He’d invested tremendous capital in a single-handed attempt to resurrect a small, central Maine town called Sebec, buying and operating a post office as well as shops and restaurants. Smiley was also financially hobbled by his pet project. Serious money troubles beset Smiley in the 1990s when map dealing became more competitive (rare things hanging on living room walls bestow prestige, but there’s only so much art to go around). His reputation wasn’t sterling - Smiley often overextended himself, bouncing checks for acquisitions - but he was a legitimate dealer to several important collectors. As Blanding writes, “The map community is a small one, with maybe a few dozen serious dealers in the United States and fewer than a hundred worldwide.”īy the late 1980s Smiley, a New Hampshire native and Hampshire College graduate, was a well-known presence in that handshake world. Smiley, a “gregarious, jolly, larger-than-life,” self-taught expert on the maps of early America, spent decades building his career and reputation. The book also delivers glimpses into the history of American political and ideological formation - Colonial-era maps, which Smiley specialized in, were as much as anything projections of imperial optimism and aggression, and the “The Map Thief” abounds with mini-histories told through specific maps. The book offers a brisk, engaging introduction to the slippery world of rare maps and map stewardship.
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