The Mapparium is a stained glass globe, some thirty feet in diameter. Designed by Chester Lindsay Churchill as part of his commission to design the new headquarters of the Christian Science Publishing Society, it lies in relative humbleness in Boston, MA, in the bowels of The Mary Baker Eddy Library for the Betterment of Humanity, where some ten million visitors have graced its presence since its construction in 1935.

Viewers walk through the globe, standing in its belly to look in all directions at the countries and colonies of the world as they were in 1934. The structure is inside out, a concave representation of our convex world. Stirring hues on the stained glass surface make a vivid demonstration of colonial legacies around the world, an enthralling view of how the game of thrones played out not eighty years ago. And in this glowing orb, anchored in time, we are reminded of the indelible link between emperor and cartographer.

I entered the Mapparium earlier this December with a firm grip on my belongings lest they make their way from the bridge to Antarctica ten feet below. As I began to walk through the vibrant, almost neon artifact, a multi-colored rendition of North America greeted me from the other end, the United States in shades of orange-yellow and Mexico in a deep green. The blue of the oceans set the dominant tone, allowing the reds and greens of the continents to shine forth in contrast. 

As I leaned over the bridge to peer at French Indochina, I recalled Heart of Darkness, in which Marlow stumbles upon a map at the headquarters of the Belgian Company, the enterprise that sends him on his journey up the Congo River. He describes his discovery as:

a large shining map, marked with all the colours of a rainbow. There was a vast amount of red—good to see at any time, because one knows that some real work is done in there, a deuce of a lot of blue, a little green, smears of orange, and, on the East Coast, a purple patch, to show where the jolly pioneers of progress drink the jolly lager-beer. However, I wasn't going into any of these. I was going into the yellow. Dead in the centre. 

In the glassed world of the Mapparium, the hues of the colonies match those of their metropoles. The French colonies in West Africa are, like France, bathed in green. India and the tiny island of Ceylon stand forth in the deep red of the British motherland. At the time of the Mapparium's construction, a lanky tour guide explained to our assembled group, nearly 85% of the world was under colonial rule. 

The tour, however, opted for platitudes of globalism, a “many countries, one world” mentality. The lights dimmed, and we were shown a presentation that, in its multilingual welcome, echoed the finest video greetings of commercial airlines. An eager voice expounded the progress of humanity, noting the prevalence of democracy today in contrast to its relative dearth in the antiquated globe. The voice was joined by others speaking for heralded dissidents of generations past. The video ended with a final non sequitur, the South Pacific lighting up to reveal a stirring Saturn V leaving for the moon beyond.

As I made my way to the exit, I turned around for one last marvel of the Mapparium. Across from me, the Philippines glistened in red. The country was an American possession at the time, not to earn its independence until after World War II, yet there it sat in Britain’s unmistakable red. I asked the guide for an explanation. He shrugged. “Perhaps Churchill wanted visitors to think the Philippines was a British endeavor,” he said with a smile.

Churchill intended for the globe to be continuously updated with the ebb and flow of the world's borders. The Mapparium, however, has stayed just as it was on its opening day. Its replaceable panels have been replaced not at all, too many changes to the contours of the world having occurred, too many fluctuations to keep up with. At many points since its inauguration, the overseeing committee of the Mapparium has pondered the laborious task of updating the globe, wondering whether to let India spring forth in colorful independence, or let Italian Somaliland wink back into history. The committee continued to put off the decision—“as committees are wont to do,” the guide explained—until the 1960s, when the Mapparium took its obsolescence as a map to be its uniqueness as an artifact. Thus the visitor passes through, beyond the Mapparium’s hermetic absence from time and space, and onto their next destination.

Rahul Malik