Written in Maps

By Ccile Cristofari
23 August 2010

The map of J. R. R. Tolkien's Middle-Earth

nventing an imaginary world,

I complete with its peoples,

places, cultures, and customs, is
an arduous task. Compounding
this task is the need to share this world with
the reader, to initiate them into a setting dis-
tinct from their everyday reality. Ever since J.
R. R. Tolkien put his imprint on the fantasy
genre, maps have become a staple in helping
speculative fiction authors share their imag-
ined world with the audience. Yet even as
they provide this crutch to the reader, the location of maps outside the narrative raises
questions about their literary significance. How does the map contribute to the creation
of the invented geography? Are thematic dimensions of the narrative present on the
map? And what sort of perspective does a map's author represent?
To make sure that the world they created makes sense to the readers, authors
must achieve a balance between literary and historical conventions, symbols, and meta-
phors that will be quickly understood by all. I will argue that maps of imaginary geog-
raphies are extensions of this dynamic balance and not just visual representations of the
narrated world. Three examples will help me demonstrate this: Tolkien's The Lord of
the Rings, George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, and Robin Hobb's The Soldier
Son.

Imaginary Geographies
Invented universes draw inspiration from historical periods. All three of our au-
thors looked to medieval Europe to shape their worlds, with Hobb taking additional in-
spiration from nineteenth century America. These two periods share a tension between
civilization and savagery, with myths, the myth of chivalry and the myth of the frontier
respectively, that propose firm definitions to resolve the tension. As semi-legendary pe-
riods, with vast unexplored spaces, little-known cultures, and a real sense of danger,
they provide stock fodder for fantasy fiction. Indeed, both The Lord of the Rings and The
Soldier Son make use of this geopolitical instability. In the former, travelers make their
way through warring countries and deserted landscapes; in the latter, a colonial empire
attempts to subdue a nomadic people. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire uses geopolitical
instability in a more peripheral way: while most of his series is set in a "civilized" land
reminiscent of fifteenth century England, we're given glimpses of mysterious border-
lands where nomads and "savage" enemies make their homes.

The map of Gernia from Hobb's The

Soldier's Son

It must be noted that the three

settings follow a similar spatial ar-
rangement: the "civilized" lands in
which the story begins are in the west,
the lands of enemy tribes are in the
east. This reflects the geography of
medieval Europe: the known world is bordered by the sea to the west and the lands of
the barbarians to the east. Even the American pioneer inspiration of Hobb's series, with
frontier lands populated by nomads (the Plainspeople and the Specks) and an Old World
(Varnia) on the other side of the sea, still follows the compass orientation of medieval
Europe, with the sea in the west and the frontier in the east. This has become a canonical
arrangement in fantasy literature.
Besides employing these literary and historical conventions, writers also use the
various landscape elements metaphorically, as was detailed by Pierre Jourde
in Gographies imaginaires (Imaginary Geographies). Geography, used as metaphor
within a narrative, becomes a useful tool for writers when they construct their fantastic
worlds. To demonstrate this, I will focus on two geographic features that figure promi-
nently in many fantasy novels: mountains and the sea.
Mountains epitomize separation. Their height acts as a physical barrier and at
the same time suggests the potential for a metaphysical ascendance, as exemplified in
Dante's Purgatorio. Tolkien's mountains evince both these dimensions. The epic quest
in The Lord of the Rings doesn't really begin until the heroes pass the Misty Mountains,
which separate the relatively quiet land of Eriador from the old kingdoms of humans
and elves, and Mordor, land of the Dark Lord himself. Many of these nations are them-
selves separated by mountain ranges, especially the kingdoms at the center of the narra-
tiveRohan, Gondor, and Mordor. Mountains in The Lord of the Rings give political
entities an organic reality: they are not countries with arbitrary frontiers, but follow the
natural divisions of the landscape. Yet mountains also act as catalysts for character de-
velopment. Gandalf falls in battle with the Balrog deep under the Misty Mountains, at
which point Frodo becomes aware of the gravity of his quest and thus departs the Fel-
lowship. It is in a dark mountain valley, on the Paths of the Dead, that Aragorn finally
claims his birthright as the king of Gondor. And the climax of the journey is the ascen-
sion of Mount Doom, doubling as the end of the quest and a symbol of the apocalypse
when we come to the Crack of Doom, where at the last moment, Frodo will decide the
outcome of the battle between good and evil.
Mountains play a similar role in Hobb's The Soldier Son. The goal of the protag-
onist's quest lies in a mountainous region where he joins the Speck people, the mountain
nomads who oppose the colonizing forces of the Gernian empire. The mountains do
function as a political stake, but they are far more significant in representing the personal
accomplishment of the main character.
On the other hand, in Martin's novels, mountains are markedly rare. His stories
are historical epics, where strategic moves trump personal quests and individual heroes
are lost in the multitude of allies and foes. Here mountains figure no more important
than rivers, coastlines, or swamps, which all play their parts as strategic geographic fea-
tures in the civil war. Instead of showing vast mountain ranges, the maps of Martin's
novels show small clusters of mountains which rarely have names except when an im-
portant fortress (like The Eyrie, the fortress of the Arryn family) is situated there.
Seas represent another metaphorical dimension, that of origins. Colonization of
the plains and mountains in The Soldier Son began with the defeat of the Gernian empire
by an enemy who blocked the empire's access to the sea. Tolkien's elves came from
across the sea and still long for it, as it is the only way back to their homelands. This
history is recounted in The Silmarillion, which presents the wider mythological universe
of The Lord of the Rings. Even in A Song of Ice and Fire, the sea represents the origin
of the story: the old kings of Westeros came from over the sea, and the extinction of
their line marks the beginning of the series.

Mapping the Imaginary

In addition to the metaphorical meaning that geographic elements can provide to
a narrative, the inclusion of a map to the reader adds another graphic dimension to the
text. Standing parallel to the narrative, a map presents the imagined geography with its
own particular and meaningful set of icons. These icons are not chosen arbitrarily, either
in their relative form or in their distribution. Rather, decisions made regarding the use
of these icons are dependent on a combination of cartographic conventions and the au-
thor's intentions.

The map of the North from Martin's A Song of

Ice and Fire

Compared to modern maps, such as those

of roads, nations, or geography, which are often
colorful and decorated, the fantasy maps we're
considering today look rather empty. They are
mostly white, with landmarks drawn in black.
Although the reality of publishing is probably re-
sponsible for this style, there are thematic impli-
cations. For instance, the maps appear as if they
came from a different age, with stylized text and
ink drawn lines. Of course, unlike the inked maps
of the past, the authors of these maps have a God's
eye view of the world they're depicting, giving a degree of precision to the coasts, rivers,
and borders that was impossible to obtain for ancient cartographers. The emptiness of
the map can itself be seen as a literary device, allowing important elements to stand out
and provide the reader with a visual benchmark of their progress through the story.
There are two basic types of icons we find designated on these maps: human
landmarks (cities, fortresses, and roads) and natural features (mountains, seas, rivers,
forests, and swamps). Different degrees of precision in respect to these types help dis-
tinguish our authors. Considering first the natural features, Hobb draws a map where
forests are represented by different types of trees depending on their location (ever-
greens in the North, orchards near the capital), different symbols represent mountains
according to their height, and rivers are drawn with proportional breadth. Against this,
Martin uses minimal symbols, one for each type of feature, with a uniform pattern for
all sea water and rivers represented by a simple line. Tolkien splits the difference. His
mountains vary between ranges, whereas his forests differ only in size. Major rivers
such as the Anduin come across as thicker lines and deltas are clearly seen, but there's
no sense of direct proportions as with Hobb. These uses of icons reflect the narrative
and symbolic import of particular geographic elements to the authors. Thus Tolkien
gives so much attention to mountains (and to a lesser extent rivers), Martin goes no
further in detail than their objective type and location, and Hobb, uniquely, details every
type of landscape, suggesting that nature has an existence independent of the human
concerns portrayed in her series.
Symbols of human occupation can be analyzed both in respect to their occur-
rence and their details. For example, in respect to frequency, the map of Tolkien's Mid-
dle-Earth shows only a handful of cities, the capitals of important countries. The map of
Martin's Westeros, on the other hand, distinguishes a number of large cities, smaller
towns, and castles. And while Tolkien and Martin include a few roads on their maps,
Hobb does not show a single one, despite the importance of road-building in her series.
As to the details, Martin represents cities and fortresses schematically (dots for cities
and castles in the first volumes; dots for cities and diamonds for castles in the later ones),
where Tolkien and Hobb use the traditional dots for cities but a stylized towers to rep-
resent fortresses. In contrast to Martin, they stress the difference between peaceful living
places and places to make war. The fact that the symbols of fortresses are bigger and
more detailed indicates than unlike cities, fortresses are not to be taken for granted. They
will be the stage of some exceptional action. On Martin's maps, castles are only one
more form of human occupation, needing no different visual marker. However, the later
maps in A Song of Ice and Fire include an element that is absent from Hobb's and Tol-
kien's maps: cities and castles that are still in use are black, ruined cities and castles are
white. The impact of wars and time is thus directly represented on the map. Lastly, it
must be noted that Martin and Hobb record some man-made boundaries: frontier posts
for Hobb, and the wall separating Westeros from the North for Martin, while the sole
borders on the map of Middle-Earth are natural features such as mountain ranges.
 A more detailed map of Gondor,
Mordor, and Rohan included
with The Return of the King

The simple shape, presence,

or absence of symbols on a map is
thus enough to paint a different pic-
ture of the imaginary space. But maps
present other aspects, such as the
ability to present the reader with the
languages (and indirectly cultures) of the imagined world in a non-narrative form. It is
well-known that Tolkien took great pains to ensure that the names of his world would
seem to spring from actual languages. When those nouns appear on a map, an additional
effect is created: all the different languages Tolkien invented are found side by side on
the same page, and the sound of the names themselves build the picture of a world that
emerged from many cultural layers. The names on the map of A Song of Ice and Fire
blend nature with civilization and war, as natural features do not always have names,
but castles are frequently given names drawn from nature: Riverrun, The Eyries, High-
garden, Winterfell. As for Hobb, she used some names of towns that actually exist in
the USA, such as Bitter Springs or Lost Springs, or Gettys (probably an allusion to Get-
tysburg; Gettys is the stage of the critical confrontation between the Gernian empire and
the Specks). Those names can be seen in the eastern part of the map, reinforcing its
status as a frontier.
Finally, maps exist as aesthetic objects. Their aim is not to be functionally pre-
cise (they usually don't indicate distances or scale), but to present the world of the novel
as a coherent object in itself, with an aesthetic value. The nouns are written using cal-
ligraphy, and the maps are framed with a more or less elaborate border. The frame en-
sures that instead of appearing to depict a part of a larger world (which these three maps
ultimately do), they represent a closed object, a geographical whole, which even has a
name (Middle-Earth) for Tolkien. This whole can be problematic in different ways. The
name Middle-Earth actually links Tolkien's world to Norse mythology, where the world
of humans was referred to as Midgard, the exact Norse equivalent of Middle-Earth; thus
the reader is made to understand that Middle-Earth is the mythical definition of the
known world and its immediate surroundings for its inhabitants, not the name of the
world at large. It should be remarked that the map of Middle-Earth as a whole is the
only one in The Lord of the Rings that has no border, decorative or otherwise, implying
that there are more lands that the readers need not be immediately aware of. In Hobb's
series, however, there is only one map, neatly bounded by a decorative frame. This map
includes the Gernian empire, its frontier, its immediate neighbors, and Varnia. But a
crucial part of the world is excluded: the lands beyond the mountains where the Specks
have their wintering place. A large part of the third volume of the series takes place
there, yet the map ends firmly before it, making the frame problematic. Finally, the maps
in A Song of Ice and Fire cut Westeros in two: one map represents the North and the
center, the second the center and the South. Other maps, in the later volumes, depict
lands selected in regard to their situation from Westeros "north of Westeros, east of
Westeros," but there are no self-contained maps of all the land, and each map is neatly
bounded, as if each small part of the world was irreconcilably separated from the others.
These maps are not complete either: an important part of the world, where the heir of
the former kings of Westeros is gathering an army, never appears on any map.

The Map and the Text

The map of the South from Martin's A Song of

Ice and Fire

The contrast between our three authors

and their use of maps can perhaps be summarized
best by considering the whole perspective of the
map itself. For example, George R. R. Martin
provides the most detached map of the three. The
North and the South, the primary sites of action,
are depicted equally. Map elements are different
in typeswhether as cities, fortresses, moun-
tains, and seasbut only the narrative reveals the
significance of particular places. This signifi-
cance is determined by their place in human his-
tory, its cycles of civilization and violence. These maps then show how this land was
marked by men. Natural landmarks are given names only insofar as they provide strate-
gic importance. Thus, bays and capes are named, as seaborne warfare will play an im-
portant part in the series; forests and rivers, that are either means of communication or
obstacles, are named as well; but mountains, for instance, very rarely have names, as the
people of Westeros seldom use them. And while extents of sea near the coast receive
names, the sea itself is uniformly filled with a stylized wave pattern which does no more
than act as a field for marine warfare. Instead of Tolkien's mysterious names, he chooses
names that will be immediately understood by the readers, names that explicitly tie hu-
mans to nature, invoking natural phenomena that affect man (Rainwood), anthropomor-
phism (the Broken Arm), or civilization (Highgarden). We get the picture of a human-
dominated world, where nature's function is to support civilization, and where civiliza-
tion essentially expresses itself through wars that irremediably divide space.
Tolkien's maps are similarly uncritical, as they mainly act to reference the nar-
rative, placed near the many appendices Tolkien included. But unlike Martin, Tolkien's
maps draw an intimate connection between the races and the nature of Middle Earth.
Languages and cultures mark the map and reveal the history of the land, and geographic
elements themselves play a fundamental part in this history. While the world map that
Tolkien includes at the end of each volume of The Lord of the Rings has mountainous
symbols the suggest proportionality to the territory of the mountains itself, there are
maps focused on smaller bits of territory at the beginning of these volumes that are ex-
plicitly topographicalthat is, the altitude of the land is represented by contour lines
that ascend up to mountain peaks. These maps are partial and only show where the jour-
ney proceeds in that part of the narrative, thus offering the reader a stage by stage refer-
ence of the heroes' journeys. The detail that Tolkien gives to nature and specifically
mountains on his maps, reveal the symbolic role that nature comes to play.
Our last map shows a more nuanced picture, and is not so clearly uncritical as
the other two we've considered. The main focus of The Soldier Son is colonization, and
how it affects the relationships between civilizations and the natural space they inhabit.
At first glance, this map appears to be much less anthropocentric than Martin's and even
Tolkien's. Natural diversity is represented on the map for its own sake, having no par-
ticular symbolic value within the narrative. But human landmarks are also diversified.
Forts are represented by detailed towers, while cities are a simple dot. The beginning of
the frontier is represented by border stones, stressing that borders are human inventions,
and there is a drawing of a ship on the sea for aesthetic more than practical purposes.
Yet only the landmarks of the Gernian empire are represented. The two colonized civi-
lizations, the plains nomads and the Specks, have their own landmarks (cities, towns,
and sacred places) but these don't appear on the map. The coast where the Specks spend
the winter is left out. It could not be assumed, however, that the author intended her map
to appear as if it had been made by the Gernians themselves; in that case, it would cer-
tainly have shown the roads, the building of which is a major issue in the war between
the Gernians and the Specks. It is as if Hobb intended the map to be a commentary on
her own novels. She re-established the natural landmarks that are consistently ignored
or destroyed by the Gernians, and she suppressed the road that was so important to them,
as if to give a less biased view than the one we get through the Gernian protagonist. At
the same time, she only included Gernian landmarks, and her map is cut by a neat frame
before we see the Speck lands, a choice that, incidentally, renders the map almost useless
for a large part of the story. The map hints at the limits of the Gernian point of view. It
subtly suggests that the colonizing empire is blind to the significance of events it does
not control.
Maps present two valuable dimensions to a work of fiction. We can look at maps
as simple representations of the imagined world's geography. Doing so, readers can use
the maps to enhance the literary illusion and escape further into this foreign world. But
viewing them as an extension of and commentary on the imagined world, maps provide
the reader with an additional level of interpretation. More often than not, this level of
interpretation reinforces thematic and metaphorical elements already present in the nar-
rative, whether as seen in Tolkien's character building mountains or the disinterested
strategic lay of Martin's war-torn world. But as we have seen with Hobb's The Soldier
Son, maps can also subtly undermine themes of the novel, giving expression to less ex-
plicit perspectives on the world.
Not all authors of fantasy choose to include maps with their novels. In fact, the
custom of adding a map only became widespread after many authors followed Tolkien's
example (even if Tolkien was not the first to draw a map to an imaginary world; More
drew a map of Utopia, among others). Before Tolkien consistent fantasy worlds had
been invented, for instance Lovecraft's Dreamland. But the Dreamland does not need a
map. It is a mythical, fluctuating space, alternatively depicted as a parallel universe and
a past time according to a complex pattern, and consequently, it cannot be established
as a land with a definite and meaningful geography. The fact that there is no map, either
of the Dreamland or of the Earth of Lovecraft's imagining, reinforces this fluidity be-
tween the two worlds. In another example, Samuel Delany wrote his fantasy se-
ries Nevronbetween 1979 and 1987, at a time where the codes of high fantasy were
becoming formalized, including the customary maps. Delany's invented land seems to
have a very precise geography, and reads as if indeed the author had used a map to write
it. But if such a map ever existed, it is never included. Delany writes from an explicitly
deconstructive perspective, and thus he may see maps as artificial devices that only hide
the fact that an invented world is just a sign, not a reality. By choosing not to give the
readers a map, he tells them to look for the meaning his story has in the real world, rather
than by itself. Literary fiction as a genre tends to elide maps, perhaps for this very reason.
Besides, it seems unnecessary to include a map that could easily be found in the reader's
atlas. The genres of speculative fiction and their invented worlds presents an all together
different picture. As readers we must be careful not to let these maps become mere aids
to the geography of the story, but instead approach them as extensions of the story that
provide valuable new dimensions to the text.

Bibliography
Bord, Jean Paul and Pierre Robert Baduel, Les cartes de la connaissance [The
Maps of Knowledge], Paris: Karthala, 2004.
Jourde, Pierre, Gographies imaginaires de quelques inventeurs de mondes au
XXe sicle [Imaginary Geographies from 20th Century World-Builders], Paris: Jos
Corti, 1991.
Copyright 2010 Ccile Cristofari

Ccile Cristofari is currently writing a PhD dissertation on imaginary worlds in

speculative fiction. She teaches English and music for a living, and writes fantasy stories
in her few spare hours. She lives and works in Aix en Provence, France. You can follow
Ccile on LiveJournal.