2.5 stars, rounding down.
I really enjoyed Roberts's Alone on the Ice, which was a high-tension retelling of a story with an arc and with interesting (and mercilessly described) characters. The book was meticulously researched, and a lot more honest than some of the source materials he used (e.g., Mawson's own book). I thought it had some structural problems, but the second half was so compelling that I inhaled the thing. So I know Roberts can write a good book.
The Lost World of the Old Ones isn't one. There is enough material here for two or three good magazine articles, and indeed the early chapters are fairly dense with interesting information about the Anasazi/Pueblo culture. But the middle and end of the book are tedious travelogues and descriptions of cowboy, Mormon, and hippie climber parties stumbling on so many petroglyphs.
I used to think the most boring thing in the world was listening to someone retell a dream, but I am forced to amend this in light of how excruciatingly dull it is to learn about a bunch of hikes in the Southwest.
On to substance. The thing that stands out the most to me about this book is how much Roberts is in it. There was almost no authorial presence in Alone on the Ice; there was some welcome editorializing occasionally and some reports of how he came by information in interviews, but no travelogues. Here, it's me-me-me. And boy is he lacking in self-awareness.
He clearly thinks he is one of the good guys, because he respectfully clambers through the Southwestern mesas in search of Indian artefacts, unlike those stampeding other tourists. (To be fair: I am 100% with him in his hatred of ATVs, those things are an abomination.) He seems to think that the Southwest would be better off if the only person allowed to walk around looking for artefacts was him. I got news for you, buddy: we are in the 21st century. There are 8 billion people on the planet. The population has more than tripled since Roberts was born--it's mentioned in the book at some point, I think he was born before the 1950's. Is it any wonder that popular vacation spots are crowded?
It's not making them National Monuments that does it, it's the Instagramming and democratization of exotic adventure travel. Any schmuck can go climb Everest now, given enough money. You don't own it.
On the other hand, I have to hand it to him: when he talks about anthropologists and archeologists, he is rightfully merciless. He's definitely not of the school where if you have nothing good to say, you keep mum. When he describes all U of New Mexico research that still hasn't been written up, and never will be, because the researchers are friggin' useless deadwood who can't muster up the discipline to write and publish, he's spot-on. When he criticizes them for micro-specializing and not taking an interest in the big picture, while dismissing anyone who tries to do so as cranks or publicity hounds, he's spot-on. There is a devastating portrait of a married couple of researchers early on in the book, who bust up, and as a result he steals credit for her work, and she doesn't publish a word on it. Academics are such dicks, right?
Anyway, time to wrap this up. I think my judgment of this book was significantly affected by hearing it as an audiobook on Hoopla Digital, rather than reading it with eyeballs. When I said above that this should have been magazine articles, I meant it: there need to be pictures. I want to see the blanket, the basket, and the petroglyphs. I want to see a map of the meridian. I also need a reader who is literate enough to be able to pronounce words correctly. The reader they used doesn't have the oral vocabulary to correctly sound out words like "parsimony" and "orthodoxy", and at some point he said either "correlates" or "corollaries" or something like that so wrongly that I spat my coffee out, it was hilarious. He also doesn't seem to be meta-linguistically aware enough to note that "Uto-Aztecan" is related to "Ute", so he pronounces the language family name as "Ooto-". I started wondering how many Indian place names he was mangling completely.