the makers of that mappamundi were not chiefly concerned, if concerned at all, with "accuracy" in the way that I use the term. In this sense Botton does a valuable service, insisting that we don't look at the maps made in other ages and by other cultures simply by comparison with more recent maps that prioritize more recognizable concerns. Maybe he had no good alternative to beating that particular horse a little more than was good for it, to ensure that his reader resists such a reductive, if instinctive, reading.
But I did find the repeated insistence of Botton's anti-positivist, postmodernist view of maps a little tiresome. I don't entirely disagree with him that it's important to bear in mind the cultural assumptions of mapmakers and map readers, and the social and political forces that lie behind the production of maps, rather than naively viewing them as wholly neutral and objective creations; but I think Botton's a bit overeager on this point, that he discounts the seemingly obvious and undeniable level on which maps have in fact become ever more accurate depictions of the shape and features of the surface of the earth. Sure, ideologies remain embedded in the systems which produce a Rand McNally atlas or the images of Google Earth, but it's hardly blinkered positivism to acknowledge that there's much more - and more accurate - representation of the earth's physical surface in my 2012 atlas than in the Hereford mappamundi.
On the other hand, it's certainly true that the makers of that mappamundi were not chiefly concerned, if concerned at all, with "accuracy" in the way that I use the term. In this sense Botton does a valuable service, insisting that we don't look at the maps made in other ages and by other cultures simply by comparison with more recent maps that prioritize more recognizable concerns. Maybe he had no good alternative to beating that particular horse a little more than was good for it, to ensure that his reader resists such a reductive, if instinctive, reading.
December 19, 2021
This book has been sitting on my TBR mountain for several years after picking it up for not much money when the library were selling off a lot of books. I had started it once before but not progressed very far, this time I was determined to read it all the way through. This is a 3 1/2 star for me
The book travels through time, looking at twelve very different maps, the reason for their existence, the politics of the region, and the history of what went before. He also includes lots of other maps, and loads of interesting background information.
The author makes so interesting comments about the changing significance of the maps, and their impact on the political landscape. He includes the move from having east at the top of maps, to north, the difficulties trying to depict the surface of the globe on a flat surface, the move from their political to commercial use, and, the changing way of mapping and depicting terrain.
He starts with more ancient maps, such as Ptolemy, moves through al-Idrisi in twelfth century Sicily, the Hereford Mappemundi, the maps used to divide the world between Spain and Portugal, the Mercator projection, early twentieth century maps of Africa, through to the more present day and the ethical issues surrounding Google Earth.
The emphasis, and I cannot say whether this is because there were few maps surviving in Asia or Africa, is mainly on the Northern Hemisphere, and maps produced in Europe (with the exception of one Korean Map). This seems as though it a bit too Eurocentric to me. I also found some of the background information in the early chapters a bit too long and began to lose track of which maps influenced which map makers and why.
That said, it was an interesting read, and I am glad I took it down off my TBR mountain of a pile.
The book travels through time, looking at twelve very different maps, the reason for their existence, the politics of the region, and the history of what went before. He also includes lots of other maps, and loads of interesting background information.
The author makes so interesting comments about the changing significance of the maps, and their impact on the political landscape. He includes the move from having east at the top of maps, to north, the difficulties trying to depict the surface of the globe on a flat surface, the move from their political to commercial use, and, the changing way of mapping and depicting terrain.
He starts with more ancient maps, such as Ptolemy, moves through al-Idrisi in twelfth century Sicily, the Hereford Mappemundi, the maps used to divide the world between Spain and Portugal, the Mercator projection, early twentieth century maps of Africa, through to the more present day and the ethical issues surrounding Google Earth.
The emphasis, and I cannot say whether this is because there were few maps surviving in Asia or Africa, is mainly on the Northern Hemisphere, and maps produced in Europe (with the exception of one Korean Map). This seems as though it a bit too Eurocentric to me. I also found some of the background information in the early chapters a bit too long and began to lose track of which maps influenced which map makers and why.
That said, it was an interesting read, and I am glad I took it down off my TBR mountain of a pile.
September 9, 2018
Il tema del libro è affascinante per chi, come me, è un appassionato di carte geografiche al punto che mi sono stati regalati diversi atlanti. Si narra la storia di dodici mappe da Tolomeo a Google Earth, si descrivono le tecniche sviluppate e usate per ogni carta e le motivazioni culturali, economiche o religiose che hanno mosso l'autore e il lavoro da lui svolto.
Ogni capitolo contiene un'iniziale contestualizzazione, scritta generalmente in modo vivace e veloce e poi passa a descrivere la realizzazione della mappa nel suo dettaglio, più negli aspetti relativi all'ambiente culturale e alla formazione della mappa come oggetto storico che negli aspetti tecnici (comunque piuttosto dettagliati). Questa seconda parte di ogni capitolo rende la lettura del libro lunga e difficile. Bratton possiede un'erudizione enorme sul tema e sui protagonisti ma non riesce a trasmetterla col necessario brio. Ci ho messo mesi, ma l'ho finito e ne è valsa la pena.
Ogni capitolo contiene un'iniziale contestualizzazione, scritta generalmente in modo vivace e veloce e poi passa a descrivere la realizzazione della mappa nel suo dettaglio, più negli aspetti relativi all'ambiente culturale e alla formazione della mappa come oggetto storico che negli aspetti tecnici (comunque piuttosto dettagliati). Questa seconda parte di ogni capitolo rende la lettura del libro lunga e difficile. Bratton possiede un'erudizione enorme sul tema e sui protagonisti ma non riesce a trasmetterla col necessario brio. Ci ho messo mesi, ma l'ho finito e ne è valsa la pena.
November 11, 2014
Ok ... I seriously geeked out on this book! I do have a fascination for maps and geography, so i did relish this book. I guess this is in many ways the author's history choosing the maps that most interested him and putting them into their respective historical, political and religious context that defined their creation. To me part of this fascination with maps has to do with their sense of discovery, and of trying to make sense of our place and the definition they bring, these too are the defining characteristics of the mapmaker and like all those discoveries that man has made about his physical world they evoke a sense of wonder and amazement. Painstakingly researched and infinitely detailed this was a great read, even if it started out relatively dry, it is well worth persevering with!
May 10, 2021
Whew! I managed to finish at last.
The case of a good idea, bad execution.
The book starts well. However, it slowly slips into a disjoint and somewhat repetitive narrative.
The problem is compounded by a curious fact. It is a book about maps and contains 38 figures and 56 colour plates each one depicting a map and each meticulously numbered. The editor need not have bothered about the numbering, because the text never refers by number - or in any other manner- to any one of them! It is as if the book does not include any map that is being described in the text! It can be a weird sense of humour on the part of the author to make the reader struggle to correlate the text with a figure or it can be sloppy editing. It is not funny either way.
The case of a good idea, bad execution.
The book starts well. However, it slowly slips into a disjoint and somewhat repetitive narrative.
The problem is compounded by a curious fact. It is a book about maps and contains 38 figures and 56 colour plates each one depicting a map and each meticulously numbered. The editor need not have bothered about the numbering, because the text never refers by number - or in any other manner- to any one of them! It is as if the book does not include any map that is being described in the text! It can be a weird sense of humour on the part of the author to make the reader struggle to correlate the text with a figure or it can be sloppy editing. It is not funny either way.
January 9, 2018
Dry as hell. Interesting content, achingly straight-forward delivery.
October 10, 2012
Brotton, Jerry (2012). A History of the World in Twelve Maps. London: Penguin. 2012. ISBN 9781846145704. Pagine 492. 23,04 €
A History of the World in Twelve Maps
penguin.co.uk
Jerry Brotton è un giornalista dalla BBC e il libro (se capisco bene) è figlio di una serie televisiva, Maps: Power, Plunder and Possession.
Il libro mantiene esattamente quello che promette: i suoi dodici capitoli illustrano ciascuno una tappa nella storia della cartografia e un problema nella rappresentazione dello spazio (e del tempo). Il tutto scritto in modo piano e convincente e ricco di informazioni curiose (di una ho già parlato qui). Non resta che augurarsi che sia rapidamente tradotto in italiano.
Ecco le 12 mappe:
La scienza e la Geografiadi Tolomeo
Tolomeo
wikipedia.org
Lo scambio e il Sollazzodi Al-Idrisi
Al-Idrisi
wikipedia.org
La fede e il Mappamondodi Hereford
Hereford
wikipedia.org
La mappa del mondo di Kangnido
Kangnido
wikipedia.org
La scoperta e la mappa di Waldseemüller
America!
wikipedia.org
La globalizzazione e la mappa di Diogo Ribeiro
Diogo Ribeiro
wikipedia.org
La tolleranza e la mappa di Mercatore
Mercatore
wikipedia.org
Il danaro e l’atlante di Blaeu
Blaeu
wikipedia.org
La nazione e la carta di Francia della famiglia Cassini
Cassini
davidrumsey.com
La geopolitica e Halford Mackinder
Mackinder
wikipedia.org
L’eguaglianza e la proiezione di Peters
Peters
digilander.libero.it
L’informazione e Google Earth
* * *
Ecco le mie annotazioni, con i riferimenti numerici all’edizione Kindle.
Where would we be without maps? The obvious answer is, of course, ‘lost’ […] [238]
[…] ‘the map is not the territory’. [306: la citazione è del filosofo americano Alfred Korzybski, ‘General Semantics, Psychiatry, Psychotherapy and Prevention’ (1941), in Korzybski, Collected Writings, 1920–1950 (Fort Worth, Tex., 1990), p. 205]
In Lewis Carroll’s Sylvie and Bruno Concluded (1893), the other-worldly character Mein Herr announces that ‘[w]e actually made a map of the country, on a scale of a mile to the mile!’ When asked if the map has been used much, Mein Herr admits, ‘It has never been spread out’, and that ‘the farmers objected: they said it would cover the whole country, and shut out the sunlight! So we now use the county itself, as its own map, and I assure you it does nearly as well.’ [315]
‘Far away is close at hand in images of elsewhere.’ [446: graffito su un muro della stazione di Paddington]
‘Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair’ [1126, da Ozymandias di Shelley]
The Geography was the first book that, either by accident or design, showed the potential of transmitting geographical data digitally. Rather than reproducing unreliable graphic, analogue elements to describe geographical information, the surviving copies of the Geography used the discrete, discontinuous signs of numbers and shapes – from the coordinates of places across the inhabited world to the geometry required to draw Ptolemy’s projections – to transmit its methods. [1135]
[…] Septemptrio (north, from the Latin for seven, referring to the seven stars of the Plough in the Great Bear, by which the direction of north was calculated). [1753: ne ho già parlato qui]
A nonary square is divided into nine equal squares, creating a three-by-three grid. Its origins remain obscure, ranging from the archaic observation of the shape of a turtle shell (with its round carapace covering the square plastron), to the more convincing explanation that the vast plains of northern China inspired a rectilinear way of understanding and dividing space. [2436]
By the end of the sixteenth century the name finally acquired universal geographical and toponymical status, thanks to German and Dutch mapmakers who needed a name to describe the continent and one which avoided ascribing it to a particular empire (some maps referred to it as ‘New Spain’) or religion (other maps labelled it ‘Land of the Holy Cross’). In the end, the name ‘America’ endured, not because of any agreement as to who discovered it, but because it was the most politically acceptable term available. [3377]
[…] ‘devotion to truth and the precision of scientific methods arose from the passion of scholars, their reciprocal hatred, their fanatical and unending discussions, and their spirit of competition.’ [3485: è una citazione di Michel Foucault]
Flirting with religion on maps was a dangerous business, with potentially fatal consequences. [4294]
To make a heart-shaped map in the first half of the sixteenth century was a clear statement of religious dissent. It invited its viewer to look to their conscience, and to see it within the wider context of a Stoic universe. But such flirtations with ‘pagan’ philosophy were not always welcomed by Catholic or Protestant authorities. [4374]
The result still caused distortion of land masses at the northern and southern extremities, but if Mercator could accurately calculate how far apart to space his parallels he could achieve something unique: what cartographers call ‘conformality’, defined as the maintenance of accurate angular relations at any point on a map. [4625]
Born into the Mennonite movement, an offshoot of the sixteenth-century Anabaptists, with their strong tradition of personal spiritual responsibility and pacificism, his sympathies were decidedly libertarian, and many of his friends were Remonstrants or ‘Gomarists’ (named after the Dutch theologian Franciscus Gomarus, 1563–1641). [5005]
In 1636, following Galileo Galilei’s condemnation by the Catholic Inquisition for his heretical heliocentric beliefs, a group of Dutch scholars hatched a plan to offer the Italian astronomer asylum in the Dutch Republic. The plan was floated by the great jurist, diplomat (and Remonstrant sympathizer) Hugo Grotius – whose books were published by Blaeu – and was enthusiastically supported by Laurens Reael and Willem Blaeu. Beyond their intellectual belief in a heliocentric universe, all three men also had vested commercial interests in offering such an invitation. Grotius, having already written on the subject of navigation, was hoping to lure Galileo to Amsterdam so that he would offer the VOC a new method of determining longitude which, if successful, would give the Dutch complete domination of international navigation.32 Blaeu’s somewhat nonconformist intellectual beliefs coincided with his eye for a novel commercial opportunity: Galileo represented a new way of looking at the world, but it was also one that Blaeu might have calculated would give him a decisive edge in cartographic publishing in the 1630s. Ultimately, the plans to invite Galileo came to nothing, as the astronomer pleaded that ill health (and undoubtedly the terms of his house arrest by the Inquisition) prevented him from making what would have been a sensational defection to Europe’s leading Calvinist republic. [5099: è la storia che ho raccontato qui]
It was the product of a Dutch Republic that, following its violent struggle to break free of the Spanish Empire, created a global marketplace that preferred the accumulation of wealth over the acquisition of territory. Blaeu produced an atlas that was ultimately driven by the same imperatives. For him, it was not even necessary to place Amsterdam at the centre of such a world; Dutch financial power was increasingly pervasive but it was also invisible, seeping into every corner of the globe. In the seventeenth century as today, financial markets make little acknowledgement of political boundaries and centres when it comes to the accumulation of riches. [5359]
One toise was 6 French feet, or just under 2 metres […] [5532]
Newton concluded that the earth was not a perfect sphere but an oblate spheroid, slightly bulging at the equator and flattened at the poles. Cassini I and his son Jacques (Cassini II) were unconvinced, and followed the theories of René Descartes (1596–1650). Revered across Europe as the great philosopher of the mind, Descartes was also renowned as a ‘geometer’, or applied mathematician, who put forward the argument that the earth was a prolate ellipsoid, bulging at the poles but flatter at the equator, like an egg. His theory was widely accepted by the Académie, and the resolution of the controversy soon became a matter of national pride on both sides of the English Channel. [5589]
Ultimately, the Carte de Cassini was more than just a national survey. It enabled individuals to understand themselves as part of a nation. Today, in a world almost exclusively defined by the nation state, to say that people saw a place called ‘France’ when they looked at Cassini’s map of the country, and identified themselves as ‘French’ citizens living within its space seems patently obvious, but this was not the case at the end of the eighteenth century. Contrary to the rhetoric of nationalism, nations are not born naturally. They are invented at certain moments in history by the exigencies of political ideology. It is no coincidence that the dawn of the age of nationalism in the eighteenth century coincides almost exactly with the Cassini surveys and that ‘nationalism’ as a term was coined in the 1790s, just as the Cassini maps were nationalized in the name of the French Republic.
In his classic study of the origins of nationalism, Imagined Communities, Benedict Anderson argues that the roots of national consciousness grew out of the long historical erosion of religious belief and imperial dynasties. As the certainty of religious salvation waned, the empires of the ancien régime in Europe slowly disintegrated. In the realm of personal belief, nationalism provided the compelling consolation of what Anderson calls ‘a secular transformation of fatality into continuity, contingency into meaning’. [6046]
The consequence of all these changes was the emergence of a new genre, thematic mapping. A thematic map portrays the geographical nature of a variety of physical, and social, phenomena, and depicts the spatial distribution and variation of a chosen subject or theme which is usually invisible, such as crime, disease or poverty. Although used as early as the 1680s in meteorological charts drawn by Edmund Halley, thematic maps developed rapidly from the early 1800s with the growth in quantitative statistical methods and public censuses. The development of probability theory and the ability to regulate error in statistical analysis allowed the social sciences to compile vast amounts of data, including national censuses. In 1801 France and England conducted censuses to measure and classify their populations. [6169]
When Joseph Conrad’s protagonist Marlow peers at an imperial map in Heart of Darkness (1899), ‘marked with all the colours of the rainbow’, he is pleased to see ‘a vast amount of red – good to see at any time, because one knows that some real work is done in there’. [6205]
One of the society’s councillors, the distinguished explorer and pioneering eugenicist Sir Francis Galton, responded with concerns about Mackinder’s attempt to claim geography as a science. Nevertheless, he was sympathetic to the moves to adopt geography as an academic discipline, and remarked that, whatever the limitations of his paper, he was sure Mackinder ‘was destined to leave his mark on geographical education’. Galton knew more than he admitted: he was already in talks with the authorities at both Oxford and Cambridge universities to appoint an RGS-funded reader in the subject, a society aspiration that stretched back to the early 1870s, and had stage-managed Mackinder’s invitation so that he would emerge as the most obvious candidate for any new post. On 24 May 1887, less than four months after Mackinder’s talk, Oxford University agreed to establish a five-year Readership in Geography, supported by RGS funds. The following month Mackinder was formally appointed, on a yearly salary of £300. [6321: anche Galton è un nostro vecchio amico, come si illustra qui]
[…] the disastrous Boer War (1899–1902), which had cost Britain more than £220 million, as well as the loss of 8,000 troops killed in action and a further 13,000 to disease. Of the estimated 32,000 Boers who died, the vast majority were women and children who died in British ‘concentration camps’, the first time such methods had been used in modern warfare. [6475]
Such criticisms suggested the need for a debate (not pursued for several years) as to how any world map could meaningfully address statistically derived social inequalities in graphic form. [6916]
For Google, one justification of its geospatial applications is that the digital image of the earth becomes the medium through which all information is accessed; writing in 2007, Michael T. Jones claimed that Google ‘inverts the roles of Web browser as application and map as content, resulting in an experience where the planet itself is the browser’. The Earth application – according to Google – is the first place a viewer goes to access and view information. This seems, for the moment at least, to be a completely pure definition of a world map made up from its own cultural beliefs and assumptions, all of which are now potentially available at the click of a computer mouse. [7733]
In 1970, the American geographer Waldo Tobler famously invoked what he called ‘the first law of geography: everything is related to everything else, but near things are more related than distant things’. [7747]
A History of the World in Twelve Maps
penguin.co.uk
Jerry Brotton è un giornalista dalla BBC e il libro (se capisco bene) è figlio di una serie televisiva, Maps: Power, Plunder and Possession.
Il libro mantiene esattamente quello che promette: i suoi dodici capitoli illustrano ciascuno una tappa nella storia della cartografia e un problema nella rappresentazione dello spazio (e del tempo). Il tutto scritto in modo piano e convincente e ricco di informazioni curiose (di una ho già parlato qui). Non resta che augurarsi che sia rapidamente tradotto in italiano.
Ecco le 12 mappe:
La scienza e la Geografiadi Tolomeo
Tolomeo
wikipedia.org
Lo scambio e il Sollazzodi Al-Idrisi
Al-Idrisi
wikipedia.org
La fede e il Mappamondodi Hereford
Hereford
wikipedia.org
La mappa del mondo di Kangnido
Kangnido
wikipedia.org
La scoperta e la mappa di Waldseemüller
America!
wikipedia.org
La globalizzazione e la mappa di Diogo Ribeiro
Diogo Ribeiro
wikipedia.org
La tolleranza e la mappa di Mercatore
Mercatore
wikipedia.org
Il danaro e l’atlante di Blaeu
Blaeu
wikipedia.org
La nazione e la carta di Francia della famiglia Cassini
Cassini
davidrumsey.com
La geopolitica e Halford Mackinder
Mackinder
wikipedia.org
L’eguaglianza e la proiezione di Peters
Peters
digilander.libero.it
L’informazione e Google Earth
* * *
Ecco le mie annotazioni, con i riferimenti numerici all’edizione Kindle.
Where would we be without maps? The obvious answer is, of course, ‘lost’ […] [238]
[…] ‘the map is not the territory’. [306: la citazione è del filosofo americano Alfred Korzybski, ‘General Semantics, Psychiatry, Psychotherapy and Prevention’ (1941), in Korzybski, Collected Writings, 1920–1950 (Fort Worth, Tex., 1990), p. 205]
In Lewis Carroll’s Sylvie and Bruno Concluded (1893), the other-worldly character Mein Herr announces that ‘[w]e actually made a map of the country, on a scale of a mile to the mile!’ When asked if the map has been used much, Mein Herr admits, ‘It has never been spread out’, and that ‘the farmers objected: they said it would cover the whole country, and shut out the sunlight! So we now use the county itself, as its own map, and I assure you it does nearly as well.’ [315]
‘Far away is close at hand in images of elsewhere.’ [446: graffito su un muro della stazione di Paddington]
‘Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair’ [1126, da Ozymandias di Shelley]
The Geography was the first book that, either by accident or design, showed the potential of transmitting geographical data digitally. Rather than reproducing unreliable graphic, analogue elements to describe geographical information, the surviving copies of the Geography used the discrete, discontinuous signs of numbers and shapes – from the coordinates of places across the inhabited world to the geometry required to draw Ptolemy’s projections – to transmit its methods. [1135]
[…] Septemptrio (north, from the Latin for seven, referring to the seven stars of the Plough in the Great Bear, by which the direction of north was calculated). [1753: ne ho già parlato qui]
A nonary square is divided into nine equal squares, creating a three-by-three grid. Its origins remain obscure, ranging from the archaic observation of the shape of a turtle shell (with its round carapace covering the square plastron), to the more convincing explanation that the vast plains of northern China inspired a rectilinear way of understanding and dividing space. [2436]
By the end of the sixteenth century the name finally acquired universal geographical and toponymical status, thanks to German and Dutch mapmakers who needed a name to describe the continent and one which avoided ascribing it to a particular empire (some maps referred to it as ‘New Spain’) or religion (other maps labelled it ‘Land of the Holy Cross’). In the end, the name ‘America’ endured, not because of any agreement as to who discovered it, but because it was the most politically acceptable term available. [3377]
[…] ‘devotion to truth and the precision of scientific methods arose from the passion of scholars, their reciprocal hatred, their fanatical and unending discussions, and their spirit of competition.’ [3485: è una citazione di Michel Foucault]
Flirting with religion on maps was a dangerous business, with potentially fatal consequences. [4294]
To make a heart-shaped map in the first half of the sixteenth century was a clear statement of religious dissent. It invited its viewer to look to their conscience, and to see it within the wider context of a Stoic universe. But such flirtations with ‘pagan’ philosophy were not always welcomed by Catholic or Protestant authorities. [4374]
The result still caused distortion of land masses at the northern and southern extremities, but if Mercator could accurately calculate how far apart to space his parallels he could achieve something unique: what cartographers call ‘conformality’, defined as the maintenance of accurate angular relations at any point on a map. [4625]
Born into the Mennonite movement, an offshoot of the sixteenth-century Anabaptists, with their strong tradition of personal spiritual responsibility and pacificism, his sympathies were decidedly libertarian, and many of his friends were Remonstrants or ‘Gomarists’ (named after the Dutch theologian Franciscus Gomarus, 1563–1641). [5005]
In 1636, following Galileo Galilei’s condemnation by the Catholic Inquisition for his heretical heliocentric beliefs, a group of Dutch scholars hatched a plan to offer the Italian astronomer asylum in the Dutch Republic. The plan was floated by the great jurist, diplomat (and Remonstrant sympathizer) Hugo Grotius – whose books were published by Blaeu – and was enthusiastically supported by Laurens Reael and Willem Blaeu. Beyond their intellectual belief in a heliocentric universe, all three men also had vested commercial interests in offering such an invitation. Grotius, having already written on the subject of navigation, was hoping to lure Galileo to Amsterdam so that he would offer the VOC a new method of determining longitude which, if successful, would give the Dutch complete domination of international navigation.32 Blaeu’s somewhat nonconformist intellectual beliefs coincided with his eye for a novel commercial opportunity: Galileo represented a new way of looking at the world, but it was also one that Blaeu might have calculated would give him a decisive edge in cartographic publishing in the 1630s. Ultimately, the plans to invite Galileo came to nothing, as the astronomer pleaded that ill health (and undoubtedly the terms of his house arrest by the Inquisition) prevented him from making what would have been a sensational defection to Europe’s leading Calvinist republic. [5099: è la storia che ho raccontato qui]
It was the product of a Dutch Republic that, following its violent struggle to break free of the Spanish Empire, created a global marketplace that preferred the accumulation of wealth over the acquisition of territory. Blaeu produced an atlas that was ultimately driven by the same imperatives. For him, it was not even necessary to place Amsterdam at the centre of such a world; Dutch financial power was increasingly pervasive but it was also invisible, seeping into every corner of the globe. In the seventeenth century as today, financial markets make little acknowledgement of political boundaries and centres when it comes to the accumulation of riches. [5359]
One toise was 6 French feet, or just under 2 metres […] [5532]
Newton concluded that the earth was not a perfect sphere but an oblate spheroid, slightly bulging at the equator and flattened at the poles. Cassini I and his son Jacques (Cassini II) were unconvinced, and followed the theories of René Descartes (1596–1650). Revered across Europe as the great philosopher of the mind, Descartes was also renowned as a ‘geometer’, or applied mathematician, who put forward the argument that the earth was a prolate ellipsoid, bulging at the poles but flatter at the equator, like an egg. His theory was widely accepted by the Académie, and the resolution of the controversy soon became a matter of national pride on both sides of the English Channel. [5589]
Ultimately, the Carte de Cassini was more than just a national survey. It enabled individuals to understand themselves as part of a nation. Today, in a world almost exclusively defined by the nation state, to say that people saw a place called ‘France’ when they looked at Cassini’s map of the country, and identified themselves as ‘French’ citizens living within its space seems patently obvious, but this was not the case at the end of the eighteenth century. Contrary to the rhetoric of nationalism, nations are not born naturally. They are invented at certain moments in history by the exigencies of political ideology. It is no coincidence that the dawn of the age of nationalism in the eighteenth century coincides almost exactly with the Cassini surveys and that ‘nationalism’ as a term was coined in the 1790s, just as the Cassini maps were nationalized in the name of the French Republic.
In his classic study of the origins of nationalism, Imagined Communities, Benedict Anderson argues that the roots of national consciousness grew out of the long historical erosion of religious belief and imperial dynasties. As the certainty of religious salvation waned, the empires of the ancien régime in Europe slowly disintegrated. In the realm of personal belief, nationalism provided the compelling consolation of what Anderson calls ‘a secular transformation of fatality into continuity, contingency into meaning’. [6046]
The consequence of all these changes was the emergence of a new genre, thematic mapping. A thematic map portrays the geographical nature of a variety of physical, and social, phenomena, and depicts the spatial distribution and variation of a chosen subject or theme which is usually invisible, such as crime, disease or poverty. Although used as early as the 1680s in meteorological charts drawn by Edmund Halley, thematic maps developed rapidly from the early 1800s with the growth in quantitative statistical methods and public censuses. The development of probability theory and the ability to regulate error in statistical analysis allowed the social sciences to compile vast amounts of data, including national censuses. In 1801 France and England conducted censuses to measure and classify their populations. [6169]
When Joseph Conrad’s protagonist Marlow peers at an imperial map in Heart of Darkness (1899), ‘marked with all the colours of the rainbow’, he is pleased to see ‘a vast amount of red – good to see at any time, because one knows that some real work is done in there’. [6205]
One of the society’s councillors, the distinguished explorer and pioneering eugenicist Sir Francis Galton, responded with concerns about Mackinder’s attempt to claim geography as a science. Nevertheless, he was sympathetic to the moves to adopt geography as an academic discipline, and remarked that, whatever the limitations of his paper, he was sure Mackinder ‘was destined to leave his mark on geographical education’. Galton knew more than he admitted: he was already in talks with the authorities at both Oxford and Cambridge universities to appoint an RGS-funded reader in the subject, a society aspiration that stretched back to the early 1870s, and had stage-managed Mackinder’s invitation so that he would emerge as the most obvious candidate for any new post. On 24 May 1887, less than four months after Mackinder’s talk, Oxford University agreed to establish a five-year Readership in Geography, supported by RGS funds. The following month Mackinder was formally appointed, on a yearly salary of £300. [6321: anche Galton è un nostro vecchio amico, come si illustra qui]
[…] the disastrous Boer War (1899–1902), which had cost Britain more than £220 million, as well as the loss of 8,000 troops killed in action and a further 13,000 to disease. Of the estimated 32,000 Boers who died, the vast majority were women and children who died in British ‘concentration camps’, the first time such methods had been used in modern warfare. [6475]
Such criticisms suggested the need for a debate (not pursued for several years) as to how any world map could meaningfully address statistically derived social inequalities in graphic form. [6916]
For Google, one justification of its geospatial applications is that the digital image of the earth becomes the medium through which all information is accessed; writing in 2007, Michael T. Jones claimed that Google ‘inverts the roles of Web browser as application and map as content, resulting in an experience where the planet itself is the browser’. The Earth application – according to Google – is the first place a viewer goes to access and view information. This seems, for the moment at least, to be a completely pure definition of a world map made up from its own cultural beliefs and assumptions, all of which are now potentially available at the click of a computer mouse. [7733]
In 1970, the American geographer Waldo Tobler famously invoked what he called ‘the first law of geography: everything is related to everything else, but near things are more related than distant things’. [7747]
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