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The introduction presents the topic of the book, its aims and type of primary material examined, discussing the problems and limitations inherent to the archaeobotanical data available. It then gives an overview of the book structure and chapter content.
Chapter 8 discusses the archaeological evidence for cultivation choices made on provincial estates, trying to establish when large-scale arboriculture was a viable and appealing choice for growers. The case study of two farms in southern France suggests that even for modest colonial famers cultivating the grapevine and making wine for the market were attractive commercial choices. The fact that these cultivated a combination of wild and cultivated vines might be indicative of the limited opportunities they had in accessing plant cuttings and young vines from nurseries. The chapter concludes by comparing the Iberian and Gallic evidence with that available for Roman Britain, a region for which rich archaeobotanical datasets exists. The Roman era increased the range of plant foods consumed and allowed the acclimatization of certain plants into Britain; here, large-scale fruit cultivation seems to have occurred on larger estates, whose proprietors had access to capital, technical knowledge and markets with sufficient aggregate demand. Roman Britain shows quite clearly that the overall pattern in the distant provinces was not so different from the heartland of Roman agriculture.
This chapter focuses on grafting of fruit trees and the development of new cultivars of fruits, exploring the ways in which grafting came to occupy a prominent metaphorical and symbolic place in elite intellectual discourse. It is argued that such ideological constructs ultimately rested on the fact that grafting is a fundamental technique in arboriculture (since propagation of plants to maintain them true to type occurs by grafting). Grafting lent itself easily to be used as the symbol of the ingenuity and control humans could exercise over nature, but also as a possible source of hubris. The emphasis literary texts give to the involvement of prominent Roman families in the development and naming of new fruit varieties suggests that this symbolic discourse was rooted in practical considerations about the economic implications of running agricultural estates for market-oriented arboriculture.
This paper discusses gilded wreaths from the Greek world, which were sometimes buried in graves in the period between the fourth century BC and Roman times. It is based upon a study undertaken by the author for her doctoral thesis. A categorisation into seven types is proposed, based on first-hand study of some 170 wreaths. Some of the wreaths studied are presented here and a detailed description of one representative example of each type with contextual information is set out in the Appendix. It is not clear whether gilded wreaths were worn in life, but their main use seems to have been funerary. Most were intended for the head, and some ideas as to how the various types may have been worn are proposed. Suggestions as to the probable origin of each of the various types are made, with caveats. The author was able to analyse many wreaths, enabling her to draw some conclusions as to the materials used; the results most relevant to the seven specimens described in the Appendix are set out in the two tables. There follows a discussion of the gilding technique used, which in most cases involved an application of a clay coating and adhesive beneath the gold. Some items with similarities to gilded wreaths are then discussed to set them in context: gold wreaths, terracotta jewellery and single leaves. The paper reviews the four main uses with which wreaths are associated in ancient Greece, all connected (religious purposes; on death; at the symposium and banquets; and to honour victorious athletes and other outstanding persons) before offering some explanations as to why gilded wreaths may have been buried in graves.
Chapter 1 investigates how in the late Republic private gardens came to symbolize the qualities and cultural aspirations of their owners, essentially becoming a means for self-representation. This ideological development was the outcome of the blurring of boundaries between private and public architecture in terms of social and political significance. The chpater then focuses on two grand examples of garden planning that brought the symbolic use of green spaces into the political discourse and political competition: Lucullus’ Horti and Pompey’s Porticus. Plants displayed in a garden could convey specific meanings; when such plants were exotica imported from newly conquered lands, they spoke also of territorial conquests. The multi-layered cultural complexity of late Republican garden spaces was the basis on which horticulture and plant transplanting grew as an elite, ideologically charged activity.
Chapter 3 argues that the Augustan era was crucial for the development of commercial arboriculture and horticulture more generally. The interest of Augustan intellectuals in writing works on horticulture, the introduction of new fruits into Italy, the appearance of garden tombs and of specific terms to indicate types of cultivations, the wider application of water-lifting technology to irrigation, all point to a considerable development of horticulture and intensification of cultivations in the late first century BC and the early first century AD.While horticultural exploitation in Rome’s suburbium changed gear during the early principate, the chapter argues that further stimulus to investigate horticultural matters came also from land assignments to veterans in provincial territories and from wealthy landowners who were acquiring an increasing number of properties overseas. Identifying the best varieties to be cultivated commercially in the specific environmental conditions present in the provincial territories must have been of great interest to the farmer-colonists as it was for the Romanized local elites investing in cash crop cultivations.
Found only in a restricted area of north-west Australia, the Australian boab (Adansonia gregorii) is recognisable by its massive, bottle-shaped trunk, and is an economically important species for Indigenous Australians, with the pith, seeds and young roots all eaten. Many of these trees are also culturally significant and are sometimes carved with images and symbols. The authors discuss the history of research into carved boabs in Australia, and present a recent survey to locate and record these trees in the remote Tanami Desert. Their results provide insight into the archaeological and anthropological significance of dendroglyphs in this region and add to a growing corpus of information on culturally modified trees globally.
The authors discuss new sediment coring at the Early Neolithic submerged site of Atlit-Yam, Israel, that reveals stratified archaeological deposits 0.7–0.9m below the seabed. They demonstrate the potential of micro-geoarchaeological analysis to generate new chrono-stratigraphic data for the onset of Early Neolithic coastal occupation in the Eastern Mediterranean.
A Handbook of Animals in Old English Texts is the definitive handbook for students, scholars, and observers of the non-human in early medieval England. In this interdisciplinary compendium to the animal inhabitants of medieval Britain, Preston documents each creature mentioned in the Old English literary textual canon and correlates its standard literary interpretation with relevant historical, archaeological, and ecological studies. Beyond its usefulness as a reference work, Preston's text challenges the reader to move beyond a literary analysis of the figural beast to one that leaves space for the actual animal.
This is an Element about some of the largest sites known in prehistoric Europe – sites so vast that they often remain undiscussed for lack of the theoretical or methodological tools required for their understanding. Here, the authors use a relational, comparative approach to identify not only what made megasites but also what made megasites so special and so large. They have selected a sample of megasites in each major period of prehistory – Neolithic, Copper, Bronze and Iron Ages – with a detailed examination of a single representative megasite for each period. The relational approach makes explicit comparisons between smaller, more 'normal' sites and the megasites using six criteria – scale, temporality, deposition / monumentality, formal open spaces, performance and congregational catchment. The authors argue that many of the largest European prehistoric megasites were congregational places.
This article presents 6637 radiocarbon dates from archaeological sites in southernmost Sweden, from 9000 cal bc to the present. Based on summed probability distributions (SPDs) of the calibrated radiocarbon dates, the authors consider long-term trends in settlement and human population. Most dates are from the fertile and densely populated plains of south-western Scania, but coastal lowlands and forested uplands are also represented, allowing for a discussion of the relationship between central and peripheral areas. The authors distinguish between different types of archaeological contexts and features and between different types of dated material, so as to better understand the processes behind population and settlement change. They highlight three periods and phenomena revealed by the SPDs: a strong population increase at the onset of the Neolithic (4000–3700 cal bc), followed by a sharp decline; a steady and long-lasting expansion from the Early Bronze Age to the Roman Iron Age (1500 cal bc–cal ad 200); and a decrease in the Nordic Late Iron Age (seventh century ad), particularly in recently colonized upland areas. The SPDs presented provide a new framework for archaeology in southern Sweden and offer an empirical basis for discussion of long-term trends in settlement and population development.
The book investigates the cultural and political dimension of Roman arboriculture and the associated movement of plants from one corner of the empire to the other. It uses the convergent perspectives offered by textual and archaeological sources to sketch a picture of large-scale arboriculture as a phenomenon primarily driven by elite activity and imperialism. Arboriculture had a clear cultural role in the Roman world: it was used to construct the public persona of many elite Romans, with the introduction of new plants from far away regions or the development of new cultivars contributing to the elite competitive display. Exotic plants from conquered regions were also displayed as trophies in military triumphs, making plants an element of the language of imperialism. Annalisa Marzano argues that the Augustan era was a key moment for the development of arboriculture and identifies colonists and soldiers as important agents contributing to plant dispersal and diversity.
Much needed within scholarship related to archaeology, the construction of nations, and the politics of epistemic practice, the two books under review—Bureaucratic archaeology and Archaeology, nation, and race—are certainly welcome additions. The first, by Ashish Avikunthak, is a deep and engaged ethnographic study of the ways by which the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) produces archaeology, and links it to religiosity, at the excavation site. Through this study, Avikunthak lays open “this social, cultural, and scientific universe of postcolonial archaeologies and demonstrate the impact of bureaucratic ontologies on epistemological practices” (p. xix). The second volume, co-authored by Raphael Greenberg and Yannis Hamilakis, can be considered autoethnographic, fashioned around conversations during a seminar at Brown University. In a series of fascinating chapter-conversations, they provide nuance to otherwise very difficult, slippery and easily conflated arguments that bring together and reflect upon the histories of archaeological imaginaries and contemporary politics of Greece and Israel/occupied Palestine. Both texts are grounded in an ethnographic modality that allows for clarity of their epistemic critiques of the nation. It is remarkable how much political work both texts are doing by carefully holding and contextualising history and contemporary politics, while also providing critical insights into the ways in which archaeology is used to further the politics of the nation.