The Islanders (2 page)
To someone like me, who has not visited the Torquils or the Torquis and never will, there does not seem to be much that distinguishes one group from the other. They even appear to be in the same general area, or at least have similar coordinates. I suppose many people will assume they are one and the same.
I was willing to make a similar assumption until to my astonishment I discovered there was yet another group of islands, these called the Tor
quins
, which might of course be a further mis-spelling.
My reference books are more or less in agreement that there are one hundred and fifteen named islands in the Torquins, seventy-two named and twenty-three unnamed islands in the Torquils, and fifty-eight identified islands in the Torquis. However, in those allegedly separate island groups there are at least five islands in each with the same name, some of those have minor variations in spelling and a few appear to have been recently renamed in an attempt to capitalize on the presumed fortunes of somewhere else.
Some of the ones with the same or similar names have longitude and latitude references which are identical, or almost so, which would appear to be objective evidence that they are one and the same, until we discover that the Torquins and the Torquis, at least, are on opposite sides of the world, and that the Torquis and the Torquins are emphatically located in the northern hemisphere while the Torquils are just as firmly positioned in the south.
If the reader is at this point feeling muddled or mystified, let me reassure him or her that I am in the same state. I also suspect that many of these so-called experts who have written reference books have been just as bewildered by it all, and over the years have passed down their imbroglio for someone else to sort out.
The gazetteer does make an honourable effort to clarify this sort of problem, although as far as I am concerned it is a mystery on which I wish to spend no more time.
So I gladly join the general consensus of scholars and admit or declare that the Dream Archipelago contains a great many islands, and leave it at that.
But where exactly are they and how do they lie in relation to each other?
There are no maps or charts of the Dream Archipelago. At least there are no reliable ones, or comprehensive ones, or even whole ones.
There are thousands of charts which have been drawn up locally, mainly to enable navigation for fishing vessels and the inter-island ferries, but most of these are crudely drawn and graphically incomplete. They concentrate on depths of channels, hidden rocks and guyots, tidal passages, reefs, safe havens, coves, lighthouses, sandbanks, and so on. They show locally known prevailing winds. All this is plainly vernacular in origin, based on the seagoing experiences of local men and women, which is as it should be but is of absolutely no use to a global consideration of the whole Archipelago.
The problems of mapping the Dream Archipelago are well understood. High-altitude aerial cartography is more or less impossible because of the distortion caused by the temporal gradients. These gradients, impossible for me to explain here (there is an attempt later in the book), exist in every part of the world except at the magnetic poles. Even within a few degrees of those poles, which of course are in frozen land areas, the variations in what can be observed or photographed make reliable charting inconsistent and therefore unfeasible.
The only solution would be for mapping to be conducted on a scientific or consistent basis, concentrating on small or local areas, drawn at ground level or from an extremely low altitude, then combined by some central authority so as to produce a comprehensive worldwide map. Until comparatively recently no attempt on this mammoth task has been made. You will read about the modern efforts in this gazetteer. Maybe they will enlighten you, as they have enlightened me, although not by much.
The present-day cartographers use low-level aerial photography of the highest visual quality, but again because of the gravitational anomalies it has proved impossible to send out these pilotless aeroplanes in any planned or consistent way. The results are haphazard and random and it will be many years before anything approaching a definitive atlas of our world is produced. Until then the picture remains unclear and everyone continues to meander around in a way that is typical of islanders.
The dream-state of the Archipelago, which is what we islanders most respond to, and least wish to see changed, seems likely to continue without interference for a long time to come.
We are not at war because we have no disputes. We do not spy on each other because we are trusting and incurious. We travel short distances because we can see other islands around where we live and our ambitions are satisfied by going there. We rarely travel long distances for the same general reason. We invent gadgets and leisure activities and pastimes without purpose, because that is what we like to do. We paint and draw and sculpt, we write adventurous and fantastic literature, we speak in metaphors and we designate symbols, we act out the plays of our forefathers. We brag about our past glories and we hope for a better life ahead. We love conversation and sitting around, good food and passionate affairs, standing on beaches, swimming in the warm seas, drinking ourselves into contentment, sitting under the stars. We start making things then forget to finish them. We are articulate and talkative, but we only quarrel for the excitement of it. We are guilty of self-indulgence, irrational behaviour, illogical arguments, sometimes indolence, a musing state of mind.
Our palette of emotional colours is the islands themselves and the mysterious sea channels that churn between them. We relish our sea breezes, our regular monsoons, the banks of piling clouds that dramatize the seascapes, the sudden squalls, the colour of the light reflecting from the dazzling sea, the lazy heat, the currents and the tides and the unexplained gales, and on the whole prefer not to know whence they have come, nor whither they are destined.
As for this book, I declare that it will do no harm.
It is in fact to be commended. It is a typical island enterprise: it is incomplete, a bit muddled and it wants to be liked. The unidentified writer or writers of these brief sketches have an agenda which is not mine, but I do not object to it.
I did not write this book, although there have already been rumours that I did. This is the moment to aver that there is no truth in the rumours. I am in fact sceptical of the whole enterprise while liking it a great deal.
The book is arranged in alphabetical order and it is intended that it should be read in that order. However, as most people are supposedly expected to use it as a work of reference, or as a travel guide, then the order in which the articles have been placed is completely irrelevant. I do maintain, though, that few will be able to ‘use’ this book in the way it is presumably intended, so the alphabet is as good a basis as any from which to start.
One of the reasons for its lack of usefulness is something the reader should be warned about. Not every entry here is strictly factual. I found it surprising that in some cases the islands are described not by their physical characteristics, but by narratives concerning events that took place on them or people who did something while there. There is always a lot to be said for indirect truth, for metaphors, but if you are looking up a hotel in which you might wish to reserve a room, you probably do not want to read instead a biography of the proprietor. There is altogether too much of this kind of thing, but it is for some reason the chosen method of these gazetteers. I find it rather charming, but as a non-traveller I am always much more interested in the lives of hotel proprietors than I am in the rooms they have for rent.
Finally, it seems to me innocuous and even attractive to be urging travel to so many places at once, but it is in fact pointless when so few readers will act on the recommendation.
Any direction or travel plan within the Dream Archipelago more ambitious than being ferried across to the next island is usually a matter of guesswork or hazard. Because of the mapping problem, if you seek to land on any of the islands recommended by this gazetteer you will almost invariably turn up somewhere else. Furthermore, should you attempt to return whence you came, your difficulties will multiply.
Our history has largely been created by adventurers and entrepreneurs who arrived somewhere other than on the island they sought. The ones who landed where they intended frequently found that matters were not as they expected. Our history is full of people going, becoming confused, and then coming back or wandering off somewhere else.
Even so, finding any of these attractive places by chance, as that is the only way to appreciate them fully, will be a reward in itself, so it is my view that the foreknowledge these gazetteers are so keen to impart will always be irrelevant.
Prepare yourself by all means for the no doubt maddening and illogical local currency, be warned of the sometimes inexplicable local laws, know in advance the best spot from which to observe a cathedral, a mountain, or a group of mendicant artists, discover the patois name for the forest through which you plan to dawdle, brush up your knowledge of ancient arguments and abandoned diggings and installations of art, because you must be ready for anything that might occur.
None of it is real, though, because reality lies in a different, more evanescent realm. These are only the names of some of the places in the archipelago of dreams. The true reality is the one you perceive around you, or that which you are fortunate enough to imagine for yourself.
Chaster Kammeston
A Gazetteer of Islands
Aay
ISLAND OF WINDS
A
AY
is the largest of an arc of volcanic islands formed by the undersea Great Southern Ridge, close to the point where it crosses the Equator. It is known throughout the Dream Archipelago by the patois version of its name, I
SLAND
OF
W
INDS
.
It lies a few degrees north of the Equator, at the furthest extremity of the arc. Aay’s interior is dominated by three volcanic peaks, all presently dormant, as well as a series of lower foothills. The soil is extremely fertile. The island is heavily forested and there are still areas of the interior on the southern and western sides which are as yet unexplored. Two main rivers flow from the uplands towards the east, the Aayre and the Pleuve, which irrigate the coastal plain on that side of the island. A wide variety of crops and livestock are farmed. The principal town on the island is called Aay Port, and is in a sheltered position on the eastern side. Because of the island’s great beauty and attractive physical features, tourists visit Aay all year round – to the west and south Aay has a vast shallow lagoon enclosed by reefs, and on the northern side, open to the sea, several of the beaches receive high surf. The tropical climate is pleasantly moderated by trade winds.
For all its tourist attractions, Aay is properly renowned as the location of the A
CADEMY OF THE
F
OUR
W
INDS
, which was set up two and a half centuries ago by the artist-philosopher E
SPHOVEN
M
UY
.
As a young woman, Muy was an enthusiastic traveller. She moved extensively around the Archipelago, sailing in small boats between many of the islands which lie between the horse latitudes and the doldrums, sketching and photographing what she saw and keeping a detailed journal. Her motives at first were wholly recreational or artistic, but as she travelled more she began making connections that were part inspirational, part delineative and interpretative, part social or anthropological, part mythological. For a while she made recordings of folk narratives and songs, and she kept detailed notes about the various different island patois in use.
