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| RAF No. 5, 2012 |
If I consult a map at all, I am usually drawn to the blank spaces – the bits deemed unnecessary, or undesirable, to plot. These are often alluded to; perimeters may be drawn in, or arrows may point off the edge of the map. Blank spaces on a map can mean a number of things.* Firstly, an absence of knowledge; that the map-maker did not know what was there. This is different however, from the unknowable, that was once marked on early maps in the form of dragons, sea-serpents, mermaids, etc. - these signified some unearthly region that was abysmally terrifying and unmappable. Secondly, the cartographer might have very-well known what was there, but either considered it too unimportant to bother noting, or conversely, too crucial a piece of information to share publicly – military bases, sensitive scientific facilities, etc. Thirdly, the blank may imply that which the cartographer desired to not be present in the first place; perhaps by leaving out that which spoils the view, one might encourage others not to see it either. A kind of wish-fulfillment; by wishing places out of existence, the map can be seen here as an ideological fantasy space - just as early colonialists wished for an empty map of blank territories that could be filled out in the name of the empire.
Maps are as much about omitting information as they are about rendering detail. In the name of legibility, unnecessary information is often left out in order that the reader understands exactly where/what they are being directed to go/do. In fact, most forms of realism are rested upon the omission of detail - this is why, in the interests of the smooth flow of the narrative, many characters from film and television never lock their cars, nor need to go to the toilet. Off-screen actions and non-diegetic elements are often crucial to the realism of narrative cinema.
Like cinema, maps also provide narrative spaces that are partial. A map’s function is not to depict every aspect of reality, rather it must omit enough information to make reality bearable. Some un-mapped zones then, must remain off-the-map, if they are to keep the rest of the illusory landscape functioning as a coherent whole – if we are to be able to point and say “we are here”.
* Turchi, Peter. ‘A Wide Landscape of Snows’. Maps of the Imagination: The Writer as Cartographer (Texas: Trinity University Press, 2004). pp. 27-71.