I got this book as a Christmas present when I was twelve. My (young) uncle knew I liked historical fiction and had recently developed an interest in dawn-of-man science. As a scientist, he wanted to encourage this interest. However, he was also very busy, and instead of reading the book himself, he gave it to his roommate. A week later, the roommate handed it back. "It's pretty good. Not enough sex, though."

My uncle gave it to me without a second thought and forgot about it until my mother called him. She'd found me curled up on the couch with my eyes about to pop out of my head. When she picked up the book after I'd gone to bed, she hit the roof and confiscated the book.

I kept searching until I found it, grabbed it, and hid it in my room on the floor of my closet. (Believe me, that was a very safe hiding place.)

To this day I am still fascinated by the origins of mankind and men with great big... yeah.

Mammoth was the first one in the series that I read, and as such, it's my favorite. Its flaws were easy to overlook when I was twelve, and the things I thought were terrific at the time... well, I still think they're terrific!