The Kingdom of Wisdom, the Isle of Knowledge, and other whimsical geographic representations of the human condition
I love maps.
There's something about cartography that lends itself to visualizing
much more than land and geography. I've previously looked at how the London tube map
was appropriated as a visual metaphor for everything from The Milky Way
to the Kabbalah, and today we turn to seven cartographic
interpretations of the human condition, using the visual vocabulary of
classical maps to interpret various facets of the human psyche--a genre
that came of age during the late Renaissance, when it became known as
The Kingdom of Wisdom
In 1961, Norton Juster wrote The Phantom Tollbooth, a timeless children's classic and one of our essential children's books
with philosophy for grown-ups. It tells the story of a bored little boy
named Milo who one day receives a magic tollbooth that transports him
to a fantasy land called The Kingdom of Wisdom.
Though at first he gets lost in the Doldrums, a grey place where
thinking and laughing are not allowed, he goes on to incredible
adventures before returning to his own room as magically as he had left
This map by mid-century American cartoonist Jules Feiffer, who illustrated the book, depicts the marvelous land that Milo finds himself in as he follows his own curiosity.
Isle of Knowledge
Last week, delicious new work by designer Marian Bantjes (whose latest book, I Wonder, is among the most ambitious and beautiful visual communication volumes ever published) made the rounds--and for good reason: Isle of Knowledge
is a beautifully illustrated map of "the 'known' beyond which lie
monsters," created for the second installment in Bantjes's column for U.K.
illustration magazine Varoom on the theme of "Knowledge."
English artist Grayson Perry's 2004 Map of an Englishman
portrays his mind in a mock-Tudor etch of an imaginary island,
surrounded by the "seas" of his perceived psychological flaws--desires,
vanities, prejudices, fears. The island itself is vaguely brain-shaped,
turning the map into a kind of cartographic phrenology of the self.
Image courtesy of Grayson Perry and The Paragon Press via BBC
Carte de Tendre
Carte de Tendre
(Map of Tenderness) is a 17th-century French map by the writer
Madeleine de Scudéry depicting the peaks and valleys of amorous pursuit,
from the River of Inclination to Lake of Indifference to the Great
Spirit. With its undetermined itinerary that offers you multiple routes
to Tenderness, it's part map, part choose-your-own-adventure narrative
The Empire of Love
We first featured this extraordinary antique German map of Das Reich der Liebe
(The Empire of Love) more than three years ago, and it remains an
absolute favorite. Created by Johann Gottlob Immanuel Breitkopf in 1777,
it's a pinnacle of sentimental cartography, as detailed and obsessive
as love itself.
If you don't sprechen Sie Deutch, here's the gist:
DER JUGEND = Land of Youth (Forest of Love, Kiss Field, Flirting Game,
Charm Castle, Stream of Wishes, Worry-Free, Joy's Home, Beautiful House,
Source of Joy, Sweet Look, Wisecrack Place, Rich River, Warning Castle)
GABIET DER RUHE = Land of Rest (Nightcap, Grandfather City, Equanimity, Manly Place)
DER TRAURENDEN LIEBE = Land of Mourning Love (Anger's Home, Flood of
Tears, Whim Mountain, Complaint Place, Hopeless Mountains, Loathing,
Strict Place, Swamp of Profanity, Desert of Melancholy)
GABIET DER LUSTE = Land of Lust (Illness Valley, Weak Home, Intoxication Field, Lechery, Hospital)
GABIET DER GLUCKLICHEN LIEBE = Land of Happy Love (Lust Wood, Answered
Prayers, Pleasant View, Enjoyment, Tenderness, Good Times, Affection
Farm, Satisfaction, Compliance Mountain, Fountain of Joy, Marriage
Harbor, Reward City, Peace of Mind, Bliss Town)
GABIET DER HAGESTOLZE
= Bachelor Country (Stupidity Town, Rejection Place, Irritation,
Indifference, Place of Contempt, Reprehensibility, Old Age Mountains,
Separation, Hat, Obstinacy, Wrangler Hall, Exasperation Heath, Hamlet of
Death, Sea of Doubt)
GABIET DER FIXEN IDEEN = Land of Obsessions
(Place of Sighs, Desire Town, Unrest, City of Dreams, Bridge of Hope,
Disloyalty, Sweet River of Tears, Little Town of Instincts)
With the candidate flailing in the polls, some on the right are wondering if a better version of the man wouldn’t be winning. But that kinder, gentler Trump would’ve lost in the primaries.
Last week, Peggy Noonan argued in the Wall Street Journal that an outsider like Donald Trump could’ve won handily this year, touting skepticism of free trade and immigration, if only he was more sane, or less erratic and prone to nasty insults:
Sane Donald Trump would have looked at a dubious, anxious and therefore standoffish Republican establishment and not insulted them, diminished them, done tweetstorms against them. Instead he would have said, “Come into my tent. It’s a new one, I admit, but it’s yuge and has gold faucets and there’s a place just for you. What do you need? That I be less excitable and dramatic? Done. That I not act, toward women, like a pig? Done, and I accept your critique. That I explain the moral and practical underpinnings of my stand on refugees from terror nations? I’d be happy to. My well-hidden secret is that I love everyone and hear the common rhythm of their beating hearts.” Sane Donald Trump would have given an anxious country more ease, not more anxiety. He would have demonstrated that he can govern himself. He would have suggested through his actions, while still being entertaining, funny and outsize, that yes, he understands the stakes and yes, since America is always claiming to be the leader of the world—We are No. 1!—a certain attendant gravity is required of one who’d be its leader.
A dustup between Megyn Kelly and Newt Gingrich shows why Donald Trump and the Republican Party are struggling to retain the support of women.
The 2016 presidential campaign kicked off in earnest with a clash between Megyn Kelly and Donald Trump over gender and conservatism at the first GOP debate, and now there’s another Kelly moment to bookend the race.
Newt Gingrich, a top Trump surrogate, was on Kelly’s Fox News show Tuesday night, jousting with her in a tense exchange stretching over nearly eight minutes. Things got off to a promising start when Gingrich declared that there were two “parallel universes”—one in which Trump is losing and one in which he is winning. (There is data, at least, to support the existence of the former universe.) After a skirmish over whether polls are accurate, Kelly suggested that Trump had been hurt by the video in which he boasts about sexually assaulting women and the nearly a dozen accusations lodged against him by women since. Gingrich was furious, embarking on a mansplaining riff in which he compared the press to Pravda and Izvestia for, in his view, overcovering the allegations.
A medical debate over the definition of death has led to some gruesome questions about exactly how far life can be stretched.
A few years ago, I was working in the intensive-care unit when an elderly male, pale as chalk, was rushed into one of the empty rooms. He had recently been admitted to the hospital with a brain aneurysm so large that it was threatening to burst. But before he could get surgery, his heart stopped. After almost an hour of CPR failed, the man’s surgeon went to the waiting room to tell his family he didn’t make it.
Fifteen minutes later, as I was managing a patient with a serious infection, a nurse came up to me and said that there was a problem: The dead man had a pulse. I went back to the man’s room and saw a clear, regular rhythm on the heart monitor. His wrist had a thready beat.
The man had experienced something extremely rare: auto-resuscitation, also referred to as the Lazarus effect. Sometimes patients spontaneously recover a pulse after all resuscitative efforts have failed. It’s hypothesized this occurs because of some residual medications floating around in their sera, which provide a final push to their hearts to start beating. Whatever the cause, these patients’ resurrected heartbeats almost always fade again soon.
Services like Tinder and Hinge are no longer shiny new toys, and some users are starting to find them more frustrating than fun.
“Apocalypse” seems like a bit much. I thought that last fall when Vanity Fair titled Nancy Jo Sales’s article on dating apps “Tinder and the Dawn of the ‘Dating Apocalypse’” and I thought it again this month when Hinge, another dating app, advertised its relaunch with a site called “thedatingapocalypse.com,” borrowing the phrase from Sales’s article, which apparently caused the company shame and was partially responsible for their effort to become, as they put it, a “relationship app.”
Despite the difficulties of modern dating, if there is an imminent apocalypse, I believe it will be spurred by something else. I don’t believe technology has distracted us from real human connection. I don’t believe hookup culture has infected our brains and turned us into soulless sex-hungry swipe monsters. And yet. It doesn’t do to pretend that dating in the app era hasn’t changed.
A century ago, widely circulated images and cartoons helped drive the debate about whether women should have the right to vote.
It seems almost farcical that the 2016 presidential campaign has become a referendum on misogyny at a moment when the United States is poised to elect its first woman president.
Not that this is surprising, exactly.
There’s a long tradition of politics clashing spectacularly with perceived gender norms around election time, and the stakes often seem highest when women are about to make history.
Today’s political dialogue—which often merely consists of opposing sides shouting over one another—echoes another contentious era in American politics, when women fought for the right to vote. Then and now, a mix of political tension and new-fangled publishing technology produced an environment ripe for creating and distributing political imagery. The meme-ification of women’s roles in society—in civic life and at home—has been central to an advocacy tradition that far precedes slogans like, “Life’s a bitch, don’t elect one,” or “A woman’s place is in the White House.”
Trump’s greatest gift to the GOP may be the distraction he’s provided from other party meltdowns.
Even though 2016 appears to be the year of painful, public disqualification from higher office, you may be forgiven for not noticing the extraordinary implosion of New Jersey Governor Chris Christie. After all, the Trump surrogate and White House Transition chair has benefitted from his early endorsement of the Republican presidential nominee in unusual fashion: Christie’s power in the Grand Ole Party has decreased, rather than increased. The likelihood of a plum position in the Trump administration—Attorney General, perhaps, since Christie was spurned as the Republican running mate—is decidedly dim, what with the presently apocalyptic predictions about November 8.
Instead, Trump’s gift to Christie has been shadow: the top Republican’s national meltdown has obscured that of the one-time rising Republican star and sitting New Jersey governor. But make no mistake—Christie’s is a fall of epic proportions, precipitated by an unfathomably petty revenge plot. The contrast of the two, the top-heavy-ness of the fallout compared to the insignificance of the initial transgression, would be comic, were it not so tragic. Remember that in November of 2012, Governor Christie had a 72 percent approval rating. Today, it stands at 21 percent.
Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump prepare for the final sprint to Election Day.
It’s Thursday, October 27—the election is now less than two weeks away. Hillary Clinton holds a lead against Donald Trump, according to RealClearPolitics’ polling average. We’ll bring you the latest updates from the trail as events unfold. Also see our continuing coverage:
A society that glorifies metrics leaves little room for human imperfections.
A century ago, a man named Frederick Winslow Taylor changed the way workers work. In his book The Principles of Scientific Management, Taylor made the case that companies needed to be pragmatic and methodical in their efforts to boost productivity. By observing employees’ performance and whittling down the time and effort involved in doing each task, he argued, management could ensure that their workers shoveled ore, inspected bicycle bearings, and did other sorts of “crude and elementary” work as efficiently as possible. “Soldiering”—a common term in the day for the manual laborer’s loafing—would no longer be possible under the rigors of the new system, Taylor wrote.
The principles of data-driven planning first laid out by Taylor—whom the management guru Peter Drucker once called the “Isaac Newton … of the science of work”—have transformed the modern workplace, as managers have followed his approach of assessing and adopting new processes that squeeze greater amounts of productive labor from their employees. And as the metrics have become more precise in their detail, their focus has shifted beyond the tasks themselves and onto the workers doing those tasks, evaluating a broad range of their qualities (including their personality traits) and tying corporate carrots and sticks—hires, promotions, terminations—to those ratings.
Biology textbooks tell us that lichens are alliances between two organisms—a fungus and an alga. They are wrong.
In 1995, if you had told Toby Spribille that he’d eventually overthrow a scientific idea that’s been the stuff of textbooks for 150 years, he would have laughed at you. Back then, his life seemed constrained to a very different path. He was raised in a Montana trailer park, and home-schooled by what he now describes as a “fundamentalist cult.” At a young age, he fell in love with science, but had no way of feeding that love. He longed to break away from his roots and get a proper education.
At 19, he got a job at a local forestry service. Within a few years, he had earned enough to leave home. His meager savings and non-existent grades meant that no American university would take him, so Spribille looked to Europe.
Ten years after Amy Winehouse’s breakthrough release, the singer’s powerfully self-critical point of view stands alone.
When Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black arrived in 2006, it was hailed for carving out a space in mainstream pop music for recreations of ’50s and ’60s soul. The past 10 years of Adele and Lana Del Rey, “Blurred Lines” and “Stay With Me,” Mark Ronson at the Super Bowl and Mark Ronson executive producing Lady Gaga’s latest album, testify to Winehouse’s influence—or at least testify to the fact that she presaged a shift in public tastes.
So it might be expected that a decade later, with the sound of Back to Black—the horns, the woodwinds, the wandering bass lines, the crackling analogue drum tones—once again familiar, the album might sound less vibrant than it once did. No, no, no. Back to Black remains a singular classic thanks less to the traditions it harkened back to than to Winehouse herself—her voice, yes, but also her crushingly honest point of view.