The Map v. The World

Today I decided to write a short, slightly absurd story about the trouble with representing reality. No illustrations, no experiments, no technology. Just a story.

The Map v. The World

An original short story

At nine o’clock on Thursday morning, the National Atlas entered the courthouse on a trolley.

Its spine was cracked, its pages yellowed, and its brass corners had been polished for the occasion.

“I wish to sue the world,” it announced.

The judge adjusted her spectacles.

“On what grounds?”

“Misrepresentation.”

The courtroom stirred.

“For two hundred years,” said the Atlas, “I have faithfully described the defendant. I have documented its mountains, rivers, coastlines, cities, and roads. My measurements have been precise. My methods have been transparent. And yet the defendant has consistently refused to remain where I put it.”

The judge considered this.

“Can you provide examples?”

“Certainly. The Mississippi has changed its course. The Aral Sea has practically disappeared. Entire neighborhoods have been demolished. New islands have emerged. Last Tuesday, a perfectly respectable footpath in Somerset became a parking lot.”

“That does sound inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient? Your Honor, it makes me look wrong.”

The World had appointed a heron as its legal representative. The bird stood on one leg beside the defense table.

“Does the defendant wish to respond?” asked the judge.

The heron blinked.

“My client,” it said, “does not recall promising to remain still.”

“That is beside the point!” cried the Atlas. “How can anyone produce an accurate description of a thing that keeps changing?”

“Perhaps,” suggested the heron, “the description ought to change.”

“Outrageous. Do you know how expensive it is to print a new edition?”

The judge called for witnesses.

A sailor testified that the Atlas had once saved his life.

A farmer testified that a river had flooded his land despite being clearly marked several miles away.

A schoolchild testified that she had drawn a new street on the map of her neighborhood, but that the street did not subsequently appear.

“Did you expect it to?” asked the judge.

“Not really,” said the child. “But I thought it was worth trying.”

At lunchtime, the judge summoned the Atlas into her chambers.

“Tell me something,” she said. “Suppose I could grant your wish. Suppose the world agreed never to change again. Every tree, every river, every city fixed permanently in place. Would you be satisfied?”

“Entirely.”

“And what would happen to the people?”

The Atlas hesitated.

“They would remain where they were.”

“And the children?”

“Presumably they would not grow.”

“And the birds?”

“Well, naturally, they couldn’t fly. That would change their coordinates.”

The judge looked out the window.

A sparrow was balancing on the courthouse gutter. It launched itself into the air, circled once, and disappeared beyond the rooftops.

“Perhaps,” she said, “there is something worse than being inaccurate.”

The Atlas was silent.

The following morning, the judge delivered her verdict.

“The court finds that the defendant has committed no offense. The world is entitled to change without notifying its cartographers.”

The Atlas rustled indignantly.

“However,” the judge continued, “the court also recognizes the enormous public value of maps. Therefore, I order that all future editions contain one blank square, prominently displayed, bearing the inscription:

HERE SOMETHING IS HAPPENING THAT WE DO NOT YET UNDERSTAND.”

The Atlas objected.

“Where should I put this square?”

“Wherever you like.”

“But what if something important is happening elsewhere?”

“Then perhaps,” said the judge, “you will need another square.”

The Atlas was wheeled out of the courthouse.

It spent the afternoon considering an appeal.

By evening, however, it had begun drawing little white squares in its margins.

The next edition sold remarkably well.

People discovered that they rather liked the blank spaces. They began visiting them, hoping to find something unexpected. Some found abandoned railway stations. Others found strange flowers, forgotten buildings, or roads that led nowhere particularly interesting.

One man found an entire village that had never appeared on any map.

The villagers were furious.

They had been enjoying the privacy.

As for the World, it declined to comment on the judgment.

It was occupied with the construction of a new island, somewhere in the Pacific.

The island was shaped, rather precisely, like a question mark.

No one knew why.

The Atlas, when informed, sighed and ordered another printing.