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Many stories portray the effects of war and empire expansion from the perspective of a conquered nation. The Last Mapmaker represents a significant departure from this approach, for the novel portrays the effects of imperialism through the naïve eyes of Sai, a citizen of the conquering empire. This point of view places emphasis on the ruling power’s actions and intentions, a characteristic which distinguishes imperialism from colonialism. In An Lung, Sai experiences the hard truth that the costs of war affect even the conquering nation. When she joins an expedition charged with discovering new lands, she learns that the costs of war are far greater than she ever realized. Through Sai’s shifting perspective as she uncovers the truth behind the Queen’s propaganda, The Last Mapmaker exposes the imperialist implications of exploration and discovery.
During the journey, Sai soon learns that knowledge and glory are not the real objects of the voyage. Instead, the expedition focuses upon exploration and discovery as a means to increase the empire’s interests, thereby expanding its profit and power. Sai connects ideas of dominion and profit early in the book when she notes, “One result of winning a war meant that all the conquered places got new names, which was a pretty good deal for someone in the mapmaking business” (13). Her ties to one of the business that benefits, the mapmaking industry, initially makes it difficult for her to see the other side of the equation: the suffering of the conquered peoples.
When Paiyoon’s guilt forces Sai to confront the role of mapmaking role in enabling imperialist exploitation, she attempts to rationalize this effect by telling Paiyoon, “Those maps are your life’s work. They’ve saved lives. Without them, ships would have been dashed to pieces on rocky shores or missed their targets entirely. You should be proud of yourself!” (233). By the story’s resolution, however, Sai accepts that she must choose to either support or oppose her country’s exploitative practices, and she boldly opts to oppose them by choosing names for the Sunderlands that will deter those seeking profit and power.
Ethnocentrism, which is defined as a belief in the superiority of one’s own culture, ethnicity, or nationality, plays a central role in shaping Mangkon’s imperialist ideas about discovery. Paiyoon tells Sai that other people have likely crossed the 50th parallel already but adds, “Of course it doesn’t ‘count’ unless you hoist a Mangkon flag over your head when you do it” (112). His point is that claiming discovery of something which has long been known to other cultures reveals an inherent narcissism in Mangkon’s approach to exploration. Although he is lauded for making maps of places that he has supposedly “discovered,” Paiyoon emphasizes that “every place he ever went had already been discovered by someone else” (327). Such insight is lost on Mr. Larking, who tells Sai, “Yesterday I caught a new species of tuna, […] I believe I’ll name it after myself” (144). Witnessing Mr. Lark’s arrogance helps Sai to recognize that ethnocentrism makes people claim ownership of the things they find, and she realizes that such a practice makes them little better than thieves. The shrine that she and Bo erect in the Sunderlands to honor and thank the local spirits demonstrates her efforts to eschew the tenets of ethnocentrism.
In accordance with this shift in perspective, Sai is confronted with many of the harmful effects of imperialistic exploitation during her journey. As Paiyoon tells Sai, “A growing kingdom needs lumber, materials, food. Why pay for it when you can claim it and call it your own?” (2002). He further describes how Mangkon exploits the lands it conquers when he says, “Look at Fahlin. They surrendered, and we still took everything they had, down to the stumps” (200). His statements move Sai to question how societies like Fahlin’s can survive, even after the war has ended, given that the conquering nation is stealing most of their resources. In a moment of vulnerability, Paiyoon expresses deep grief for such exploitation, and for the role his work has played in it, lamenting that his detailed maps have allowed his fellow citizens to overrun and destroy so many places over the years. His view of his own country is hardly a complimentary one, for he refers to Mangkon itself as “a bloated beast, devouring all her neighbors” (231), and he hates the fact that his country uses his maps to do so. By allowing the character to deliver such a damning diatribe, the author sheds symbolism and subtext entirely, opting instead to insert a straightforward critique of colonialism.
Within this context, the whaling industry provides a stark example of the profit-driven violence and destruction that accompanies imperialist expansion. Witnessing the captivity of a baby whale and the hunting of its pod evokes a powerful emotional response in Sai, for she finds herself wishing that the whalers’ boat would capsize and send them all to the bottom of the sea. This scene truly drives the horror of imperialism home to Sai. Her interactions with selfish people such as Mr. Lark also enlighten her about the various ways that people rationalize such practices, for he claims that harming innocent creatures is against his nature, and is surprised by Paiyoon’s derisive response: “Are you a child? What did you think this trip was about, you fool?” (227). Thus, Paiyoon makes it clear that the purpose of the trip was apparent, but Mr. Lark simply chose not to see it. Similarly, Sai views the Slake’s determination to guard its nest in the Sunderlands as a symbol of all the victims of imperialist exploitation and destruction. She can envision clearly how people would kill the Slake to sell its parts, not caring about its dignity and right to life, and not even caring that it might be the last living dragon. As Sai observes, “They would mount her head in the Queen’s new museum. What a prize she would be: the Slake of the Sunderlands” (332). The compelling imagery in this description adds to its pathos and embodies the imperialist implications of exploration and discovery in a tangible example.
One of the central conflicts in The Last Mapmaker is between Sai and her society, where a person’s social class and value are determined by their ancestry. Many societies are shaped by the idea that hard work and determination should enable people to improve their social and economic circumstances. Even then, practical and institutionalized barriers often limit social mobility. Sai’s situation demonstrates the dynamics of this reality. Without a lineal, an affordable education, or a job that she can acquire honestly, Sai’s only option is to “go back to the Harbor Market and deliver shrimp for the rest of [her] life” (26). While Sai’s initial goal is to rise above her social class by obtaining a lineal, her choice to change society by rejecting lineals as a measure of her worth reflects the author’s larger message. Ultimately, the novel implies that running from the past is not an effective way to change it; however, a person is only defined by their current actions and future goals.
This message is developed most notably through symbolism. Both the lineals and the ouroboros symbolize a different aspects of Mangkon’s class system. The dragon and its accompanying motto, The Tail is the Teeth, represent the ideology of a class system that is based on ancestry, implying that all citizens are “living links” (21) to their pasts. This reverence for ancestors and focus on the cyclical nature of life are rooted in the author’s own Thai background, many aspects of which inspire the setting of The Last Mapmaker. The application of this ideology to create rigid social and economic class systems, however, takes autonomy away from individuals, a reality that Sai rails against.
As outward displays of status, lineals grant their possessors access to many opportunities that those without lineals will never know. The Lineal of Honor, which the only type of lineal that an individual from an unremarkable family can earn, symbolizes a key to social mobility. As Rian says of her own Lineal of Honor, “Apparently, Her Majesty decided that nearly getting killed in battle is worth the same as five generations of good breeding” (98). This cynical comment hints at the element of hypocrisy lurking beneath Mangkon’s class structure. It also indicates to Sai that Rian came from a background similar to her own and found a way to rise above it. Seeing Rian as a role model sets up a conflict that Sai must eventually face—a choice between pursuing social mobility and maintaining her integrity.
A telling example of the costs of Mangkon’s class system comes from Captain Sangra. Though she loves Bo and his father, she knows that her royal family would never accept her marriage to someone from a lower class. Her realization that love is more important and her decision to reunite with her son push Sai to reevaluate her own priorities. Another push comes from Bo, who says, “I can’t see why any of you put up with all the lineal stuff. No one’s going to tell me I’m worth less than some other kid just because they wear a stupid metal bracelet” (196). Until this moment, Sai never considers rejecting the authority of lineals as a possibility. Bo’s comment succinctly summarizes and simplifies an otherwise complex issue, making change seem attainable. In the end, Sai realizes that she can achieve social mobility without denying her past, her family, or her identity.
The Last Mapmaker depicts the complexity of concepts such as truth and deception by illustrating how powerfully both ideas are influenced by the limitations of human perception. Throughout her journey, Sai learns that although lies can be useful and may even seem like a necessary tool to overcome unfair limitations, these same lies can also backfire disastrously, creating new obstacles for the person they were meant to protect. Most importantly, she finds that deceiving others often breeds self-deception, and this dynamic is demonstrated when her view of Rian changes only after she recognizes the truth beneath Rian’s façade. This shift parallels Sai’s internal confrontation of her own lies. Ultimately, Sai’s journey leads her to confront and ultimately reject self-deception as she gains a new understanding of her identity and values within the larger context of her imperialistic culture.
Sai invests a great deal of time and energy in projecting a false persona. When the rules of her society’s class structure are revealed, her choice to deceive initially appears to be a logical choice, especially given her own father’s tendencies toward deceptions of one kind or another. At the beginning, she only lies to protect herself, for if she admits to Mud how much money she makes, he will steal her money and waste it on drinking and gambling, and if she tells him where she works, he’ll rob her employer.
While most of the lies that Sai tells seem harmless enough, such deceptions often have unexpected consequences later in the story. For example, she realizes that a pretense of snobbery makes an effective disguise when hiding her low-class background, so she makes good use of it. However, this tactic backfires when only the low-class crew members remain on board and decide she’s an upper-class liability that they need to eliminate. Similarly, Sai rationalizes the deceptions she feels guilty about, as when she steals Paiyoon’s documents in order to look for evidence of the Sunderlands in secret. She tells herself, “even though I was making my chart behind his back, it was for a good reason, and I would be coming clean very soon” (201). This rationalization is a form of self-deception. Similarly, Sai practices self-deception when she begins to see Rian’s true colors, for she says, “I almost would have said that she no longer treated me as an equal, but I didn’t like to admit that our friendship had changed” (260-61). In her final confrontation with Rian, Sai doesn’t need Paiyoon’s eyeglass to recognize the truth. Her instinct and conscience, which the eyeglass symbolizes, are no longer impaired by self-deception.
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