Most of the maps in the Atlas of Iowa, which came out last month from University of Iowa Press, are thematic maps: mainly graduated symbol maps and (to a lesser extent) choropleth maps, that show data at the county or (to a lesser extent) census district or precinct level. These are functional maps, means to an end rather than impressive examples of cartography in their own right. They do the job they were designed to do, which is to present the history, demographics and economics of America’s 29th state in cartographic form. And by and large they succeed: I’ve never so much as set foot in Iowa, but the Atlas of Iowa taught me a great deal about it.

For example, the importance of wind. The opening chapter on physical geography includes a map of the average annual wind speed, maps showing the growth in wind turbine installations, and maps of tornado tracks and derecho intensities. It’s one thing to know, vaguely, that Iowa is in the Great Plains tornado belt, something else to see the implications of wind of all kinds in map form. The second chapter looks at Iowa’s history, and from a cartographic perspective is the most interesting, including several historical maps and maps showing the shifting territorial and state boundaries.

If Iowa is associated with anything, it’s agriculture, especially corn; and yes, agriculture gets its chapter, showing the rise and fall of various products—the rise in corn, soybean and hogs, the decline in horses, sheep, oats and wheat. But the following chapter looks at the urban and industrial side of Iowa, and the shift away from agriculture to other sectors. Between the chapters on demographics and political, religious and social patterns, a portrait emerges of a state whose population is aging, urbanizing, less and less foreign-born (once the first wave of settlement passed)—at least insofar as a series of county-level graduated symbol maps can depict it.

In the end, the Atlas of Iowa is a case study in how an interesting story can emerge from fairly ordinary maps. That said, it does seem like this atlas relies a bit too much on symbol and choropleth maps to tell that story, especially past the first couple of chapters, when we get into the demographic and economic nitty-gritty. The quintiles used in the ancestry maps, which are census-district-level choropleths, vary so much from map to map (the top quintile for French ancestry tops out at 8.32 percent and for German at 62.9 percent) that comparison is impossible—could other thematic methods have done the trick? Could the cultural maps have benefited from a more pictorial approach? And the political section is surprisingly limited to voting patterns for presidential elections and the change in congressional district boundaries: no state-level politics or congressional voting patterns.

To be fair, I’m not the target audience for this book. Its choices need to make sense to Iowans, not necessarily me. And no doubt there were space and time constraints on this project: at roughly 200 pages this is not a big book. Wishing it had been even larger or more ambitious—taking up even more time and resources to produce—is not normally the most useful feedback. Being left wanting more is not always a bad thing.

I received an electronic review copy from the publisher.

Atlas of Iowa
by Robert C. Shepard, Patrick Bitterman, J. Clark Archer and Fred M. Shelley. University of Iowa Press, 30 Aug 2024. $40.
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