My love of fiction is truly rampant, it is no exaggeration to say it is as unbridled as a Smithfield nag that has gorged itself on a nosebag full of bennies (sound of fox horn from stage left.)…..
Books go everywhere with me, on occasion, I have taken Jane Eyre under the duvet (with a flashlight,) I once had Madam Bovary behind a hay barn, and I have even gone so far as to take a bath with the Brothers Karamazov (Rub a dub dub.)
Of course my love of archaeological literature is much the same, my academic library fills at least five wheely bins – or conservatively speaking – half a skip. I’m a great lover of the archaeology magazines too. Those archhaeozines are all about the sexy end of archaeology. Sex sells, (I know it does, I’m worn to a nub selling the stuff since the recession took over,) so I was delighted to see Cosmo ladies magazine has taken the brave step of publishing an archaeological mag . . .
But let’s not get carried away with trashy magazines shall we? It’s easy to overlook those classics of archaeology. What about Gordon Childe’s ‘Prehistory of Scotland,’ a triumph, an unbeatable example of what happens when you put Karl Marx in a kilt and send him on holidays to Jurassic Park. I would be lost without that tome, an indispensable part of my quarters, things would feel unbalanced without it. See fig.3a below.
And let us not forget Herr Hitler, who was of course the first site director I ever worked under (or at least if it wasn’t him, it was someone quite like him.) When Der Fuhrer was not marching four million troops into Russia (just in the nick of time for Winter) he was penning what was to prove probably the most seminal work relating to the health and safety of archaeologists worldwide . . .
Of course there comes a point in the day when every archaeologist has had enough of books and wants nothing more than to order a pizza in a soggy cardboard box, deflate onto the sofa (see fig.3a above,) then watch the cheesy grease spill off their haute cuisine and make thought-provoking patterns on their crotch. I find watching this sort of abstract food art far more instructive than the myriad of filth one sees on the television nowadays. However should the archaeologist feel the need to turn on the idiot box . . . there’s a book about that too!
More Cartoon Reality…