In the field of palaeoanthropology, one name keeps turning up: the Leakey dynasty. Since Louis Leakey’s first excavations in 1926, three generations of this family have been involved in anthropological research in East Africa. In this captivating memoir, Meave, a second-generation Leakey, reflects on a lifetime of fieldwork and research and provides an inspirational blueprint for what women can achieve in science.
The Sediments of Time: My Lifelong Search for the Past, written by Meave Leakey and Samira Leakey, published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt in November 2020 (hardback, 396 pages)
With The Sediments of Time, Meave* follows a family tradition. Her husband Richard, and his parents Louis and Mary have all been the subject of (auto)biographies, now many decades old. Science writer Virginia Morell later portrayed the whole family in her 1999 book Ancestral Passions. Much has happened in the meantime, and though this book portrays Meave’s personal life, it heavily leans towards presenting her professional achievements, as well as scientific advances in the discipline at large. Thus, Meave’s childhood and early youth are succinctly described in the first 15-page chapter as she is keen to get to 1965 when a 23-year-old Meave starts working with Louis in Kenya.
Whereas Louis and Mary were famous for their work in Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania, Richard and Meave have made their careers around Lake Turkana in northern Kenya. The first two parts of the book take the reader chronologically through the various excavation campaigns. These include the decade-long excavations in and around Koobi Fora, one highlight of which was the find of Nariokotome Boy (also known as Turkana Boy), a largely complete skeleton of a young Homo erectus. The subsequent campaign in Lothagam yielded little hominin material but did reveal a well-documented faunal turnover of herbivore browsers being replaced by grazers with time. Meave has also described several new hominin species. This includes Australopithecus anamensis, which would be ancestral to Australopithecus afarensis (represented by the famous Lucy skeleton), and Kenyanthropus platyops, which would be of the same age as Ardipithecus ramidus. That last name might sound familiar, because…
“Woven into Meave’s narrative of exploration and excavation is an overview of how palaeoanthropology developed as a discipline, and what are some of its big outstanding questions.”
Having just reviewed Fossil Men, which portrayed the notorious palaeoanthropologist Tim White, I was curious to see what Meave had to say about him. In Fossil Men, Kermit Pattison already mentioned that she described White “with a note of sympathy” (p. 5), and she affirms that picture here, writing that he is “a meticulous scientist […] intolerant of bad science […] outspoken and frank […] although he was charming and a gentleman in less formal situations” (p. 136). And though they meet more than once to compare fossils, notes, and ideas, they remain at loggerheads over certain claims.
Woven into Meave’s narrative of exploration and excavation is an overview of how palaeoanthropology developed as a discipline, and what are some of its big outstanding questions. A recurrent theme is the influence of climate on evolution, often by impacting diet and available food sources. There is the difficult question of naming species and how much difference is enough to recognise a separate species, which ties into the whole lumpers vs. splitters debate in taxonomy. The latter readily name new species whereas the former (White being an example) point to sexual dimorphism and morphological variation and recognize only one or very few hominin species. Your stance in that debate affects what you think of Meave’s descriptions of Au. anamensis as being part of a lineage towards Au. afarensis, and whether K. platyops is a species distinct from Ar. ramidus (White obviously thinks not).
This discussion of topics relevant to palaeoanthropology strongly comes to the fore in the book’s third part, by which time Meave is examining the Homo lineage and the question where we appeared from. This sees her tackling topics such as human childbirth and the role of grandmothers, Lieberman’s hypothesis of endurance running as a uniquely human strategy to run prey to exhaustion, palaeoclimatology and the mechanism of the Milankovitch cycles, the spread of Homo erectus around the globe (the Out of Africa I hypothesis), and the use of genetics to trace deep human ancestry. I feel that Meave overstretches herself a little bit in places here. Though her explanations are lucid and include some good illustrations, some relevant recent literature, on e.g. ancient DNA and Neanderthals is not mentioned.
“Meave can draw on a deep pool of remarkable and amusing anecdotes that are put to good use to lighten up the text. And though the focus is on her professional achievements and the science, real life interrupts work on numerous occasions.”
Meave can draw on a deep pool of remarkable and amusing anecdotes that are put to good use to lighten up the text. And though the focus is on her professional achievements and the science, real life interrupts work on numerous occasions. Some of these are joyful, such as the birth of her daughters Louise and Samira. Some are a mixed blessing, such as Richard’s career changes, first when Kenya’s president hand-picks him to lead the Kenya Wildlife Service and combat rampant elephant poaching, then when he switches to attempting political reform. It removes him from palaeoanthropology and their time together in the field. Other occasions are outright harrowing, such as Richard’s faltering kidneys that require transplantations, or the horrific plane crash that sees him ultimately lose both legs despite extended surgery.
Illustrator Patricia Wynne contributes some tasteful drawings to this book, though the figure legends do not always clarify the important details these images try to convey. And I would have loved to see some photos of important specimens, whether during excavation or after preparation, especially given how much Meave focuses on the scientific story in this book. Many specimens are described in great detail but the colour plate section mostly contains photos of the Leakeys and collaborators in the field. Another minor point of criticism is that I was not clear on Samira’s part in writing this book. The dustjacket mentions her as a co-author, but the story is told exclusively through Meave’s eyes, and the acknowledgements do not clarify Samira’s role. I am left to surmise that Meave and Samira together drew on their store of memories for this book.
These minor criticisms notwithstanding, I found The Sediments of Time an inspiring memoir that provided a (for myself long-overdue) introduction to the Leakey dynasty. Meave has led a charmed existence and she is a fantastic role model for women in science.
* I normally refer to authors by their last name but, for obvious reasons and with all due respect, I will be deviating from that habit here and mention the various Leakeys by their first name.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
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Whatever mental image you have of our close evolutionary cousins, the Neanderthals, it is bound to be incomplete. Kindred is an ambitious book that takes in the full sweep of 150 years of scientific discovery and covers virtually every facet of their biology and culture. Archaeologist Rebecca Wragg Sykes has drawn on her extensive experience communicating science outside of the narrow confines of academia to write a book that is as accessible as it is informative, and that stands out for its nuance and progressive outlook. Is this a new popular science benchmark?
Kindred: Neanderthal Life, Love, Death and Art, written by Rebecca Wragg Sykes, published by Bloomsbury Sigma in August 2020 (hardback, 408 pages)
Two things immediately struck me when I received this book. First, a personal favourite, illustrated end plates! Since Kindred discusses discoveries made at numerous dig sites, there is a map of Europe and part of Asia with their locations. At the back, there is a family tree showing the complex interrelatedness between early Homo sapiens, Neanderthals, and Denisovans. Second, at just shy of 400 pages with the bibliography online (more on that later) and having a larger trim size than usual for a Bloomsbury Sigma title, this is a chunky book
The reason soon becomes apparent: Sykes covers a lot of ground in this book. The deeper evolutionary history of our family tree, the history of Neanderthal discovery, their skeletal morphology, the traces and injuries that reveal their hardships in life, the climatological fluctuations during the 350,000 years of their existence on this planet, the stone, wood, and bone tools they produced and left behind, their diet, the temporary nature of their home sites as deduced from traces of fireplaces, their migrations and mobility in the landscape, the material traces hinting at a sense of aesthetics, the educated guesses we can make about their social and emotional lives, their funerary practices, the ancient DNA revolution, and, finally, the various explanations given for their disappearance. The scope of Kindred is nothing short of breathtaking. Her acknowledgements mention that the eight years it took to write this book were as daunting and as difficult as she had feared they would be, and the enormity of the task is clear.
“[…] the tools now at the disposal of archaeologists border on science fiction. Most certainly quite beyond the imagination of the pioneers, but even a formidable task for current scientists to keep on top of.”
Part of the reason is that technological advances have led to a veritable explosion in new methods to apply and new kinds of questions to ask. I was familiar with some of these, such as ancient DNA and the microscopic patterns of wear and tear left on teeth, but many were entirely new to me. The use of computers to fit stone flakes and fragments back together to reconstruct how a piece of stone was chipped and shaped into a tool? The use of laser scanners to document dig sites in exquisite three-dimensional detail? The analysis of the microscopic stratigraphy in soot layers, known as fuliginochronology? The use of isotopes to study where individuals were born and then moved to during their lives? As Sykes remarks, the tools now at the disposal of archaeologists border on science fiction. Most certainly quite beyond the imagination of the pioneers, but even a formidable task for current scientists to keep on top of.
This avalanche of information and techno-wizardry could have resulted in an inaccessible monolith of a book. There were a (very) few places where I felt Sykes careened into a dense thicket of details, such as when discussing the different lithic techno-complexes (for us mortals, the different styles of stone tools). And she does not always explain technologies. I assume most people will not know what the deal is with ancient DNA or what mtDNA even stands for. By and large, however, this book stands out for being fascinating, accessible, and terribly exciting. This is a golden age for archaeology! Most chapters are just the right length to avoid information overload, while a handful of drawings illustrate tricky concepts.
The picture that emerges of Neanderthals is that of hominins who are increasingly indistinguishable from early Homo sapiens; inventive, smart, social creatures, likely capable of spoken language, that survived for a very long time while weathering ice ages and warm periods. This picture is delivered in vivid writing that sometimes borders on lyrical—there were passages where I felt Sykes channelled the voice of deep time:
“Amid ancient surfaces densely spangled with myriad artefacts, fireplaces are like archaeological wormholes, bridging the impossible chasms of time separating us from long-vanished dwellers.”
But there is much else in her writing to admire. There are fascinating histories: how some skeletons ended up scattered over different countries, surviving multiple wars before the different body parts were reunited decades later. She reveals how archaeologists used to work and think, and how that has changed. For example, early excavators could not tell the difference between naturally shattered versus intentionally knapped rocks, thus discarding vast bodies of evidence at dig sites without recording them. In some cases, these are now being re-excavated for renewed examination. She repeatedly warns of simplistic interpretations and sexed-up headlines that dominate the news, instead stressing the far more interesting nuances, such as the fantastically complex patterns of population dispersals, influxes, turnovers, and interbreeding revealed by ancient DNA.
One of Sykes’s side projects is co-curating the website TrowelBlazers which celebrates the achievements of women in archaeology, geology, and palaeontology. Thus, I expected a certain progressive outlook. Indeed, why should the evidence for interbreeding always be interpreted as rape? Why is “desire and even emotional attachment […] regarded as more of a fairy tale than other explanations”? But she goes well beyond that, positively surprising me. Such as when parsing the complex and incomplete evidence for cannibalism in Neanderthals. She challenges the reader to consider different ways of interpreting this behaviour. Or by highlighting how Indigenous knowledge from hunter-gatherer communities can offer completely fresh perspectives on the archaeological record. This can illuminate blind spots of Western scientists, whether practical (the identification of tracks in the physical record) or more fundamental (challenging our ingrained tendency to see everything through a lens of dominance, exploitation, and conflict).
“[…] this book stands out for being fascinating, accessible, and terribly exciting. This is a golden age for archaeology!”
Finally, one decision that might divide opinions. Sykes opens the book explaining why, after careful thought, she did not include citations for claims and statements, focusing instead on the narrative. She has provided a 122-page bibliography online, but unfortunately, there is no link between references and what part of the text they are relevant to. Although I understand her reasoning, I have always found the use of superscripted numbers leading to individual notes and references to be a minimally intrusive middle road.
Though Kindred is not the first book to point towards a certain Neanderthal renaissance, its scope and authoritativeness eclipse what has come before. Whether you wonder what book to start with when new to the topic, or which book to pick if you only have time for one, Kindred is without a doubt the go-to book for a nuanced and current picture of Neanderthals.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
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I will come right out and say this: if the subtitle turned you off, give this book a chance. Yes, this is a sceptical take on the subject, but without the typical mockery and ridicule. Natural sees religious scholar Alan Levinovitz critically but thoughtfully examine the appeal to nature fallacy*: the idea that just because something is natural it is good. For a biologist, the “natural goodness” myth is particularly grating as it requires some exceptional cherry-picking to come to this conclusion. As far as logical fallacies go, this is a big personal bug-bear. Why is it so compelling?
Natural: The Seductive Myth of Nature’s Goodness, written by Alan Levinovitz, published in Europe by Profile Books in March 2020 (hardback, 288 pages)
Levinovitz makes the incisive observation that it is a theological argument, which is perhaps unsurprising coming from a religious scholar. “Nature” has become a stand-in for God, and “natural” synonymous with holy. Our technocratic society thus represents our fall from grace, complete with pollution, human-caused extinctions, and the looming spectre of global climate change. If only we had not turned our backs on the divine wisdom of Mother Earth, etc. etc. Of course, the sheer impossibility of trying to talk logic with believers has caused many a sceptic to throw up their hands in despair, but Levinovitz calls the categorical dismissal of appeals to nature its own pernicious faith. You will find zealots in both camps. In reality, he argues, there is no point picking sides, because the whole framing is misguided to begin with.
The remainder of the book shows how natural goodness is one of our oldest and most pervasive myths. In the process, Levinovitz touches on a diverse range of time periods and topics: childbirth, food, our hunter-gatherer past, natural parks and the notion of wildness, healing and medicine, wellness, economics, sex and birth control, and sports. Rather than going into each one of these, let me highlight just some of the many interesting insights that emerged.
“”Nature” has become a stand-in for God, and “natural” synonymous with holy. Our technocratic society thus represents our fall from grace […]”
One is how old this line of thinking is. When it comes to looking at nature for ideas on organising our economic and political systems, Aristotle and Plato already likened society to the human body. Adam Smith made comparisons to our circulatory system. In fact, Levinovitz writes, these explanations often use whatever scientific model is the flavour of the day. For a while it was physics, today it is evolutionary biology. But stare hard at these metaphors and they fall apart, though people rarely do: “the premise that models from nature can be neatly mapped onto economic systems remains largely unquestioned, instead of being revealed for the theological claim it is” (p. 186). Mythologizing life in the past similarly has deep roots, notably the idea of the “noble savage” that can be traced back to the 16th century (though some argue this is a myth in itself). Other authors have pointed out our starry-eyed romanticizing of native cultures by thinking of them as peaceful and non-violent, or as the “first environmentalists” living in pristine rainforests that doubled up as mother nature’s pharmacy. Did our ancestors have it better? Some say yes, others say no. Levinovitz thinks the question is impossible to answer one way or another and concludes that mythic binaries are inadequate.
Despite his scepticism, the second interesting observation he makes is that those who appeal to nature, as mistaken as they might be, do raise valid concerns. It is hard to deny that industrial agriculture harms the environment, is far from transparent, and happily deceives consumers with similar appeal-to-nature marketing claims. Is it any wonder that people, in their distrust, are driven into the arms of someone like Vani “Food Babe” Hari who provides “pseudoscientific sermons about the virtues of eating naturally“? The same logic crops up in medicine. In the modern healthcare system, patients frequently feel disempowered and no longer in control, suddenly entering a frightening, sterile, clinical world, where bedside manners are often poor. As Levinovitz rightly points out: “Sick humans are not just broken machines. We have a deep emotional connection to our bodies” (p. 123). It is easy to discount the need for empowerment if you have never been seriously ill. However, as his many interviewees make clear, this is an important reason for seeking out natural therapies. Patients prefer to hear that they can regain control of the situation, rather than cultivating a stoic acceptance of their own mortality, or accepting the honest answer of a medical specialist who also cannot explain why you fell ill.
“[On wellness gurus] Levinovitz makes the bitingly sharp observation that this is “consecrated consumption, in which the ritual of shopping becomes a kind of spiritualized retail therapy dedicated to nature””
Third and final, Levinovitz makes some bitterly ironical observations. Obstetricians point out that only because people have forgotten just how dangerous pregnancy and childbirth used to be they can be tempted by the stories of natural childbirth advocates. And, I would add, the same twisted logic applies to vaccines. Ancient healthcare practitioners, meanwhile, would be mystified by our distinction between natural and unnatural—for them, surgery and drugs were completely natural, for the alternatives were magical rituals such as exorcisms. And then there are the wellness charlata––sorry, “gurus” such as Deepak Chopra and Gwyneth Paltrow who hypocritically equate wellness with wealth by charging fortunes for their products and treatments. Levinovitz makes the bitingly sharp observation that this is “consecrated consumption, in which the ritual of shopping becomes a kind of spiritualized retail therapy dedicated to nature” (p. 135).
Although I appreciated Levinovitz’s even-handed approach, in places he feels rather mild. An apologetic afterword explains how he started researching this book a fanatical sceptic, only to realise that he was confirming his own biases and was possessed by a myopic dogmatism. In the end, the whole exercise left him philosophically confused, although he argues that this is not something to feel guilty about. Such honesty and humility are refreshing. Even so, I felt somewhat disappointed when I finished the book. Why? Having covered such diverse topics, a concluding chapter to tie it all together, reiterating the points he made in his introduction, would have been welcome. To return to the book’s subtitle, why seductive? I think Levinovitz is really onto something when he calls the argument theological. Why myth? Because we are natural-born storytellers that crave narrative. And the notion of “natural goodness” provides an incredibly compelling if overly simplistic hook. Lastly, the blurb teases with a Herzogian-style** resolution that the book never delivers: that nature is neither good nor bad, instead not caring about us in the slightest.
This notwithstanding, Natural is a thought-provoking book that stands out by urging readers to embrace nuance over simplicity, and uncertainty over dogma. Would I recommend it? Yes, naturally.
* Not to be confused with the similar-sounding naturalistic fallacy.
** German director Werner Herzog is known for his borderline nihilistic view of the nature of nature, and Levinovitz quotes from his documentary Grizzly Man.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
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