The Cartographer on the Bus

‘Well, in fact I got into a minor argument with this pedant down the pub. A tiff you might say.’

(listens)

‘Yes, well, I didn’t start it. He took issue with my business cards, once I’d given a bit of detail about the maps. I’d given his friend a card, an older gent from Castleknock, and the pedant was arguing that I wasn’t strictly a “cartographer” in the real sense of the world. Aha, I mean “the word”. Appropriate slip. I mean, I make maps, don’t I?’

(listens)

‘Well he said that a cartographer was concerned with the creation of accurate models of the world and/or universe. That I was something more like an illustrator or simply a “mapmaker” or some other lesser thing.’

(listens)

‘Well that’s what I argued, of course. That all maps are reductive representations of reality, no matter how mathematically or scientifically rigorous they are. That for a map to be more reductive and/or more emotive than what is generally considered to be a map does not mean that it is not a map. I’m not claiming an Ordnance Survey type approach here. But I still feel I should be allowed put “Cartographer” on my business cards.’

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‘How do you mean?’

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‘“What kind of reductions?”’

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‘How have we gotten this far without you knowing about the maps? Cormac, you’ve seen the maps.’

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‘Cormac. You’re Cormac.’

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‘Oh God. I’m terribly sorry, Conor. How embarrassing. I don’t know how I got confused. It’s the screen on this blasted thing.’

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‘Well you do sound rather similar, but there’s really no excuse. Aha, fifteen minutes of conversation with the wrong man! Ahaha. I must cancel those flowers to Angela. Or redirect them to Christina, rather. In all seriousness, though, I hope she’s up and about again soon.’

(listens)

‘Ah yes. Well, the maps. It started when I was lending the apartment to my American friends for a week last summer. I was in Provence for August, remember?’

(listens)

‘Oh yes, sorry. Cormac remembers. Anyway, I wrote them a little guide to the village, something I could leave on the kitchen table. Pubs, parks, restaurants. Which shops to avoid. The usual introduction to a neighbourhood. And as part of that I drew up a map. I suppose it was a little like one of those theme-park maps, where the focal points are big colourful renditions and everything around those focal points is simplified or removed. I didn’t think about it much at the time, just drew nice little cartoonish icons for McSorley’s and Gannell’s and the farmer’s market and that kind of thing.’

(listens)

‘Well, I took it to the copy place down the street because I wanted to save it for myself. Thought I could reuse it. I was a little proud of it. I made a few colour copies and stashed them in my bookshelves and went off to France and forgot about it.’

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‘They used it, I suppose. Said they’d found it useful. But the real surprise was the next month, when I was home and saw my map framed in the window of Birchall’s.’

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‘It took a while, but I eventually traced it back to the copy shop. I’d left the original illustration in the photocopier. And someone, for some reason, maybe by accident, made fifty copies of it. So Martin, the boy on the counter there, left them in a stack by the door. And soon they’re everywhere. This is how it was described to me by friends who were around at the time. People are making their own copies, handing them to tourists, putting them in the local magazine racks in all the newsagents.’

(listens)

‘Because they liked it, I guess. They appreciated my version of the village. Made it look good.’

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‘I got to thinking about that, naturally. These maps distort reality in two ways. They make the nice things look nicer, and they suppress the negative things in an area.’

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‘Well I say “distort reality” but I don’t see that as such a serious thing. Everything we make is an altered view of reality, especially things used for the purposes of tourism or promotion. All romanticism is a distortion of reality, now that you mention it. I mention it.’

(listens)

‘Yes, so for Dartmouth Square there’s a verdant little square, overflowing with trees and birds swooping between the branches. It’s self-contained, that part of it too. It looks like a self-contained feature. A good time all by itself. Then below that you’ve got a little bit of the Victorian terraces in a nice neat-looking redbrick. Then the village, that’s the real challenge. The LUAS looks like a fun little tram. The pond in the park is greeny-blue and full of ducks. The good shops and pubs are little three-dimensional icons coloured appropriately. None of this is lies. If anything’s a lie, it’s the stuff you leave out. The Starbucks and the Centra are just ignored. Not totally. But grey, featureless, a third the size of their respectable neighbours. Half the main street is grey emptiness, which of course makes the features stand out more.’

(listens)

‘Well, the point is that I wasn’t trying to mislead anyone about the place. It was always a guide with my name on it. Not totally for public consumption. But it turns out folks like this view.’

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‘Think of something like Euro Disney. You get a theme park map for your pocket, or you come upon one of them mounted in a glass frame on the way into the place. It’s exciting, right? It makes the area look exciting, supported by the idea that you’re actually entering somewhere exciting. You see the rides and the restaurants. What it doesn’t focus on are the faces of the tired-looking, poorly paid janitors. The toilet blocks are represented by men/women icons instead of their actual structures. All the administrative buildings, massive queueing rails, all the realities that make the place work are suppressed and the attractions, the things you’re excited about, are enhanced. Everyone knows the map is a lie, but it’s a fun little lie.’

(listens)

‘Exactly. We can apply the same idea to anywhere. And there’s no deception in it. People know it’s not reality. But it reminds them of what they like about reality. It focuses on the positives of the village in the same way anyone who likes living here focuses on the positives in the village.’

(listens)

‘Yes, my name was scrawled on the bottom. So there was never any big secret. Soon after an acquaintance asked me to do one for Stoneybatter. I agreed to have a go, after I insisted she bring me to a few of her favourite restaurants and pubs so that I’d have a proper flavour of the place.’

(listens)

‘Well, you know. Some things just take off. I’ve done a dozen neighbourhoods now. Working on a large one for Dublin, although it’s tricky considering the detail required for illustrative maps. You’re in Dun Laoghaire yourself, aren’t you?’

(listens)

‘It’s on the list, it’s on the list. I just need someone to show me around, you know? Nice bowl of chowder or two.’

(listens)

‘I’ll soon have an expense account for this kind of thing, I’d imagine, once Howth starts selling. Critical expenditure. Until then you could consider it an investment?’

(listens)

‘Right, of course. Have a think on it and get back to me. Cheerio, Cormac. Goodbye. Goodbye.’