The Archaeology of Loss: A Companion for Grief

by Sarah Tarlow

A unflinching memoir exploring the realities of marriage, care-giving, how we die and how we grieve.

After thirteen years together, Sarah Tarlow’s husband Mark began to suffer from an undiagnosed illness, which rapidly left him incapable of caring for himself. Life – an intense juggling act of a demanding job, young children and looking after a depressed and frustrated parner – became hard.

One day, five years after he first started showing symptoms, Mark waited for Sarah and their children to leave their home before ending his own life. Although Sarah had devoted her professional life as an archaeologist to the study of death and how we grieve, she found that nothing had prepared her for the reality of illness and the devastation of loss.

The Archaeology of Loss is a fiercely vulnerable, deeply intimate and yet unflinchingly direct memoir which describes a universal experience with a singular gaze. Told with humour, intelligence and urgency, its raw honesty offers profound consolation in difficult times.

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, Grief, Audiobook, Death, History, Biography

288 pages, Hardcover

Published October 15, 2024

Reviews

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

(3.75) Right in my wheelhouse: a bereavement memoir written by an archaeologist, this also incorporates UK travel and history, references to the classics and other grief lit, and a discussion of the law around assisted dying. Out of nowhere, Tarlow's partner, Mark, started having seizures and gradually declined with an undiagnosed degenerative neurological condition initially labelled autoimmune encephalitis. His trajectory over the next six years was similar to that of MND or ALS, eventually leaving him bedridden. Because doctors didn't know what exactly was wrong, there was no prognosis and Mark was frustrated and depressed. It was suffering without explanation or an end in sight. So he ordered pentobarbital to arrive to the house and took it while she and the children were away, just weeks after their bedside wedding and days after their younger son's eleventh birthday. While technically it was a suicide, that's a term Tarlow resists because it doesn't reflect the complications or show compassion for Mark's impossible situation. He acted alone because anyone who helped him could have been prosecuted in the UK.

Perhaps unavoidably, there is not a full sense of Mark as a living, healthy person and, correspondingly, the picture of Tarlow herself is of a frazzled caregiver and then a fumbling widow. But earlier chapters do give a taste of their romance as academic colleagues and their new family life. The book is a little disjointed and sometimes I thought the parallels with archaeology were forced - maybe insisted on by an editor trying to keep to a proposed structure. But overall I felt immersed in and convinced by this messy story of love and loss and looking for some meaning in it all. Tarlow hopes that we can reclaim something of the medieval ars moriendi, the art of dying, by being better prepared for saying goodbye to our loved ones and approaching our own end.

Some favourite lines:

"Grief is your life as it was before, but less. A diminishing. It is a stripping away, or a hollowing out, and it hurts. There is nothing pleasurable in it, but there is a kind of purity."

(this is something her brother-in-law said to her after she inadvisably moved house some months before Mark's death, but it resonates for me with my hatred for DIY and my fixer-upper house: "I think there is a danger that you could come to hate the house, because it is just a list of jobs to do by yourself and a source of stress ... get a decorator in to do some of the work. You can afford it and it will be a weight off."

[Violet · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book was not at all what I thought I was going to read - I expected mostly archeology, with a bit of memoir, based on summaries read online, and it was the other way around: a memoir, with a bit of archeology sprinkled on top.

I still loved it a lot. Sarah Tarlow writes about the death of her husband, Mark, his deterioration from an unkown and undiagnosed illness, and his death by suicide in 2016, on a rare evening she was out.

Sarah's husband does not come across as a nice person, even when she remembers the start of their relationship, when she was fascinated by how smart, witty and quick he was - he is also judgmental, unromantic, and, although she doesn't word it that way... just not a feminist. He's a man who sharpens the kitchen knives in the evening but leaves raising children, doing the laundry, cooking, payingthe bills, to his wife. She's so incredibly honest in her retelling of their relationship when he became ill, remembering how she hoped at some point that he would get better so that they could separate (she ended up marrying him - two weeks before his death and just on time to make her life as a widdow slightly "better" than if they had not been married). She goes on and on about how difficult he was, how he made her feel guilty the one time she had a friend around, when she was working and managing his care completely - on top of raising three children. She goes into details about the life of a carer - being late at work because the carer you hired is late in traffic, having to learn skills you never developed because the other person was in charge, feeling like everything relies on you and never having a day off.

There is some archeology, every now and then - she makes parallels between her life and her situation; and what she has encountered through work, but this really is a memoir about dealing with a very ill partner, not being sure whether he would make it or not, and trying to cope. Sarah is so honest about the ugly sides of it, including her wanting to escape, her having to care for someone she was no longer getting on with, looking after kids when their father is dying, feeling bad for not feeling guilty after a suicide... I felt at times I wished she was near me so I could squeeze her arm in sympathy: it was that raw and that well-written.

I can see in the acknowledgements that she has since met someone new, and it genuinely made me feel so happy for her. I found it incredibly moving and sad and I hope it brought her peace: in the book I can see she is being super honest and trying to show everything she did, including things she was not sure about, and she writes beautifully about her frustrations looking after someone who is very ill. And despite what might seem ugly or unkind at times - making a show of how things are difficult around him, being moody and not being up to chat -, I felt nothing but understanding towards her and I loved this book. I like to imagine that because it is so honest, it was somehow therapeutic for her, and I hope so.

Anyway. 5 stars. I found it surprisingly moving and interesting, and the writing was beautiful in a straightforward kind of way.

Free ARC shared by Netgalley.

[Alan Biles-Liddell · Rating 5 out of 5]

I first came across an extract of this book in the Guardian, on a Saturday morning in April, four months after the loss of my wife and I was hooked. Here was someone who understood grief, could voice it and articulate it in ways that I just couldn't at the time. Having now read the book I have found this empathetic, cathartic and interesting with its links to how archeologists explore and view life, death and different aspects of civilizations. Anyone who has gone through any sort of traumatic loss or knows of someone who has will find this both an interesting and illuminating read I am sure.

[Rick · Rating 5 out of 5]

Niet droog doorheen gekomen. Geweldig rauw en eerlijk geschreven boek als je meer wil weten over mantelzorg en rouwverwerking. Een sterker argument voor een uitgebreider recht op euthanasie heb ik nog niet gelezen.

[Martijn van Bruggen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Als de 48-jarige Sarah Tarlow op 7 mei 2016 de deur achter zich dichttrekt, roept ze: ‘Ik ben thuis.’ Het is zaterdagochtend. Haar man, Mark Pluciennik, die zijn dagen vanwege een progressieve neurologische ziekte in bed slijt, reageert niet. Tarlow loopt naar boven en treft hem levenloos aan. Ze hadden een relatie van achttien jaar, ze waren twee weken getrouwd. Mark suïcideerde zich met het middel pentobarbital en hij stierf alleen.

In De archeologie van het verlies probeert de bekende Britse archeologe Sarah Tarlow haar rouwgevoelens onder woorden te brengen. Gevoelens die uiteenlopen van mededogen tot spijt. Daarnaast plaatst ze vanwege haar beroep onze rouwcultuur in een historische context. Zo redeneert ze dat er ook duizenden jaren geleden al mantelzorgers moesten zijn, want opgegraven mensenbotten blijken soms geheelde breuken te hebben: zonder hulp van anderen zouden onze voorvaders nooit wekenlang met een gebroken been kunnen hebben overleefd. Dat archeologische haakje, waarvan iemand op een uitgeverij vast gezegd heeft dat dat Tarlows verhaal onderscheidend kan maken, voegt weinig toe. De link met het verleden voelt er vaak geforceerd bijgehaald en leidt vooral tot zinledig gespeculeer: ‘Wat zou ze voor iemand geweest zijn, deze zorgverlener van vierduizend jaar geleden?’ Ja, geen flauw idee.

Het is juist de beschrijving van Tarlows huidige rouwgevoelens, die het boek verfrissend maakt en een welkome aanvulling op het uitpuilende archief aan rouwmemoires. Zo komt Tarlow steeds terug op hoe erg ze het vindt dat Mark in eenzaamheid gestorven is, zonder de aanwezigheid van zijn vrouw en kinderen. Maar hem werd geen andere keuze gelaten: als hij aan hen verteld had wat hij van plan was, zouden ze vervolgd kunnen worden. Het is in 2016 in Engeland immers verboden om niet in te grijpen wanneer je over iemand zelfdodingsplannen hoort. Euthanasiewetten schieten ook tekort, dus de enige manier voor Tarlows man om een einde te maken aan zijn uitzichtloze lijden, is door in het geheim en in eenzaamheid een einde aan zijn leven te maken. Tarlow vindt dat onmenselijk en ze pleit dan ook voor betere euthanasiewetten. Het beklemt haar als ze bedenkt hoe Mark zijn laatste uren moet hebben doorgemaakt. Niet voor niets denkt ze als ze hem dood aantreft: ‘Ach, Mark. Ach, lieverd.’

Pas als ze haar man levenloos voor zich vindt is haar zachtheid weer terug, fileert Tarlow zichzelf. De jaren van mantelzorg hebben een grote wissel op haar leven getrokken en daarvoor was hun relatie ook al niet in beste staat. Tarlows dochter reageert verbijsterd als haar moeder haar vertelt dat ze toch nog met Mark gaat trouwen: waarom op het dieptepunt van hun relatie? Voor de administratie, is het antwoord. Wanneer haar man dood is toont Tarlow veel berouw over hoe ze zich tegen Mark gedragen heeft:

Ik weet dat ik me meer had kunnen inspannen, meer had kunnen doen. Het was gewoon allemaal te moeilijk en te vermoeiend. Ik wist hoezeer hij leed, en dat zijn leven weinig meer voorstelde. Ik had uitsluitend mededogen met hem horen te voelen, maar toch zwolg ik in zelfmedelijden en liet de verbittering toenemen.

En even verderop:

Ik zou willen dat ik meer geduld met Mark had gehad. Ik verloor niet vaak mijn geduld in zijn bijzijn, maar dat gebeurde wel vier of vijf keer in die laatste maanden; dat deed ik met opzet om hem te laten zien hoe gestrest ik was. Ik wilde dat hij het zou weten. Zie je het nu? Zie je hoe ik lijd door jouw toedoen?

Tarlow verbaast zich over het beeld dat er heerst dat mantelzorgers alles maar uit liefdadigheid doen. Dat deed ze vaak helemaal niet: de liefde voor haar partner woog niet op tegen de last die zijn verzorging was. Maar ze moest wel. Wanneer hij in het ziekenhuis wordt opgenomen is Tarlow opgelucht, maar Mark kiest ervoor om het zo snel mogelijk weer te verlaten: hij wil thuis zijn.

In De archeologie van het verlies laat Sarah Tarlow rouw in al zijn aspecten zien. Ze maakt haar rol als belangrijkste nabestaande niet mooier dan hij was, maar ook niet slechter. Een heel menselijk rouwverslag, dat je vanwege de vele herhaling van gevoelens en gedachten het beste langzaam kan lezen.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

An unflinching, vulnerable and starkly honest memoir focused on the struggles of Sarah and her husband who died following an undiagnosed illness.

[Marieke · Rating 5 out of 5]

Als je me voordat ik dit boek had gelezen zou hebben verteld dat er memoires bestaan over verlies, rouwverwerking en geschiedwetenschap, had ik je denk ik raar aangekeken. Maar Sarah Tarlow weet het te doen. Er zijn veel dingen die ik kan zeggen over het boek. Maar ik denk dat je het gewoon moet lezen.

De archeologie van het verlies is een memoire met een wetenschappelijke, historische, benadering van rouwverwerking, geïnspireerd door Tarlow’s eigen verlies en haar onderzoek naar de archeologie van de emotionele ervaring van de dood. De continue wisselwerking tussen wetenschap en eigen ervaring geeft dit boek veel kracht. De vraag die hierbij, mijn inziens, telkens terugkeert is: hoe kunnen we als historici verwachten, of willen, dat onze studieobjecten zo waarheidsgetrouw en nauwkeurig hun emoties en erfenis overdragen, als dit iets is wat we zelfs ook niet kunnen doen? Door dit te koppelen aan thema’s als verlies van herinneringen, mantelzorgen en materieel nalatenschap betrekt Tarlow in haar eigen proces van rouwverwerking haar passie voor het ontrafelen van het verleden. Ik herken heel veel van wat ze beschrijft en voelt, voornamelijk het ongemak en schaamte die je kan voelen na het overlijden van een dierbare en hoe je dan hiermee om ‘zou moeten’ gaan. Je vergeet hoe dingen verliepen, je weet niet meer precies wat of hoe iemand is overleden en wat je zei, alles wordt een grote brei in je hoofd. Dit is normaal, en menselijk. En dit loopt zo omdat je zelf verder gaat, terwijl herinneringen met elkaar en van elkaar steeds kleiner worden. Dit is moeilijk, maar zo gaat het wel. Ik voelde me begrepen.

Een laatste sterk toevoeging was dat Tarlow veel ruimte in haar boek besteedde aan emoties waar vaak in rouwverwerking niet over wordt gesproken: boosheid. Ziekte is verschrikkelijk, en de dood helemaal, maar het hele proces kan ook vermoeiend, uitputtend of frustrerend zijn. Er heerst overduidelijk taboe op het praten over dingen die niet goed gingen tussen jou en de overledene. En het erge is: vaak zijn deze herinneringen, die grote emoties, juist wat je onthoudt. Niet alleen frustrerend voor jezelf, maar zeker als het delen hiervan niet de norm is. Terwijl het ook rouwen is. Niet alle herinneringen moeten positief zijn. Het maakt je niet minder ondankbaar, maar juist mens. Dank aan Tarlow voor het aanstippen hiervan.

[Jessica Rushton · Rating 5 out of 5]

I went into Collected Books in Durham one quiet day and asked the seller if she had recommendations for books on loss. A bizarre topic but having just lost a friend how do you cope? I was given this book on loan by the lovely seller and honestly it is one of the best books I have read in a long time. The style is fantastic and it felt like I was finally in the company of someone who understood what I was going through. thank you Susan Tarlow and to Collected Books.

[Arjan Bleeker · Rating 3 out of 5]

Zeer persoonlijk verhaal van de schrijfster over de laatste periode met haar ongeneeslijk zieke man. Ze verteld over hoe die periode als mantelzorger voor haar was. Ze beschrijft dit heel indrukwekkend en schuwt zichzelf niet.

De koppeling met archeologie vond ik zelf wat minder interessant. Het paste wel heel erg bij haar omdat ze archeologe is.

[Aalt Swiebel · Rating 4 out of 5]

boek is toegankelijk geschreven. de dood is een zekerheid waar we niet gemakkelijk over spreken. dit boek brengt een heel persoonlijk verhaal naar jou toe. als je eenmaal begonnen bent kun je niet heel anders dan doorlezen... mijn conclusie: mooi boek over belangrijk onderwerp maar niet voor iedereen. p.s. veel interessante feiten over begraven en cremeren in the old days

[Lynette van der Burg · Rating 5 out of 5]

Prachtig. Ik herkende er zo veel in. Het raakte mij zeer. En heel mooi verweven met interessante historische gegevens.

[Laura · Rating 4 out of 5]

Boeiend om te lezen in een tijd waarin ik samen met mijn familie mantelzorg voor mijn moeder. Fijn dat er een ander beeld wordt geschreven dan het zelfopofferende, in mijn ogen onrealistisch, beeld dat vaak wordt geschetst rondom mantelzorgers.

[Claire Dodsworth · Rating 5 out of 5]

An incredibly moving and honest memoir by Sarah Tarlow whose husband takes his own life in the advanced stages of an undiagnosed illness. A thought provoking book about love, loss and reality.

[Laura · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's hard not to admire the straightforward honesty of Sarah Tarlow's memoir The Archaeology of Loss, which deals with her husband's long illness and eventual suicide as his health rapidly deteriorated from an unknown neurological condition. Near the end, which I skimmed forward to read, she writes, 'Now that I have arranged the time of Mark's illness and death into a story, I wish the character of me was a bit nicer. I wish I had behaved both more kindly and more confidently, and I do not quite remember why I did not... I wish I had been the kind of person for whom love had been enough, but I am not and it was not.' But Tarlow's complicated relationship with her husband was only human, and this memoir is brave in showing the difficulties and resentments of becoming a carer for a romantic partner who (because they too are only human) hasn't always behaved well towards you. I think other readers will get much more out of this book than I did; I wanted both more archaeological material and for it to be more intimately woven into the narrative, whereas this is really a simple telling of this period of Tarlow's life with a few archaeological/historical anecdotes about the way the dead were handled in the past. Few memoirs can manage this immensely difficult task of weaving together the personal with wider themes, though, and this should still be a valuable read for the right person. DNF @44%.

I received a free proof copy of this memoir from the publisher for review.

[Gail · Rating 4 out of 5]

Publisher's Description: "When you find your husband lying dead, you think you will not forget a single detail of that moment. As an archaeologist, I like to get my facts right, and I will try my best to do so, but five years have passed since that day in 2016 and I am excavating my own unreliable memory. I cannot go back and check."

Sarah Tarlow's husband Mark began to suffer from an undiagnosed illness, leaving him incapable of caring for himself. One day, about six years after he first started showing symptoms, Mark waited for Sarah and their children to leave their home before ending his own life.

Although Sarah had devoted her professional life to the study of death and how we grieve, she found that nothing could have prepared her for the reality of illness and the devastation of loss.

What I Loved

A realistic, no-holds-barred account of being a carer. It isn't all about being selfless and devoted. Sometimes we are withdrawn or bad-tempered. In turn, the person being cared for is not always at their best and gushing with gratitude. "Mark became reclusive, irritable, caustic with the children. My love was too weak to sustain us."

Although it's a heavyweight topic, and there is no happy ending, Tarlow infuses the telling with wit and humour, and there is plenty of her archaeological insight.

Thanks to Netgalley and Pan Macmillan for the advance reader copy. The Kindle edition is published on 20 April.

[Eleanor]

Tarlow is an archaeology professor whose academic husband, Mark, chose to take a fatal overdose of pentobarbital while the rest of the family was out of the house, rather than continue to live with a progressive neurological disorder that no one could diagnose or cure. Her book about the experience of widowhood and the legacy of her life with Mark is at its most effective when she’s talking about the difficult emotions that arise in such circumstances. Mark was very far from a saint and her honesty about him—that he could be arrogant and unkind, that his illness made him particularly bad company, but that she also could have tried harder to keep him in the loop of their family life as he deteriorated—is breathtaking. I don’t think I’ve read another grief memoir that so entirely casts aside the notion that you must never acknowledge a lost loved one’s human failings. Because Tarlow has a background in archaeology, and specifically in death practices, there are some gestures towards tying her professional experience into her book; I was struck by the way she writes about caregiving in ancient societies and what we can tell of the lives of disabled Neolithic peoples from their gravesites. On the whole, though, the story doesn’t need this element, and it may have been a publisher’s idea. Tarlow’s unflinching perspective is the light of the whole thing.

[Olivia-Savannah · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow, wow, wow, wow!

This memoir was pouring with emotion. With grief, with anger, with stress and confusion. With love and with loss. It was so emotional.

Tarlow is talking about her experience caring for her husband who has an undiagonsed illness, and what happens after a while (check your triggers).

I appreciated the personal framing of this. As an archaeologist, Tarlow talks about history and grief through the ages, and through what she does for her job. But then she also applies some of that knowledge to the situations she is experiencing.

It's a very layered recounting. Care is not easy -- especially when so unexpected. She talks about the complicated nature of their relationship, working and parenting while caring, and especially keeps in mind her husband's possible thoughts and feelings too. She's brutally honest with all her self examinations as well.

It's hard to review this. But if you've enjoyed things like Me Before You, this is an important and more realistic depiction of care reality [although also, not entirely the same situation].

[Clotilde Roger · Rating 5 out of 5]

The kind of book you don’t want it to end. This memoir is beautiful, vulnerable, honest and sometimes coarse. I want to buy this book to all of my archaeologists friends and even the non-archaeologists one. What is loss through the eyes of an archaeologist ? How does Sarah Tarlow travels so effortlessly from theoretical questions about death and bioarchaeology to the rage and despair she felt during her husband illness and even to some witty, genuine and funny thoughts ? It’s not a book about theoretical archaeology, it’s an archaeology of her own grief. She discusses her experience just like an archaeologist would make sense out of datas from a site, by making links. But the way she tells the story of her loss is also the opposite of the way an archaeologist might discuss bereavement, emphasizing the riches of possibilities of an archaeology of loss. I loved her storytelling.

« Grief is your life as it was before, but less. A diminishing. It is a stripping away, or a hollowing out, and it hurts. There is nothing pleasurable in it, but there is a kind of purity.  »

[Eftihia S. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Μία από τις ομορφότερες και πιο ανέλπιστες πτυχές του να είσαι αναγνώστρια για τις ανάγκες λογοτεχνικού βραβείου στο είδος του life-writing, είναι η "συνάντηση" σου με βιβλία τα οποία δε θα διάβαζες ποτέ από μόνη σου, εκτός αυτού του πλαισίου. Και παρότι το The Archaeology of Loss ήδη από το premise του φαινόταν μια ιδιαίτερη αυτοβιογραφική ιστορία, αφηγούμενη μέσα από ένα άκρως ιδιαίτερο κάτοπτρο -αυτό της αρχαιολογίας και της διαχρονικής σπουδής του θανάτου- εν τέλει αποδείχθηκε από τα πολυτιμότερα και ειλικρινέστερα βιβλία που έχω διαβάσει τα τελευταία χρόνια. Η Sarah Tarlow θίγει με πλήρη αποδοχή και ειλικρίνεια την περιπλοκότητα ζητημάτων όπως είναι οι εκφυλιστικές νευρολογικές παθήσεις, ο ρόλος του οικογενειακού φροντιστή, η αυτοχειρία, το πένθος, καθώς και η ζωή κι ο θάνατος συλλήβδην. Μέσα από μια αφήγηση η οποία διέπεται καθ' όλη την διάρκεια της από την αρχαιολογία και τις διεπιστημονικές προσεγγίσεις του κλάδου αυτού, η Tarlow καταφέρνει να αποτυπώσει ένα τεράστιο εύρος της ανθρώπινης υπαρξιακής εμπειρίας, με τον πιο διάφανο και αξιοπρεπή τρόπο.

[Daisy · Rating 3 out of 5]

Admirably honest, brave account of the decline and loss of the authors husband from a progressive neurological disease. The book lays out full force the more cosseted dimensions of caring and loss, the anger resentment disintegration of identity. I gave it 3 stars because…something in me right now didn’t want to read a book that centred on distance and rage and regret. I think I’ve got a personal need to be made to believe in love again. And this book didn’t meet that need for me and so I found myself shying away from it and not really wanting to pick it up. But it is well written and I am fascinated by the honesty Sarah chose to share and think this is an important read for carers who, as Sarah put it, aren’t like the ones in magazines. It’s important, fascinating and well written. But a wrong place wrong time book for me, which is why i gave it a 3. Worth a read though, some super super important themes in there that I’ve not read elsewhere.

[Sabrina Blandon · Rating 4 out of 5]

For anyone going through their mourning process, this is a great book to read. It tackles the nitty gritty emotions that pop up after losing a loved one including the unexpected emotions in a healthy way. It is not a how to feel after loss book but rather takes you on the story of how the author who is an archaeologist understands her emotions and life after finding her husband dead in their home. Tarlow shares personal anecdotes with her husband and links it to her dissection of certain work studies in an understandable dissectible manner that non archaeologists can understand. I found it incredible how visually she is able to remember certain stories and scenes which evokes all the senses. I appreciated toward the end of the novel how she comes to terms with her emotions after having pushed them down for so long. Even if a reader isn't personally relating to loss but is interested in death, grief and the in between then this would make a great sensitive read.

[Irene · Rating 3 out of 5]

Sarah’s account of her life with partner Mark who had an undiagnosed brain condition but if no one can discover exactly what it is then there can be no treatment. It turned an active man into someone who can’t do anything for himself. A lot of it will resonate with carers who find themselves having to look after another person and be 100% responsible 100% of the time for everything. In my case though it took considerably longer for the resentment to creep in! There was an awful lot of how things affected her rather than Mark. Some interesting archaeology snippets but I wasn’t at all interested in the many different theories. This is an eye opener for anyone lucky enough not to be thrust into being a full time carer. I was given this ARC by the publisher and NetGalley in return for an honest review.

[Donna · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was not quite what I thought it would be. Based on the blurb, I thought it would be about archeological dogs and find and mysteries, peppers with personal anecdotes of the author's journey whilst dealing with her husband's degenerative disease. In fact it was the other way around. Heavy going at times, I almost stopped. But instead, took a break and returned.
A hard story to hear, and it must have been hard to tell. Sarah Tarlow is painfully honest at times, revealing her own (what could be perceived as shameful) regrets and the difficult navigation of watching the person she once held in esteem, fade away, and take on all the rightfully expected negativity and bitterness that sometimes accompanied that fall.

[Camilla Chester · Rating 4 out of 5]

What brutal honesty and how brave of Sarah to pour herself into this memoir for us.

Having worked in a cancer charity for many years and having my own mother die way too young from MND I can relate a lot to Sarah’s words.

Funnily enough I’ve just seen a long FB post from someone I know vaguely talking about fighting on against her cancer and words from this heartfelt and raw memoir came flooding through me. It is true that we, as a society, seem to see death as the villain that must be overcome and dying as a failure. All those strange phrases like , ‘she lost her battle against X’ are worse than meaningless. Death is natural and we could change the narrative so that we try to accept and relinquish our fear of it.

Beautifully written - I would recommend this to all.

[Chantal Lyons · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a beautifully written and unexpectedly dark story of love, caring, and death. I commend Tarlow for her honesty - it could not have been easy to write this book and send it out into the world.

At the same time, she seamlessly interweaves her experiences as an archaeologist and information and musings on archaeology, in a way that never feels trite; I have read books in the past where the author has rather awkwardly tried to combine the element of personal memoir with that of career experiences. But in this case, I relished and valued all the parts of 'The Archaeology of Loss'.

Absolutely recommended.

[Aurelia Farrall · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Grief is your life as it was before, but less. A diminishing. It is a stripping away, or a hollowing out, and it hurts. There is nothing pleasurable in it, but there is a kind of purity.”

This was a difficult book to read, Tarlow's memoir is definitely written by an academic, but suffused with sentiment. There's a ruthless honesty to the writing that feels like it's peeling back the layers to expose the facts underneath. It's upfront about the limits of her memory in terms of events, and doesn't hold back on her own complicated emotions about being forced into the role of a carer. She's not afraid to unmask the darker side of the difficult times, for example at one point admitting jealousy towards cancer or MND patients who can be told a progression or end date to expect. This book feels like a labour of love in the best way. Her husband's condition shares some similarities with my mom's so the memoir often resonated personally. I really enjoyed the wider archaeological perspectives that framed the memoir, and there were multiple references to literature used for her work and similar memoirs and stories.

[Hedwig · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ontroerend memoir waarin de hoogleraar archeologie Sarah Terlouw, die zich beroepsmatig bezig houdt met rituelen rondom de dood, geconfronteerd wordt met het overlijden van haar al jaren zieke man. Als archeologe reconstrueert ze het verhaal over hun samenzijn dat, vooral naar het einde toe, vaak niet gemakkelijk was. Het rauwe persoonlijke wordt afgewisseld met wetenschappelijke verhalen. Mooie verhalen uit de archeologie waarin het verhaal over een graf dat werd gevonden ten noorden van Denemarken. In het graf lag een ca 18 jarige vrouw en een pasgeboren baby. De baby lag op een vleugel van een zwaan; een teder beeld.

[Debbie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you to #Netgalley and #PanMacmillan books for granting me access to this arc in return for an honest review.

Sarah Tarlow has gifted us a masterpiece companion on death, grief and the bonds we make with each other. Having studied death in different cultures and making a career teaching, Tarlow is able to delve respectfully, honestly and movingly on personal grief as her husband declines from an undiagnosed degenerative illness over a course of several years. The archaeology of loss is a crucial close up examination of grief, loss and coping with both.
Highly recommended.

[Camilla · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is I think the saddest book I have ever read. Both the author, Sarah, her ill husband, Mark, are deeply relatable characters—flawed and human. The story would have already been incredible without her archaeologist knowledge, but the inclusion of archaeological evidence, tactics, and history add another layer of analysis for how humans have, throughout millennia, coped with and faced death. This memoir addresses death, dying, and living with an incredibly unique and complex perspective. So so sad but so valuable.

[Camille · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sarah Tarlow has managed to combine her academic knowledge of the archeology of death and her own experience with grief in this raw, emotional memoir.

While death and sickness are universal, I believe people experience it differently, and Sarah presented an honest account of slowly losing her husband to a degenerative neurological condition.

I think this will speak to anyone who has lost someone (un)expectedly.