A Collection of Maps
Some thoughts about one of my favourite non-fiction books, The Atlas of Remote Islands by Judith Schalansky.
Page from the ‘Atlas of Remote Islands’ by Judith Schalansky
When we first moved to Canada, maps became my best friend.
I found a large laminated wall map in the discount bin of the local book shop for $6. From there I discovered ten provinces and three territories. Vast pieces of land, far larger than the island I’m from.
Mulling over my map I find unfamiliar names with indigenous origins: Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Cheakamus, Okanagan and Spallumcheen. I find other city names I know: London, Brighton, Ipswich, Seven Sisters, Sheffield and Bath. The map shows First Nation roots and European settlements, its careful cartography revealing a brutal history. I think about the importance of reparation in Canada with the First Nation people.
A week or two after our arrival, my Mum visits. She insists I buy a street map of Vancouver & the North Shore; ‘It’ll be useful,’ she says, ‘to keep in the car.’ It's thick and spiralbound with streets and neighbourhoods I don’t know, mapped out in a grid system that crisscrosses through the city and out into the suburbs. I stuff it into the pocket behind the driver's seat and plug my phone into Google.
Fifty Islands I Have Not Visited
I think of these things while leafing through one of my favourite books: Atlas of Remote Islands by Judith Schalansky. The subtitle reads 'Fifty Islands I have not visited and never will'‘. I should say this is not a book review. I love this book for its design, illustrations and typography. I also love this book for the stories.
Schalansky grew up in the German Democratic Republic, born a few years before the fall of the Berlin wall. I feel a connection here. In the late 1970s, I lived in Osnabruck, a city on the other side of the wall. I went to a school for the children of soldiers, an army school named after Oliver Cromwell. I find a Facebook page:
Cromwell School, Osnabruck, Germany. 1 like. No posts.
My friends and I were driven to and from school in an old green army bus with vinyl seats and loose suspension. We laughed and squealed sliding along the back seat, the bus swinging around the city streets, its collection of children rolling around the inside like beans in a can. The kids at a different school took a coach. Their coach often arrived before our bus. Through its steamed-up windows, we could see the soft plush fabric seats, and after the children got on, the door eased shut with a heavy clunk and a sigh.
'...I looked for my country: the German Democratic Republic. East Germans could not travel, only the Olympic team were allowed beyond our borders. It took a frighteningly long time to find. It was as pink and tiny as my smallest fingernail. This was hard to equate: at the Seoul Olympics we had been a force to reckon with, we had won more medals than the United States: how could we suddenly be so infinitesimal?'
p.8, Atlas of Remote Islands by Judith Schlansky
I don't remember ever learning anything about East Germany at the army school. I'm not sure I was very aware there was a wall at all. I was young, it's true, yet I'm certain every East German child my age knew exactly what the wall was for.
I flick through the pages wondering where to start. I'm attracted to names like Tristan da Cunha, Napuka and Deception Island. Through the stories in the book, I learn many things.
Remote Islands
Pingelap
Two hundred and fifty people inhabit Pingelap, an atoll in the Pacific Ocean. Due to a chromosomal mutation (a result of inbreeding), ten percent of the population are colour blind.
'You can tell who they are...by the way they flutter their eyelids and constantly screw their eyes shut, by the squint line above their noses. They avoid light, they avoid the day, and often only leave their huts at dusk.'
p.98, Atlas of Remote Islands by Judith Schlansky
I find an article on National Geographic. A photographer attempts to show through different films and processing how it is to see the world if completely colour-blind.
St. Kilda
One hundred and sixty kilometres away from the west coast of Scotland, a tiny archipelago lies where the freezing North Atlantic Ocean meets the Norwegian Sea. Today, St Kilda's habitat is known for a large colony of puffins. But not so long ago a small community of people lived there. A terrible wave of neonatal tetanus killed the newborn babies in their first few days of life. Over time the population dwindled to a handful. The illness that took their young, left the community unable to support itself. By 1930 the remaining people were evacuated and the island becomes known for its birdlife supporting a large and vital seabird population.
Possession
Possession Island. For me, the word possession conjures up demons and exorcisms such is my Church of England upbringing. I am no longer religious yet, I'm still drawn to ancient churches, graves and the low mumbling of a hymn or prayer. Possession Island is one of the Crozet Islands an archipelago lying far south in the Indian Ocean. Its possession now lies with France.
Clipperton Atoll
A lighthouse keeper is the only man left on Clipperton Atoll circa 1915. The island lies in the Pacific Ocean, a dot of land also known as Passion Island. The man, Victoriano Alvarez, declares himself king. A few women and children are left behind after near-starvation drives away the remaining soldiers, husbands and fathers who leave to find help and food. They drown soon after and the women and children find themselves at the mercy of a tyrant. After two years of his rule by rape and murder, the women take a hammer 'and smash his face in'. You can read more of this gruesome tale here.
The Magic of the Atlas
There are many more stories. I could keep going. But that would be discourteous to the magic of the Atlas itself. Schalansky's writing is poetry. I can imagine the stories being spoken in hushed tones, a tale each night told by the heat and light of a flickering fire. The stories often describe a brutal history of exploration, mental illness and tragedy.
I turn the pages looking at crescent shapes, volcanoes rising like pustules, and a horseshoe shape of land containing a caldera in the centre. I imagine the tall ships sailing right into the mouth of this active land.
