The story of an infamous crime, a revered map dealer with an unsavory secret, and the ruthless subculture that consumed him.

Maps have long exerted a special fascination on viewers—both as beautiful works of art and as practical tools to navigate the world. But to those who collect them, the map trade can be a cutthroat business, inhabited by quirky and sometimes disreputable characters in search of a finite number of extremely rare objects.

Once considered a respectable antiquarian map dealer, E. Forbes Smiley spent years doubling as a map thief —until he was finally arrested slipping maps out of books in the Yale University library. The Map Thief delves into the untold history of this fascinating high-stakes criminal and the inside story of the industry that consumed him.

Acclaimed reporter Michael Blanding has interviewed all the key players in this stranger-than-fiction story, and shares the fascinating histories of maps that charted the New World, and how they went from being practical instruments to quirky heirlooms to highly coveted objects. Though pieces of the map theft story have been written before, Blanding is the first reporter to explore the story in full—and had the rare privilege of having access to Smiley himself after he’d gone silent in the wake of his crimes. Moreover, although Smiley swears he has admitted to all of the maps he stole, libraries claim he stole hundreds more—and offer intriguing clues to prove it. Now, through a series of exclusive interviews with Smiley and other key individuals, Blanding teases out an astonishing tale of destruction and redemption.

The Map Thief interweaves Smiley’s escapades with the stories of the explorers and mapmakers he knew better than anyone. Tracking a series of thefts as brazen as the art heists in Provenance and a subculture as obsessive as the oenophiles in The Billionaire’s Vinegar, Blanding has pieced together an unforgettable story of high-stakes crime.

Restitutions of high-priced artworks have given the public the impression that items stolen from Jewish citizens during the National Socialist era were almost exclusively works of art and objects of great value. The opposite is the case: Most of the possessions seized were things used in everyday life, including furniture, or simple household goods. They ended up not only in public authorities or museums, but also in private households. How should museums deal with objects that were - allegedly - once in the possession of Jewish individuals and that are now often off ered to them by descendants of the individuals who subsequently acquired them? Are the stories that have been handed down in the family true? Can they be verified?Should museums accept such historically charged objects at all?