An Archaeology of Innovation: Approaching Social and Technological Change in Human Society

domination to an almost caricatured height. The narrative also undermines the pervasive assumptions about ‘collapses’ and ‘dark ages’ that underpin the times and spaces away from what appears to be state power in the archaeological record. Further, the notion that ‘ancient civilisation’ need be parsed as ‘old state’ is deconstructed and disposed of, with a detour through Minoan Crete (pp.434–439). Imagine the new narratives that might come from presenting the grandness of life in civilisations that called no man ‘king’, from the Tannese kava drinking fraternities to the master painters of Arnhem Land. Chapter 11 takes a final swipe at the teleological framework traditionally used to describe human social evolution in anthropology. The pathway from small, egalitarian bands to hierarchical states is neither linear, nor is it historically or even logically inevitable. North American anthropology and archaeology provide further examples of immense interaction spheres, the construction of complex monuments with a shared standard design and dimensions, and a system of shared animal totems to facilitate movement across the continent, all without a centralised government or paramount ruler. The parallels with Aboriginal Australia are fairly obvious in this case, but there could equally be connections made to Pacific cultures and their maritime networks, or the archaeology of Island Southeast Asia’s so-called ‘theatre’ states. The ambition of this book is perhaps reflected in the fact that its conclusion poses a series of questions rather than providing definitive answers. These have to do with the nature of states, violence, warfare, family structures, and ultimately how our own globalised society seems so incapable of enacting the three freedoms in any concerted or sustainable way. Having dismantled the mythology of modern social science’s approach to the rise of civilisations (as seen mostly through the lenses of anthropology and archaeology), Graeber and Wengrow part with a musing on what myths might be crafted to replace the just-so stories they work so hard to reject. Unfortunately, with Graeber’s untimely passing in 2020, we will never know what sequels to The Dawn of Everything might have told us. That is fine, as it is not Graeber’s job (nor Wengrow’s for that matter) to tell us everything we need to know. Instead, it is up to us to decide how we will pick up the framework that Graeber and Wengrow have woven, what threads we will add to it, what we will keep, and what we will modify or discard. What new history of humanity would emerge if rather than a fairly small, wilfully misinterpreted, unevenly sampled portion of Eurasia, we placed Aboriginal Australia, the Fijian highlands, or coastal Borneo in the centre of the story? All it takes is us imagining more realistic, radically hopeful worlds in which our region’s past contributes a future. As a final note, I have written this review with the interest of AA readers in mind. The book, which featured for a time on the New York Times bestseller list, has certainly made a splash but also attracted critics, some quite strident. Not least I would recommend reading critiques from radical, feminist, and Indigenous scholars (see Kiddey 2022; Knight et al. 2021; Nakamura 2022; Robbins 2022) for different but extremely potent and relevant perspectives to the one presented here.