In a recent Antiquity article, Darvill (2022) proposed that the mid third-millennium BC Stage 2 sarsen settings of Stonehenge (comprising the Trilithon Horseshoe, Sarsen Circle and the Station Stone Rectangle) were conceived in order to represent a calendar year of 365.25 days—that is, a calendar identical in duration to the Julian calendar. In the present article, the authors argue that this proposal is unsubstantiated, being based as it is on a combination of numerology, astronomical error and unsupported analogy.

The two edited volumes reviewed here provide up-to-date overviews of their respective topics in Mesoamerican archaeology: the development of the early cities in the region (Early Mesoamerican cities) and the ways in which one such city grew to influence or control a large portion of the region (Teotihuacan and Early Classic Mesoamerica). Both volumes were developed from SAA (Society for American Archaeology) conference sessions and—for better or worse—this remains evident in their internal variability in the definition of key terms and the lines of evidence presented in different chapters. Both focus on identifying and discussing the processes behind observed phenomena, rather than binary determinations of whether a given case was or was not a city, state or empire. Most of the chapters in both volumes also include significant quantities of data generated over the past 10–15 years, which provide important updates to traditional narratives. In the case of Cities, the influx of new data is largely driven by the explosive potential of LiDAR to identify landscape-level settlement patterns in lowland portions of Mesoamerica, and the resulting chapters are biased toward lowland cases. In Teotihuacan, much of the new information comes from a majority-Mexican list of authors, who work at sites in a broad range of locations across the country. Both volumes deftly avoid rehashing what have historically been the most visible debates on each of their topics: the Olmec mother/sister culture debate and the nature of Teotihuacan/Maya interaction, respectively.

Hanscam and Buchanan (2023) have written a timely and important contribution to the evolving discussion about the politicisation of archaeology, and the prominent role that intersections with Border Studies might play in future debates. I concur with many of their substantive points. Focusing on boundaries and bordering processes is a natural extension of the work on identities that has been a dominant theme in archaeology since at least the 1990s; it also provides a counterbalance to recent trends that seek to extend globalisation deeper into the past, not least in Roman studies (e.g. Pitts & Versluys 2014). As Hanscam and Buchanan note for the public sphere, there are also numerous academic contributions within the Border Studies literature that draw upon archaeological or historical examples, though often framed within outdated understandings of the meanings of these boundaries (e.g. Nail 2016; see Gardner 2022). Our role in engaging with these contributions is not simply to point out mistakes, but also to learn from this range of perspectives on the significance of boundaries in human societies, to fuse them with our own interpretations of ancient borderlands, and to contribute to contemporary debates that crystallise many of the most important issues of our times.

Debates about archaeological interpretation are always healthy and welcome, and when, as here, arguments are not killed off, they inevitably become stronger. Importantly, the comments by Magli and Belmonte (2023) serve as a reminder that reconciling conflicting theoretical perspectives is never easy when times are changing. Grounded in positivism, their critique draws upon assumptions that become justificatory assertions. For better or worse, archaeological thinking has moved away from the processualism of the late 1960s, 1970s and early 1980s—a key turning point being Hodder's (1984) review of positivism in archaeological interpretation and his call for more contextualised approaches. The authors might usefully have consulted this and other works before setting out onto the choppy waters of post-processual archaeology. Many of their points simply escalate questions posed in my original text (Darvill 2022), and they often fail to distinguish between suggestions, arguments and more solid interpretative statements. Notwithstanding, they neatly arrange their response around three issues that are here addressed seriatim.

Digital heritage and archaeology in practice comprises two companion volumes: Presentation, teaching, and engagement (from here on, PTE) and Data, ethics, and professionalism (DEP). The chapters present some of the outputs of the Institute for Digital Archaeology Method and Practice, based at Michigan State University and funded by the National Endowment for Humanities Institutes for Advanced Topics in Digital Humanities programme.

The wider case presented by Hanscam and Buchanan (2023), as I understand it, is for archaeologists to consider directly the relation of the past in shaping social and political narratives in the present. I agree that this should happen; I contend it is productively happening already. It is a stretch to argue that the misinterpretation of Hadrian's Wall has been a substantive tool for political justification of US-Mexico border policy, or that archaeologists should make a comparison between such sites just in case someone tries to do so. I am interested in having a conversation about the history of bordering regimes, but why would we make a connection that might be misused in order to clarify that these are not good cases for comparison, beyond that both are walls? In relation to the authors’ problem statement that history is being misused to justify the present, it is notable that the one quotation cited observing a relationship between Hadrian's Wall and present-day US-Mexico border barriers is from The New Yorker—hardly a bastion of jingoistic politics or a go-to source of journalism for the political right. Moreover, the quote expressed caution against making a comparison between Hadrian's wall and contemporary border walling projects.

These two handsome volumes stem from the landmark exhibition ‘Idolos: Miradas Milenarias/Ídolos: Olhares Milenares’ (Idols: Millenary Gazes), which assembled an impressive collection of figurines and decorated artefacts from Neolithic and Copper Age Iberia. A total of 270 archaeological artefacts from 27 museums (plus one private collector) were displayed together for the first time, with the aim of bringing current understanding of these artefacts and the communities that made and used them to the general public (statistics can be found here: https://www.museunacionalarqueologia.gov.pt/?p=8813). The exhibition was an ambitious project and initially sparked by conversations between Jorge Soler, Head of Exhibitions at the Archaeological Museum of Alicante (MARQ) and Enrique Baquedano, Director of the Regional Archaeological Museum of Madrid (MAR)—both award-winning museums—and later joined by Primitiva Bueno, Professor at the University of Alcalá de Henares, a leading expert in late prehistoric art in Iberia and António Carvalho, Director of the National Museum of Archaeology of Portugal (NMA). The international exhibition travelled between Alicante (January to July 2020), Madrid (July 2020 to January 2021) and Lisbon (April to October 2021) and was well attended despite subsequent COVID-19 lockdowns (e.g. the exhibition at the MARQ had 29 000 in-person and 60 000 virtual visitors). If you did not have the chance to visit the exhibition, you can still take the NMA virtual tour here: https://my.matterport.com/show/?m=vd8nAmTpg85&play=1&title=1&ts=3&help=0, or here: https://mpembed.com/show/?m=r1G1HjKBeDT.

In Born losers: a history of failure in America (2005), historian Scott A. Sandage traces how, through the course of the nineteenth century, business failures gradually morphed into personal failures. Where losing money initially meant just that by the later nineteenth century, as the narrative of the ‘self-made man’ took hold, it came to be seen by society as a personal shortcoming and framed as a moral judgement. Fast-forward to the big-tech era of the twenty-first century and failure has become a trophy rather than a scar. Silicon Valley's credo of ‘fail fast and fail forward’ entrenches failure not only as a standard element of business practice—start-ups are expected to fail, their founders slated to move forward on their path to success—but also as a commendable addition to a CV or resumé thought to reflect ambition, innovativeness and resilience (see critique in Myers 2019). This admittedly truncated narrative of failure in America, closely intertwined with capitalist profit-seeking, serves to illustrate that failure is not a neutral concept but rather a social phenomenon, the reality and valence of which are context dependent. Moreover, like all social phenomena, failure has a history.

Hanscam and Buchanan (2023) give us an insightful comparative analysis of Hadrian's Wall and the US/Mexico border wall. Their analysis shows how critically to study and use these long walls in an explicitly political archaeology. I have engaged in archaeology as political action (McGuire 2008), and have researched the materiality of the US/Mexico border while doing humanitarian work along that border (McGuire 2013). Hanscam and Buchanan deftly employ archaeology as a political tool to challenge capitalist ideologies about borders. They plead for a politically relevant archaeology that engages the past to address modern issues. Without such relevance, they fear that archaeology will be made redundant. I emphatically agree with them that an activist archaeology makes our discipline more relevant. I fear, however, that these politics may be our demise rather than our salvation.