"There is a fundamental problem when considering the edges of the world: the edges are determined by where we think the centre is."
With this observation, Owen Rees sets the stage for his revisionist history of the ancient past. The line does more than introduce a theme—it dismantles the blocks upon which many conventional histories of antiquity are built. By questioning who decides what counts as the "centre," Rees forces us to reconsider how histories of Greece and Rome have been written, and, perhaps more importantly, who has been left out.
Rees structures the book as a series of case studies that stretch from Lake Turkana to Aksum, from Hadrian's Wall to Co Loa. Each site is presented as a dynamic locus of interaction, where cultural borders are blurred and societies adapt to political, environmental, and economic pressures. Rees's arguments are grounded in archaeological evidence—in lived realities rather than the prejudiced accounts of elite classical authors. In doing so, he critiques the "civilised-barbarian" dichotomy and demonstrates the complex, multicultural lives of people who existed beyond the gaze of Ovid and his peers.
One of the book's strengths is its human focus—veterans in Karanis writing petitions against injustice, Nubian women in Egyptian garrisons reshaping food culture, or the multicultural soldiers along Hadrian's Wall. These vignettes are personalizing and remind us that ancient history is not just about the study of empires but of the lives of ordinary persons. Rees excels in making these stories accessible without oversimplifying them, weaving together archaeological data, inscriptions, and literary fragments into narratives that are rigorous and immediate.
Rees writes as someone who trusts his readers' intelligence. He introduces technical archaeological concepts—strontium isotope analysis, dental calculus examination—without condescension, while his narrative voice remains conversational and direct. Most effectively, he lets archaeological evidence speak against literary bias: where Ovid describes Tomis as a barbaric wasteland, Rees presents the material culture of a thriving Greek settlement, allowing the contrast to make his point about the unreliability of elite sources.
The revisionist argument is persuasive. Rees makes clear that the obsession with Greece and Rome as cultural "centres" has distorted the past. By shifting the focus to the peripheries, he reveals a landscape of innovation and resilience—not the empty frontier portrayed in many histories. Aksum's Christianity, Taxila's fusion of Greek and Buddhist art, or the continued flourishing of Volubilis after Rome's retreat each show how societies at the so-called "edges" shaped the ancient world on their own terms.
Rees is candid about the limits of his approach—no book can cover everything. His definition of "pre-history" as beginning before Herodotus is necessarily tied to a classical benchmark, even as he critiques classical bias. The disruptions of the COVID-19 pandemic and the war in Ukraine forced his reliance on secondary research for some regions. However, he turns this into a strength by highlighting the collaborative nature of historical scholarship. Also, the sheer breadth of material sometimes means that not every site receives equal depth. Yet these limitations do not undermine Rees's work. If anything, they point toward future research. The histories of Co Loa, Bilsk, or Aksum are far from fully told, and Rees's work opens the door for others to continue exploring them.
Ultimately, what emerges is a complex narrative, not a tidy replacement history that swaps one center for another. Rees demonstrates that there is no neat categorization of the ancient world: cultural lines were porous, trade networks spanned continents, and identities were constantly in motion. Rees presents a way of thinking about the past that embraces uncertainty and multiplicity. This approach has implications for how we understand historical knowledge itself. By foregrounding voices and sites often overlooked, Rees argues not just for a more inclusive history, but for a fundamental shift in how we conceive of historical authority—from the pronouncements of elite chroniclers to the patient accumulation of material evidence from ordinary lives.
By questioning who gets to define the 'centre' and the 'edge,' Rees ultimately advocates for a global history that does not reinforce divisions but reveals how interconnectedness has always defined the human story.