Aku-Aku by Thor Heyerdahl

Chasing secrets on Easter Island

Thor Heyerdahl was an explorer who achieved worldwide fame in the 1950s and ‘60s—not quite as famous as Jacques Cousteau, perhaps, but close. The Norwegian adventurer and experimental archaeologist is best-known for riding a raft across the Pacific Ocean from Peru to French Polynesia, a journey he recounted in his book and Oscar-winning documentary film, both entitled Kon-Tiki. His follow-up to this much-celebrated achievement was an expedition to Easter Island in 1955 and 1956, which is recounted in his book Aku-Aku, published in 1957.

Easter Island, or Rapa Nui, is known for its giant stone heads carved out of lava rock. At the time of Heyerdahl’s trip, little was known about who made them, how they were made, and how the incredibly heavy rocks were transported to and erected at their various locations around the island. The thesis that Heyerdahl spent his life trying to prove is that Polynesian islanders are of American origin, essentially descendants of seafaring Inca or other Indigenous Peruvians. On Easter Island, he looked for evidence to support that theory and did find some correspondence between the artworks of Easter Island and those of the Inca. Heyerdahl was not an academic scientist, which opens him up to criticism by those with PhDs who regard him as merely an adventurer and pseudoscientst, so on this expedition he invited three professional archaeologists along on this expedition.

What amazed me the most about this book was learning that when Heyerdahl’s team arrived on Easter Island, all of the famed statues had been toppled face down in the dirt. This happened during a civil war on the island a couple centuries earlier. Heyerdahl, with the help of Indigenous workers, used traditional non-mechanical techniques to raise one of the statues upright. This was the first of such modern re-raisings. When you see photographs of a dozen monolithic heads lined up along the coast of Easter Island, all of those were raised after Heyerdahl, most of them not until the 1990s, when major restoration efforts were undertaken to encourage tourism. Heyerdahl was really the spark that set that flame of tourism alight, for better or for worse. On the one hand he brought attention to the cultural heritage of Rapa Nui; on the other hand his tactics trained the Natives to exploit that heritage for commerce.

While the giant stone heads, or moai, are quite fascinating, most of the book is not about that. It’s about Heyerdahl trying to convince the islanders to grant him access to their secret caves or hand over to him the artifacts that are contained therein. Heyerdahl’s methods of persuasion were not entirely ethical by today’s standards, nor is what ultimately happened to the artifacts (I think he just took them away on his boat). He starts out by bartering cloth and knives for small statues. He then moves up to chicanery in the form of exploiting the Natives’ superstitions to his advantage. Not only is this disturbing, it’s also rather boring. Long chapters go by in which Heyerdahl is just conning his way into these families’ caves, then not much is really said about the artifacts themselves and what they reveal about the island’s cultural history.

Heyerdahl’s theories on the Peruvian colonization of Polynesia have not stood up well to scientific scrutiny. Still, he’s usually very good at writing the adventure stories of his expeditions. Kon-Tiki is an excellent read, and I also enjoyed Fatu-Hiva, his account of roughing it in the Marquesas. Aku-Aku, however, is not as engrossing as those other books. It gets dull and repetitive, and Heyerdahl doesn’t talk much about the discoveries of the archaeologists who accompanied him. Other than collecting a lot of statuettes that aren’t thoroughly described to the reader, it’s unclear what exactly Heyerdahl and his team accomplished on Easter Island. Perhaps more is revealed in his more scientific publications, such as Archeology of Easter Island (2 volumes), published in 1965.

The Great Divide: Nature and Human Nature in the Old World and the New by Peter Watson

Long-lost cousins with vastly different upbringings

When Europeans first discovered the Americas, it was the meeting of two vastly different cultures, two populations that were entirely alien to one another. In his 2012 book, The Great Divide, British intellectual historian Peter Watson investigates how and why the peoples of the Old and New Worlds developed so differently. Watson makes the case that differing environmental conditions in the two hemispheres—climate, topography, flora and fauna—forged two diverging trajectories of civilization and culture. In The Great Divide, he has compiled compelling evidence to that effect into a sweeping overview of human history. Some factors that he considers are the role that natural disasters played in the creation of gods and religions, how different flora and fauna affected the rates at which agriculture and cities developed, how the use of psychotropic plants influenced cultural ideologies, and why was human sacrifice such a widespread practice in the Americas?

As I’ve come to learn from previously reading his books Ideas and The Modern Mind, Watson is a master generalist who can pull together concepts and data from a wide variety of fields in the sciences, humanities, and the arts and unify them into a remarkably cohesive whole. The Great Divide, however, is pretty much all about archeology, anthropology, and paleontology. I thought this book would have something to say about the cultures of the Old World and the New after the first transatlantic contact, but with the exception of some brief coverage of the Spanish Conquest, it is entirely concerned with events prior to 1492. Watson’s investigation begins with the dawn of humans and spends a lot of time in the Ice Age. Socrates, Buddha, and Confucius don’t show up until chapter 18, and the Spaniards don’t reach America until the 23rd and final chapter. The Great Divide is basically a comprehensive summary of world archaeology, as much as we knew in 2012. I enjoy reading about archaeology, but because I read quite a bit on that subject, a lot of this was review for me. Nevertheless, as is always the case with Watson’s books, he enriches the general narrative with plenty of interesting facts and connections that will be new and intriguing to most general readers.

If the purpose of this book is to compare and contrast the pre-1492 trajectories of the Old and New Worlds, it is not entirely successful. Watson presents a few chapters on the history of the Old World, followed by a couple chapters on the history of the New World, and back and forth, and back and forth. Only in the conclusion of the book, when recapping all the evidence presented, does Watson really take the time to make side-by-side comparisons between the two domains and draw generalizations and theories from their differences. The two hemispheres, not surprisingly, do not get equal time and consideration. It seems like the book is about two-thirds Old World and one-third New World, simply because there’s so much more pre-16th-century information available on Eurasia than there is on the Americas.

The Great Divide is an excellent synthesis of human history that draws interesting parallels and deviations between the peoples of the Eastern and Western hemispheres. This book will not, however, captivate the general reader to the same extent as Charles Mann’s excellent 1491 or perhaps Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs, and Steel (which I haven’t read, but it was a popular bestseller). Although Watson does generate similar wow-factor by delivering insightful revelations to curious readers, The Great Divide has more of a textbook execution to it, rather than the more investigative science journalism feel of Mann’s work. Notwithstanding, if you are at all interested in the ancient history of world cultures, this book’s breadth and depth make it a must-read.

The ebook claims that an Appendix 2 is available online at the Harper Collins website, but it’s not there, and that’s really annoying.  

Ideas: A History of Thought and Invention, from Fire to Freud by Peter Watson

The book about everything by the man who’s read everything

I had previously read Peter Watson’s book The Modern Mind: An Intellectual History of the 20th Century and liked it very much. His follow-up to that book, Ideas: A History of Thought and Invention, from Fire to Freud is a prequel in the same vein that covers everything before the 20th century. The Modern Mind opened with Sigmund Freud, and Ideas ends with him. In both cases, Watson deliveries sweeping world histories comprised not of wars, monarchs, and governments, but rather of important developments in the arts, sciences, and humanities. Both books are eminently fascinating and enlightening works, but Ideas is even more impressive and captivating than The Modern Mind.

According to Amazon, the print edition of this book is 850 pages. According to my ebook copy, however, it’s 1850 pages, which seems more accurate when one contemplates just how much content is crammed into this volume. Yet crammed it never feels. Watson has to be one of the all-time greatest summarizers in history. Our grandparents had Will Durant to provide them with an overview of the world’s knowledge. We’ve got Watson, and I think we win. When you look at the sources that Watson cites for this book, typically he’s not going back to the original texts written in ancient Greece, Renaissance Italy, or 19th-century Germany. Rather, he is drawing on the most recent scholarship—histories, biographies, critical studies—that have been published by eminent scholars about the people, -isms, and -ologies that he’s discussing. He doesn’t limit himself to Western civilization either, but includes contributions from Islamic, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, and Native American thought as well. Watson seems to have read everything, and he miraculously assimilates it all into a coherent whole. He demonstrates an encyclopedic knowledge in a variety of fields: history, science, literature, art, music, sociology, psychology, archaeology, and more. The task of assembling such a synthesis must have been herculean, yet Watson glides seamlessly from one topic to the next, explaining complex concepts in clear and accessible prose. That’s not to say that the text is dumbed down for a popular audience. The intelligent reader walks away from this book having acquired a great deal of knowledge.

What surprised me most about this history of ideas is that, for the most part, it’s also a history of religion. Metaphysical and mythological conjectures on God and the universe are just as much ideas as any scientific theory, and religious thought has dominated mankind’s intellectual development for most of homo sapiens’ existence. (Look at the pre-Enlightenment selections in any art museum or library, for example.) The history of human knowledge, as Watson tells it, is a history of overcoming religious superstition. Watson is not an atheist with an axe to grind like Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens. He just tells it like it is with a very objective account of how religion has stifled intellectual progress since ancient times. It seems like every major discovery had to go through a centuries-long probationary period during which it was repudiated, prohibited, and persecuted by religious authorities—the punishments of Galileo, for example, or the arduous process of establishing (via fossils) that the real world is older than literal Biblical time. The Catholic popes are famous for this sort of anti-intellectualism, but Watson shows that all faiths to some degree have worked to hold back the progress of learning: ancient polytheists, Buddhists, Muslims, Protestants, and others are all guilty of this crime. Reading this book really makes you wonder what mankind could have accomplished by now if we hadn’t wasted so much time fighting over theology. Of course, as Watson shows, ideas don’t always mean good ideas: White supremacy, social Darwinism, and eugenics are just a few examples of very wrong ideas that have nonetheless proven too influential in human history, and Watson covers such fallacies as well.

Watson is so good at kindling your curiosity, one walks away from his books with an extensive list of topics and readings for further study. Watson himself has written more narrowly focused intellectual histories on The French Mind, The German Genius, and The Great Divide between the cultures of the Old World and the New. Regardless of where and when he might take you, with Watson as your guide you are bound to be fascinated, amazed, enlightened, and entertained.

Indians of the Northwest Coast by Philip Drucker

Commonalities and diversity among Native peoples of the region

In the early and mid-20th century, the American Museum of Natural History published a series of books called Anthropological Handbooks. I’ve never been able to find a complete list of the books in this series, but I have found a few volumes available for free download online. Indians of the Northwest Coast by Philip Drucker, an anthropologist with the Smithsonian Institution’s Bureau of American Ethnology, is number 10 in the Handbook series and was published in 1955. My interest in the Northwest Coast Indians began with a love for their beautiful art, and trips to Alaska and British Columbia in recent years have heightened my curiosity about their culture, beliefs, and lifestyle.

In books related to history, archaeology, or anthropology, when I see the word “Handbook” in the title, it leads me to expect an overview suitable for general readers. This book is indeed an overview, but it’s hard to say who the intended audience is. It definitely requires the reader to have some foreknowledge of anthropological concepts and subject matter. There is a discussion here about blanket weaving, for example, for which the reader is expected to be familiar with the techniques and technical terminology of Native American hand weaving. In general, the text of this book reads as if it were meant to provide a general overview of the Northwest Coast Indians to anthropologists who specialize in some other region or culture.

The information is organized into categorical chapters on material culture, economy, social structure, religious beliefs, rites and ceremonies, and art. Rather than emphasizing the characteristics and customs common to the various Native peoples of the Pacific Northwest—the Tlingit, Haida, Coast Tsimshian, Bella Coola, Kwakiutl, Nootka, Coast Salish, and more—Drucker spends more pages pointing out the differences between these groups and the many subdivisions thereof. After introducing a practice common to many Northwest Coast peoples, such as matrilineal social organization, dancing societies, or potlatches, Drucker is then obliged to elaborate with a list of all the exceptions to what he just said. The result is a survey in which it’s very hard to see the forest for the trees. I have no issue with the facts presented, only the way those facts are presented. This would be a good reference for seeking specific details, but overall it’s hard to form a vivid glimpse into what Native life was like on the Northwest Coast. Much of this discussion of tribal differences—the Tlingit did this; the Haida did that—could be better accomplished through charts and tables, but few are included. The book is amply illustrated, however, with black and white photographs.

If your primary interest in the Northwest Coast Indians is their art, this book provides a chapter on the subject, but there are better and more colorful books on that topic, such as Bill Holm’s Northwest Coast Indian Art. At the time Drucker wrote his book, there were few Native artists practicing in the Northwest. Since then, thankfully, a number of Native artists have revived the techniques of their forefathers and continue to create compelling art. From this book, I was hoping for more of an understanding of the philosophy behind that art. The popular conception of these Indians nowadays is that they are a peaceful, egalitarian people living in harmony with nature. Readers may be troubled by Drucker’s revelations of historical practices like slavery, cannibalism, and a rather petty obsession with materialism. Although Drucker clearly has great respect for the Indians of the Northwest Coast, this is an old-school anthropology book written by a white ethnographer without any perspective from the Natives themselves, which today would be frowned upon. There is a lot to learn from this book, but there have surely been more comprehensive and accessible surveys of the subject published since.

Fatu-Hiva: Back to Nature by Thor Heyerdahl

Polynesian Walden

Norwegian explorer and author Thor Heyerdahl achieved fame in the late 1940s and early 1950s with his book and documentary film Kon-Tiki, about his voyage from South America to Polynesia on a primitive wooden raft. The Kon-Tiki expedition was not his first adventurous journey, however. As early as his teenage years, Heyerdahl had dreamed of escaping civilization to live a self-sufficient life in an unspoiled wilderness. He decided on Fatu-Hiva, an island in the Marquesas, as the ideal destination in which to live this dream of getting “back to nature.” Heyerdahl deliberately searched for a wife to share this vision, and he found one in Liv Coucheron-Torp. The day after their marriage in 1936, the couple sailed for the Marquesas, where they would be dropped on the shore with little more than the clothes on their backs. In 1938, Heyerdahl published in Norway an account of this unconventional honeymoon entitled Hunt for Paradise. After achieving worldwide fame from his later expeditions, he revised the account and published it in English in 1974 as Fatu-Hiva: Back to Nature.

At the time, Fatu-Hiva was home to a few small coastal Indigenous communities and a handful of white men. The Heyerdahls ventured into the interior of the island to live a semi-isolated existence in the jungle. They relocated a few times to different locations around the island, where they built their own homes and mostly foraged for fruit and shellfish. Heyerdahl doesn’t just describe what they saw and did but also, much like Henry David Thoreau in Walden or Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, philosophizes quite a bit about nature and man’s place in it. This includes much eloquent lamenting on environmental degradation. In this travelog, Heyerdahl’s account goes beyond the romantic stereotype of a South Pacific paradise and presents the realistic pros and cons of living on a tropical island.

It was here in the Marquesas that Heyerdahl first got the idea that Polynesians are descended from seafaring Peruvians, an theory he tested with his Kon-Tiki expedition. On Fatu-Hiva, the Heyerdahls encountered many Polynesian ruins and anthropological artifacts. Heyerdahl points out the stylistic similarities between the art of the Polynesians and Indigenous South Americans. He also discusses in much detail the migration or transplantation of plant and animal species between the Americas and Polynesia. He hypothesizes on which species were brought to Fatu-Hiva by white explorers and which preceded them (thus brought by ancient South American mariners). This theory of the American ancestry of Polynesians was controversial for its time, since most scientists believed that Polynesians were descended from mainland Asians who migrated Eastward. Today, Heyerdahl’s theory is considered racially problematic pseudoscience, and DNA evidence doesn’t support it. Nevertheless, when it comes to expedition narratives, Heyerdahl knows how to write a good book. For those who like exotic adventure, Kon-Tiki is an excellent read; Fatu-Hiva is merely good. For a better account of roughing it in the Marquesas, read Herman Melville’s Typee.

Given Heyerdahl’s background in zoology, I was disappointed that he didn’t write more about the wildlife of Fatu-Hiva. He focuses more attention on the human inhabitants of the island. Despite being far off the beaten path, Fatu-Hiva was not entirely uncivilized nor untouched by European influence. In fact, the greatest danger faced by the Heyerdahls is unexpected: Catholic islanders who persecute the couple for being Protestants. Heyerdahl readily admits that his experiment in getting “back to nature” was only partially successful because the negative aspects of human nature and modern civilization were to some degree inescapable. Nevertheless, his attempt at a tropical idyll is admirable and makes for an interesting read.

Mirage: Napoleon’s Scientists and the Unveiling of Egypt by Nina Burleigh

Just as much military history as science history

Nina Burleigh’s 2007 book Mirage is a history of the French invasion of Egypt from 1798 to 1801. Napoleon, at this time still a general and not yet emperor, led a force of 50,000 soldiers and sailors to conquer Egypt in the name of France. He also brought along 151 “savants”—scientists, artists, engineers, and a poet—to conduct research, study the land and its inhabitants, and document the natural and cultural history of the region. The focus of Mirage is ostensibly directed toward the work and travels of these savants, but the book is also very much a history of a military campaign and a critique of Napoleon’s leadership.

When the expedition departed, only Napoleon and a few of his closest colleagues knew the final destination of the voyage. The savants who volunteered for the journey weren’t informed they were going to Egypt until they were halfway across the Mediterranean. When the French reached the North African Coast, they were attacked by the English navy (England also had claims to Egypt) and routed in the Battle of the Nile. Thousands of French soldiers and sailors lost their lives in the battle, and all of the savants’ scientific equipment ended up at the bottom of Abukir Bay. When the scientists reached Alexandria, they found the city much shabbier and more desolate than the exotic Oriental paradise they had imagined. Thus was the inauspicious start to an arduous undertaking that would last three years and take many French lives.

The majority of the book is about the harsh conditions and hazards that the French invaders—soldiers and savants alike—were forced to endure, including but not limited to the punishing desert heat, starvation, swarms of insects, eye diseases, an epidemic of bubonic plague, and deadly altercations with Mamelukes, Turks, and Brits. The savants had the added danger of being despised by the very troops they were accompanying. They enjoyed the favor of Napoleon, however, who was quite a scientific dilettante. Most of the book is a catalog of horror stories of desert warfare. Burleigh doesn’t really delve deeply into the scientific and archaeological achievements of the expedition until about chapter 8 (of 12). The final chapter discusses the making of the mammoth 23-volume book Description de l’Egypte, a lavishly illustrated compendium of all the savants’ scientific and cultural discoveries. Burleigh follows the lives of several of the savants through their post-expedition careers up until their deaths.

As I’ve explained above, this isn’t strictly a science history or a story of archaeological exploration, even if the subtitle and packaging make it out to be one. Nevertheless, there is plenty here for enthusiasts of science history and exploration narratives to enjoy. Among the savants that Burleigh highlights are the mathematician Gaspard Monge, chemist Claude Louis Berthollet, zoologist Étienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, physicist Joseph Fourier, physician René-Nicolas Desgenettes, and the MacGyver-like inventor Nicolas Conté. Burleigh’s book is relatively brief, but it does provide an admirably comprehensive overview of the expedition. Of course, you’ll find more detailed information in more specialized monographs, and after reading Mirage you might very well want to look up individual biographies of some of the more interesting savants. I for one would very much like to learn more about the scientific and archaeological discoveries of these explorers, and I have Burleigh to thank for inspiring my curiosity with this well-researched and accessible history of the expedition.  

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Maya History by Tatiana Proskouriakoff

For expert epigraphers only

Russian-American scholar Tatiana Proskouriakoff is one of the stellar names in the field of Maya studies and was an instrumental contributor to the decipherment of the Maya’s written language. The book Maya History, a summation of her life’s work, was incomplete at the time of her death and published posthumously in 1993. Prior to Proskouriakoff, the prevailing view among Maya scholars was that the hieroglyphic carvings left behind by the Maya civilization were largely devoted to astronomical, calendrical, and mythological content. Proskouriakoff, on the other hand, proved that the Maya carvings were historical records of political events and dynastic lineages. Although the Maya’s written carvings were not completely deciphered, Proskouriakoff was able to recognize the names and titles of rulers and enough verbs to connect royal family trees and diplomatic relations between various Maya city-states. In Maya History, Proskouriakoff examines almost every Mayan stela catalogued during her lifetime, as well as lintels, staircases, and other carved monuments. She presents her findings largely in chronological order while bouncing back and forth between just about every Maya city in Guatemala and Southern Mexico.

This is an important and fascinating book, but it’s not for general readers. Here’s a typical sentence: “The second hand glyph holds a ‘hook-scroll’ (T19), associated with death expressions, and refers to a rare ahau compound such as that inscribed on a vessel from the Tzakol III burial 22 at Uaxactun (R. E. Smith 1955:2:Fig. 7)”. Proskouriakoff’s intended audience of university professors would have had access to a library of books with illustrations and photographs of Mayan stelae and texts, as well as J. Eric S. Thompson’s catalog of Maya glyphs (where one would find the “T19” mentioned above, for example). Very few illustrations of stelae are actually included in this book (though many single glyphs are pictured alone), so she’s constantly describing monuments that the reader can’t see. Dates are all presented in Maya notation (e.g. 9.12.9.17.16 5 Cib 14 Zotz’), which is no surprise, but no Gregorian equivalents are given. To fully understand everything in this book, one would need not only a faultless understanding of the Maya calendar but also a professional familiarity with all the archaeological sites discussed, or at least a wealth of PhD-level reference materials with illustrations of every stela. Proskouriakoff’s scholarship is sound, but this book could really use a publisher that will go the extra mile to illustrate it to the extent it deserves.

While Proskouriakoff outlines a great deal of Maya chronology in this book, she continually admits that much of what she is stating is speculative or unresolved. The reading of Maya hieroglyphs has no doubt come a long way since much of Maya History was written. Since then, I’m sure that many of Proskouriakoff’s conjectures have been confirmed, but probably a few have been proved erroneous. This book is really more about the process of decipherment, however, than the results. The amount of actual historical information in this book could have been summarized in a two- or three-page chronological table (unfortunately it isn’t). The bulk of the text, on the other hand, is Proskouriakoff’s explanatory examination of Maya glyphs and text.

Proskouriakoff’s Maya History is a five-star book in the history of Maya studies. For the general reader, however, it’s not a five-star reading experience. For nonacademic readers like myself looking for a deeper dive into the arcane details of this subject, I would recommend Forest of Kings by Linda Schele and David Freidel. Like Maya History, it combines historical narrative with a detailed examination of glyphs and iconography, but it’s more accessible to the general reader and more generously illustrated.
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Incidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas, and Yucatán by John Lloyd Stephens

Dueling presidents and Mayan ruins

John Lloyd Stephens (1805-1852) was an American diplomat and travel writer. In 1839, President Martin Van Buren appointed him Ambassador to Central America. Soon after, he traveled to Central America to assume his new post. It’s unclear what exactly his mission was, however, since Stephens just seems to travel around doing whatever he wants. Stephens’s journey lasted several months, during which time he also ventured into Mexico. His account of his expedition, Incidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas, and Yucatán was published in two volumes in 1841. This book should not be confused with his 1843 publication Incidents of Travel in Yucatán, which covers a second trip Stephens made to Mexico.

In 1839, the several nations of Central America were united under one government, the Federal Republic of Central America. When Stephens arrived in Central America, however, the presidency of that government was in dispute between two warring generals, Rafael Carrera and José Francisco Morazán. Stephens doesn’t seem to favor either would-be presidente but rather curries the favor of whichever he happens to be facing at the time. Stephens spends much of the book chronicling the political and military conflict between these two figures. He met with both generals and witnessed some battles fought and atrocities committed by both parties. Although borders may have been different back then, I believe Stephens’s travels took him through every country in Central America except maybe Panama. He doesn’t venture into Mexico until halfway through Volume 2.

Stephens also explored the ruins of several Mayan cities, three of which are discussed at some length: Copán in Guatemala, Palenque in Chiapas, and Uxmal in the Yucatán. Accompanying him on these explorations was the artist Frederick Catherwood, who documented the sites in drawings and paintings. Stephens had no archaeological training, so his discussions of the Maya don’t really hold up to today’s standards. Catherwood, on the other hand, is the real deal. His illustrations of Mayan ruins are quite remarkable in their attention to detail, particularly when you consider he had almost no precedent to build upon. This book contains dozens of engravings of Catherwood’s drawings, but he also published his own book Views of Ancient Monuments in Central America, Chiapas, and Yucatan with color lithographs. I don’t want to overemphasize the archaeological content of the book, however, because it’s really only a small portion of the text. The bulk of the two volumes deals with the politics and military matters of Central America, which will likely be of interest mostly to historians of Latin America.

There’s also quite a bit of complaining about unsavory accommodations, incessant mosquitos, and unsatisfactory hired hands. Stephens is more interested in getting to know wealthy Spaniards than the poor Indigenous population, because the former can offer him better lodgings and dinners than the latter. As an explorer and travel writer, Stephens is no Alexander von Humboldt. You’re not going to get a really liberal and enlightened account of Latin American culture and politics, but Stephens is at least a conscientious observer and chronicler of what he sees.

This book is valuable as an outsider’s historical account of what Central America, Chiapas, and the Yucatán were like during this time period. Much of the information imparted, however, won’t hold much interest for today’s reader. Before reading this book, one really needs to consider if it will be worth roughly 24 hours of your reading time. For those only interested in the archaeological sites, just read the illustrated chapters on the Mayan cities.
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The Modern Mind: An Intellectual History of the 20th Century by Peter Watson

An invigorating whirlwind tour through the arts, science, and humanities

Peter Watson’s 2000 book The Modern Mind is essentially a history textbook, but instead of focusing on political events, wars, or world leaders, Watson concentrates instead on developments in the arts, sciences, and humanities. The result is a very ambitious, panoramically erudite, and thoroughly engaging intellectual history of the twentieth century. Watson is a Brit, as evident from some of his spellings and turns of phrase. This is not merely a history of English-language culture, however. Watson has written a true world history, although by his own admission much of that history takes place in Europe and America. Watson follows the epicenter of ideas as it changes throughout the century, from Vienna to Berlin, Paris to London, then on to New York and the universities of the United States.

Not all of the intellectual movements Watson discusses are positive, progressive, or even morally acceptable. Social Darwinism, racism, anti-Semitism, Nazism, fascism, and Stalinism are discussed, not because they were good or intelligent, but because they happened, and they affected human lives. Over the course of the hundred years covered here, the modern mind was often mistaken, sometimes horribly so. Watson’s flowing narrative shows how ideas sprout from, counteract, and refute previous ideas as ideological movements come and go. For example, Watson acknowledges Sigmund Freud as one of the most influential minds of the twentieth century—an inspiration to many artistic movements, scientific theories, and the entire field of psychology—but he also points out that by the end of that century most of what Freud had to say was generally considered wrong.

Watson does a superb job of explaining some of the most complicated scientific and philosophical concepts in a manner accessible to any reasonably educated reader, without dumbing down the content. He summarizes countless published books by the greatest thinkers of the century and compares and contrasts them articulately. In terms of disciplines, Watson leaves no stone unturned. No matter how well-read you think you are, Watson covers a diverse enough array of fields of knowledge that you’re bound to learn something outside your comfort zone, and his writing is interesting enough to make you care about topics that didn’t interest you before. You never know where his encyclopedic mind will lead you next, and it is a pleasure to follow his lead through philosophy, physics, mathematics, psychology, economics, archaeology, art, music, literature, and many more areas of interest. I’m sure some could quibble about what’s included or what’s left out, or Watson’s particular take on some thinkers, but overall this is really an impressive work of staggering scope. If nothing else, I came away from The Modern Mind with a reading list of at least a hundred books for further consideration, in all fields of study.

While Watson’s text deserves praise, the publishers of this book (the Kindle edition, to be specific) should be ashamed of themselves. In 15 years of reading ebooks, I’ve never seen a worse collection of typographical errors. There are multiple problems with letter substitutions. In particular, double l’s came out as d’s and vice versa, so objects “cast a shallow,” “all” becomes “ad,” scientists don’t work at “Bell Labs” but at “Bed Labs,” not just in one instance but constantly throughout the text. The word “titles” always shows up as “tides.” Prehistoric man used “dint tools “ instead of flint. I work in book publishing, and I don’t even understand how such a screw-up is technologically possible. The bigger question is, how did HarperCollins release this ebook to the public without even noticing this pervasive problem? Maybe by the time you read this review they will have corrected the errors and uploaded a new file.
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Forgotten Peoples of the Ancient World by Philip Matyszak

Interesting mini-biographies of lesser-known cultures

British author Philip Matyszak is a former journalist turned scholar of ancient history who has published about three dozen books on the subject. Many of his books appear to be trade books aimed at a wide audience, rather than academic monographs written for archaeologists. While there are plenty of books published each year on the ancient Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians, what about all those other ancient societies that we hear so little about, like the Elamites, the Aramaeans, the Philistines, the Chaldeans, the Galatians, or the Ostrogoths? With his book Forgotten Peoples of the Ancient World, published in 2020, Matyszak has them covered.

The book is divided into 40 chapters, each of which is devoted to one ancient culture. For each, Matyszak discusses their origin and history, charting the rise and fall (or disappearance) of each group. The summaries are based on mentions of these peoples in ancient texts like the Bible or Herodotus’s Histories, as well as research from recent archaeological digs. In some cases, not much is known about these cultures, and there is a great deal of speculation about their histories. In other cases, today’s archaeologists don’t entirely agree on who these people were or what happened to them. Matyszak clarifies such ambiguities and arguments without passing judgment himself. The coverage here is strictly Old World. You won’t find the Olmecs of Mexico or the Chu culture of China here. The civilizations discussed in this book lived in the Middle East and Europe, a few in North Africa, and a couple venture as far east as India.

This is not a scholarly book written for PhDs. It is intended for general readers with an enthusiasm for archaeology. That’s not to say that it’s not intelligently written or the scholarship is not reliable. It’s just so concise that there isn’t a lot of room for minute detail. Matyszak summarizes the state of research on these peoples in a clear, accessible, and entertaining manner. The text does not have academic notes or citations, but there is a bibliography of “further reading,” separated by chapter, with three or four sources specific to each culture discussed, which is helpful. The writing is about on the level with what you find in Archaeology magazine, which is slightly more academic than National Geographic. In fact, this would have made a great monthly column in Archaeology magazine, if they’d thought of it, but they didn’t; Matyszak did.

One feature that I really enjoyed in this book is that each chapter ends with a brief section under the heading of “Future Echoes.” Here Matyszak points out words and customs from these ancient cultures that we still use today, or important firsts in the history of civilization. For example, the word “magic” comes to us from the language of the Medes. The name “Candace” comes from a warrior queen of the Kushites. The term “Aborigine” was originally the name of a tribe in Italy. The tradition of carrying a bride across the threshold comes from the Sabines. The Hittites negotiated the world’s first peace treaty with the Egyptians. The Amorites were the first culture to advocate the separation of church and state, in the Code of Hammurabi. The Sea Peoples conducted the first organized labor strike. Matyszak also highlights how these groups and their legends inspired future works of art, literature, or film.

If you’ve ever wondered about some of these lesser-known civilizations and how they fit into the grand scheme of ancient history, Matyszak will satisfy your curiosity. He has since published a follow-up to Forgotten Peoples, a 2023 book entitled Lost Cities of the Ancient World, which consists of brief histories of places rather than peoples. I enjoyed Forgotten Peoples enough that I will probably check out that book as well.  

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Writing (Ancient Peoples and Places series) by David Diringer

Broad, shallow overview of ancient scripts

In 1957, the London publisher Thames & Hudson began publishing a series of books on archaeology entitled Ancient Peoples and Places, which eventually grew to 113 volumes. In most cases, each book synthesizes the current research on a particular region or ancient civilization. The 25th book in the series, however, was the first volume to break that rule by focusing instead on the worldwide ancient history of a particular cultural phenomenon: Writing. That book entitled Writing, written by David Diringer, was first published in 1962.

Diringer starts by explaining the distinctions between pictographic, ideographic, transitional, phonetic or syllabic, and alphabetic forms of writing. He then goes on to examine individual scripts of different regions of the world and their chronological development. He starts by discussing the first pictographic symbols of prehistoric peoples. He then examines ancient writing styles of the Near East, including cuneiform, Egyptian hieroglyphics, Hittite hieroglyphics, and the Minoan or Cretan scripts Linear A and B. This is followed by a chapter on East Asian scripts, which only covers Chinese and Japanese, with a brief addendum on Easter Island writing. Then follows a chapter on the pre-Colombian writing of the Maya and Aztecs. Not surprisingly, the most coverage is reserved for the ancient languages that were precursors to our own alphabet, which arose out of Semitic scripts that precursed the Phoenician, Greek, and finally Latin alphabets. Multiple side trips are taken into other written languages, such as Aramaic, Arabic, and Indian scripts. The book is illustrated with many transcriptions of ancient writing, photographs of inscribed artifacts, and phonetic and alphabetic tables of the languages covered.

The books in the Ancient People and Places series are meant to be concise introductory texts for students and general readers. They typically run about 200 pages, with many illustrations and charts, plus another 60 pages of photographs. In a book of that size, Diringer can’t provide a comprehensive history of every ancient script, so he had to make choices about what to feature and what to omit. Nevertheless, he covers a surprisingly large number and broad variety of languages here. What you get in this book is a little bit of knowledge about a lot of different scripts and their cultures. Diringer provides enough information to pique one’s interest, so the reader can seek out further information on specific languages in more specialized texts.

I read the first edition of this book from 1962. At that time, the Minoan script Linear B had just been deciphered, and the Mayan glyphs had not been completely deciphered. Soviet scholar Yuri Knozorov would put the finishing touches on cracking that code a few years later. I’m sure a lot of other discoveries have been made regarding ancient scripts in the past 60 years. Nevertheless, as emphasized before, this is a basic introduction to the field, and much of the fundamentals have survived the test of time. There’s not enough space here for Diringer to teach you how to read any of these scripts anyway, so if you require that level of detail and accuracy, look for a more advanced text. As a general overview, I enjoyed this book. It provides a clear outline of the development of alphabets over millennia, and it brought to my attention a few ancient civilizations and their scripts with which I was unfamiliar. I have been pleased with the volumes of the Ancient Peoples and Places Series that I have seen thus far, and I look forward to reading more of them.
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Mexico (Ancient Peoples and Places series) by Michael D. Coe

Great concise overview of everyone northwest of the Maya

In 1957, the London publisher Thames & Hudson began publishing a series of books on archaeology entitled Ancient Peoples and Places. These books were republished in America by Frederick A. Praeger. In most cases, each book synthesized the current research on a particular region or ancient civilization. These books are authoritative enough to perhaps be used in undergraduate courses but accessible enough to educate general readers. The series eventually included at least 112 volumes. Some of these books are still in print and have been updated over the years.

Mexico, the 29th book in the Ancient Peoples and Places series, was first published in 1962 and is now in its eighth edition. It was written by Michael D. Coe, a distinguished archaeologist of pre-Colombian Mexico and Mesoamerica. Of the major scholars of Mexico’s ancient peoples, Coe has perhaps done the most to educate non-academics by writing books accessible to the general public, such as his popular 1992 book Breaking the Maya Code, which won a National Book Award. The reader won’t find any Maya here, however. Coe explains that the Maya need their own book in the series, which he wrote and published a few years later. Here Coe makes a cultural distinction between Mesoamerica, home of the Maya, and Mexico proper, being everything northwest of the Yucatán. Much of the ancient history presented here centers around the Valley of Mexico, location of the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan (site of modern Mexico City).

Later editions of this book are subtitled From the Olmecs to the Aztecs, but the book is really a broad overview of all the ancient cultures that inhabited Mexico from the first humans who walked down from the Bering Land Bridge thousands of years ago to the conquest of the Aztecs by the Spanish conquistadores in 1521. The Olmecs and the Aztecs only get one chapter each. (They both later got their own books in the Ancient Peoples and Places series.) The absence of the Maya and the brevity with which the Olmecs and Aztecs are treated may be perceived by some as a detriment to the book, but I actually see it as a strength. One can find hundreds of books on those three civilizations, while the rest of Mexico’s ancient peoples go ignored or neglected. Here Coe provides a concise but comprehensive overview that gives everyone their due consideration. Centuries before the rise of the Aztecs, Native Mexican peoples had already left monumental testaments to their great civilizations, such as the metropolis of Teotihuacán northeast of Mexico City, Monte Albán in Oaxaca, and El Tajín in Veracruz. An archaeologically curious traveler wandering around Mexico today will hear all about the ancient histories of the Toltec, Mixtec, Zapotec, and Chichimec peoples, and many more. It is hard to grasp the broader picture of where and when these different cultures lived, and how they interacted and influenced one another. This book provides a clear key to how they all fit together geographically, chronologically, and culturally.

The content is a combination of historical synopses and mini-field reports of what was found at particular archaeological digs. Although this is an introductory text, Coe doesn’t dumb down the subject matter. The reader is expected to quickly grasp archaeological terminology, for example the official designations for specific Ice Age periods, pottery cultures, or styles of spear points. The many photographs, illustrations, charts, and maps are helpful. I’m not an archaeologist, just a layman and tourist, but I have read much on Mexican history, and I still learned a lot of fascinating facts from this book. If this is an indication of the quality one can expect from the Ancient Peoples and Places series, then I look forward to reading many more of these books.
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Rambles in Yucatan by Benjamin Moore Norman

A supercilious American looks at Mayan Mexico

Benjamin Moore Norman was a book dealer in New York and New Orleans before he took up writing. He was somehow associated with the explorer and writer John Lloyd Stephens, who traveled to the Yucatan peninsula of Mexico in the early 1840s to study the Mayan culture. Inspired by Stephens, Norman made his own expedition to the Yucatan, which resulted in his book Rambles in Yucatan. Norman’s and Stephens’s books on the Yucatan were both published in 1843. Regardless of who published first, it is the consensus among informed readers that Stephens’s book is the better of the two.

Norman is to be commended for his adventurousness in journeying to territory far off the beaten path, but his narrative of the trip is nothing to rave about. Rather than displaying the rugged adaptability of an explorer, Norman takes a very condescending attitude towards his Mexican hosts and constantly complains about the squalid accommodations he is forced to endure. He demonstrates very little respect for the present-day Indigenous Mexicans, repeatedly portraying them as lazy, stupid, or shifty. In the cities of Mérida, Valladolid, and Campeche, he mostly stays with Mexicans of Spanish descent, whom he doesn’t always depict in a flattering light either. One humorous episode finds Norman lodging in a monastery, where one of the monks offers him a whip, which he declines. The monks then blow out all the candles and flog themselves for 15 minutes while Norman can only sit there in the dark and listen.

Despite looking down on 19th-century Mexicans, Norman expresses much admiration for their ancestors, the ancient Maya. He recounts his visits to the ruins of Chichén Itzá, Kabah, and Uxmal. These sites were largely unexcavated at the time and covered with much vegetation, but apparently still quite impressive to behold. Norman makes himself out to be the first White man to visit Chichén Itzá, but his description of the archaeological sites he visited are rather rudimentary, mostly consisting of measurements of the buildings and brief descriptions of their sculptural elements. The book does, however, include a few helpful illustrations. Norman speculates on the uses of the buildings, and at one point describes as a “temple” what we clearly know today to be a ball court. The book ends with a series of appendices that summarize the knowledge of the region that was available at the time, compiled from the writings of others. The best of it is taken from Alexander von Humboldt; the worst of it is pure fiction. Norman repeatedly proposes that Indigenous Americans are the descendants of one of the lost tribes of Israel, or immigrants from Egypt or China. He just can’t bring himself to give a bunch of Indians credit for creating their own advanced civilization.

One word that Norman frequently uses that may confuse the reader is “sonato” or “sonata” (His spelling is inconsistent). What he’s really talking about are cenotes, the sinkholes frequently found in the limestone bedrock of the Yucatan. Filled with clear water, these cenotes are not only geological curiosities but also often popular swimming holes for locals and tourists alike.

I made my own rambles in the Yucatan decades ago, and I enjoyed reading Norman’s descriptions of what sites I visited were like in an earlier era. Personally, it’s hard for me not to enjoy a travel book about Mexico. Norman, however, was really just a dilettante in the areas of Mexican history and archaeology. Even in his day, there were better books on the subject, including Stephens’s Incidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas, and Yucatán (1843), and Frederick Catherwood’s Views of Ancient Monuments in Central America, Chiapas, and Yucatan (1844).
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Extinct Languages by Johannes Friedrich

A concise but not elementary overview of Old World epigraphy

Johannes Friedrich was a German linguist and hittitologist (an expert on the Hittites). His book Extinct Languages is a survey of ancient writing systems and the efforts made in deciphering them. (This is generally called epigraphy, but Friedrich’s translator never uses that word.) Originally published in 1954 as Entzifferung verschollener Schriften und Sprachen, the book was published in English translation in 1957. Friedrich begins his book by looking at “The Three Great Decipherments in the Study of the Ancient Orient”: Egyptian hieroglyphics, cuneiform writing, and Hittite hieroglyphics. This occupies the first half of the book, while the latter half is devoted to brief looks at about a dozen other ancient languages in various stages of decipherment. The book is illustrated with drawings or photographs of each script, and Friedrich explains the techniques employed, successfully or unsuccessfully, in deciphering them.

With the exception of the brief mention of an Indus Valley script and its similarity to writing found on Easter Island, the scope of the book is strictly confined to Southern Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East, ranging from Italy (the Etruscans) to Iran (Persian cuneiform). Friedrich never mentions Native American writing such as that of the Aztecs or Maya. The problems encountered and the techniques used in deciphering the Egyptian or Hittite hieroglyphics, however, are similar to those employed in the reading of the Maya glyphs (see Michael Coe’s book Breaking the Maya Code). Friedrich’s book offers an interesting glimpse into what epigraphers do and how they solve these fascinating centuries-old linguistic puzzles.

Given the broad and brisk coverage of each language, I’m guessing that Friedrich intended Extinct Languages to serve as an introductory text for undergraduate students and general readers. It is definitely accessible to amateur linguists and armchair archaeologists, but it’s not an easy read. In the 1950s, educated people were expected to have some knowledge of Greek and Latin, and Friedrich assumes his readers have that linguistic foundation, making some passages difficult for the average English-language reader of today. One thing I found frustrating is that Friedrich doesn’t provide any key to the Latinization scheme he’s using to transliterate these different writing systems into our alphabet. Perhaps he used a method that was the disciplinary standard for his time, but one unfamiliar with that scheme can only take a guess at the pronunciation of these transliterated words.

Obviously there’s been some progress made in the field since Extinct Languages was published. At the time of writing, the Linear B script from the Minoan civilization of Crete had not yet been deciphered. As the book went to press, however, Friedrich added an appendix describing the promising progress made by Michael Ventris towards reading that ancient language. (For more on that, see John Chadwick’s 1959 account The Decipherment of Linear B.) I’m sure advances have since been made in all of the languages discussed in this book, so Friedrich’s 60-year-old survey of the discipline cannot be considered up-to-date. The advantage to this book, however, is the broad range of languages that it covers. In all cases, if you want to learn how a specific script was deciphered, you’d be better off consulting a text that’s solely devoted to that one language. Friedrich’s overview gives enough of an introduction to each language to allow the reader to decide which topics merit following up with further research. For anyone interested in languages, it will definitely pique your interest enough to want to learn more.
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The Home Life of the Ancient Greeks by Hugo Blümner

From cradle to grave in Athens and Sparta

Hugo Blümner was a German archaeologist who wrote several books on ancient Greece and Rome. His book The Home Life of the Ancient Greeks was published in English in 1895. It was first published in German in 1887 as Leben und Sitten der Griechen. The book is a synthesis of what was known in the late nineteenth century about the daily lives of ancient Greeks, not just the kings and warriors of renown but also the common folk and even slaves. Much of the book’s conclusions are drawn from extant texts and works of art left behind by the Greeks rather than from archaeological digs in which remains and artifacts are found in situ. For example, Blümner frequently refers to Homer’s descriptions of the archaic Greek world, as well as vase paintings and statues pictured in over 200 illustrations

The book opens with a very extensive chapter on clothing that really challenges the reader’s attention span with its charting of every fold, stitch, and pleat in the ancient Greek wardrobe. Next is a discussion of childbirth and childhood that covers not only how children were cared for but also how they amused themselves. After describing the kind of education Greek children of different classes would have received, Blümner then delves into marriage customs. This is followed by a dawn-to-bedtime study of daily life in a Greek household, paying close attention to the different activities practiced by men and women. A chapter on sickness and death explains the birth of the medical profession in Greece as well as burial customs. Succeeding chapters deliver copious details of the athletic, musical, and religious activities of the Greeks. A section on public festivals provides a vivid look at the Olympics and the Festival of Dionysus, among other events. Blümner’s very interesting chapter on Greek theatre does not go into the literary history of drama but rather describes how the plays were performed and the experience of the theatergoers. The book then delves into the lives of soldiers, farmers, and artisans before closing with a chapter on slaves, who greatly outnumbered the free population of ancient Greece.

Blümner admits that most of his book applies specifically to Athens and its vicinity, for that was the area of Greece on which most archaeological knowledge had been accumulated. On many subjects, however, he also provides specific information on Spartan life and customs, and on rarer occasions he discusses some of the outlying regions of Greece. Blümner also makes a distinction between the “heroic age” (the time of Homer’s works) and the “classic” period of Greek history, from about the sixth to the third century BC. He often discusses both eras, pointing out differences between the two.

A lot of archaeological digs have taken place over the past century, which no doubt have expanded upon our knowledge of ancient Greece, so there are bound to be some errors in accuracy and omissions of detail in Blümner’s work. For the non-archaeologist like myself, however, Blümner draws a sufficiently clear picture of the ancient Greek world to satisfy the curious general reader. Blümner’s writing, and its translation, were aimed at a nineteenth-century audience, so his prose often comes across as stilted and dry by today’s standards. For a more up-to-date, detailed, and user-friendly synthesis on the subject, I would recommend the Handbook to Life in Ancient Greece by Lesley and Roy Adkins, from Oxford University Press’s exceptional Handbook to Life series. Though it wasn’t always the most engaging text, I did learn much from The Home Life of the Ancient Greeks and found it a rewarding read.
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The Decipherment of Linear B by John Chadwick

Cracking the ancient Mycenaean code

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, archaeologists working in Greece discovered a number of clay tablets inscribed with a previously undiscovered system of writing. Caches of these tablets were found primarily at two sites: the Minoan palace of Knossos on the island of Crete, and the Mycenaean city of Pylos on the Greek mainland. Eventually linguists and archaeologists established that the writing dates to around 1450 BC. The script was dubbed Linear B (as opposed to Linear A, an even earlier script). From the 1930s to the 1950s, many philologists tried unsuccessfully to decipher this writing, until British architect Michael Ventris discovered the key to cracking the code. Tragically, Ventris died soon after, in his mid-thirties. In his book The Decipherment of Linear B, first published in 1958, classical linguist John Chadwick, who collaborated with Ventris on the decipherment, tells the story of how this ancient writing system was discovered and decrypted. I am reviewing the Second Edition published in 1967.

When first encountered, any unknown script presents two main problems: First, is it a pictographic, alphabetic, or syllabic script, or a combination of the above? Second, all scripts are meant to represent a spoken language, but to which particular language does this script correspond? In the case of Linear B, it might very well be a language that no longer exists. Egyptian hieroglyphics were deciphered with the help of a bilingual text, the Rosetta Stone, but for Linear B there exists no such bilingual text, so the investigators basically had to start with nothing. Ventris and others began this daunting task by looking for familiar syntactical patterns in the texts and comparing them to languages from roughly the same time period, such as Etruscan, Cypriot, and Hittite. Ventris finally cracked the code when he proved that the characters corresponded to an early form of Greek.

Though Chadwick, along with Ventris, published several articles and books intended for specialists in the field, he states in the introduction to The Decipherment of Linear B that this book is intended for a general reading audience. While this is certainly an authoritatively informative book on its subject, Chadwick is not entirely successful at making this topic accessible to the lay reader. To tackle this book, one not only needs to have an avid interest in the ancient Greek world but also a fairly firm knowledge of linguistics. In explaining the decryption process, Chadwick goes into a level of detail that often surpasses the layman’s comprehension. One editorial choice that really makes this book user-unfriendly is that, due to difficulties in typesetting, the bulk of the text does not reproduce the Mycenaean words in the Linear B script in which they were actually written. Instead, Chadwick uses a system of numerals assigned to each character. Thus, the notation 08-60-02-15-04-13-06 may signify the word for “chariots.” Page after page of these numbers is enough to drive the reader nuts. The volume does, however, include 17 figures that illustrate the actual Linear B characters, including a comprehensive numbered syllabic chart (see below).

The tablets found at Knossos and Pylos were not literature, but rather lists of commodities. Still, as Chadwick interprets them, these tablets reveal a surprising amount of information on ancient Mycenaean life, including governmental administration, taxation and tribute, religious practices, the organization of military units, and ancient armaments. This window into the past is the most fascinating aspect of Chadwick’s book. The process of decipherment itself does not make as captivating a story as the decipherment of the Mayan language, as related by Michael Coe in Breaking the Maya Code, but anyone interested in ancient languages, particularly of Greece, will certainly find much intellectual stimulation in Chadwick’s insider account.
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