Big claims demand convincing evidence—or at least clear definitions of the claims that they assert are true. The title of this book inarguably expresses a big promise, one that every professional historian, archaeologist, cultural heritage consultant, or history teacher I know of would undoubtedly hope that the public accepts. A knowledge of history—so its proponents and propagators might argue—is not just desirable; it is essential to our very being as individuals and groups. George Santayana's oft-quoted dictum that “those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it” is not only widely regarded as wise advice but customarily understood as a tragic observation of how history (at least academically validated history) is not generally learned and is routinely ignored.

Does this book succeed in its ambitious assertion? Do we emerge from its reading armed with convincing proof that history is indeed an existential human need? Already in the book's introduction, Webster explicitly defines two of the title's three central concepts, suggesting that “existential will refer to that which pertains to being, consciously, in the world, and history will refer to a (or any) coherent narrative of the past, usually one that is documented or invented through stone or text” (p. 3) She goes on to highlight the connection between these two concepts that comprises the main theme of the book: “An existential need for history can thus be expressed, for example, in the creation of a genealogy that situates someone in a lineage . . . or in the monumentalization of a place in the name of an ancestor that creates a claim to that place for a whole community” (p. 3).

The book's main intellectual argument is contained in three principal chapters, each of which offers a unique perspective on some of the deeply felt connections that humans perceive as links between the present and the past. Chapter 1, “On Being in Time: History, Death, Text,” highlights Webster's understanding of the close interrelation between historical continuity, psychology, and literacy; it maintains that surviving historical documents, both written and material, offer a palliative for the universal human dread of one's fleeting mortality. Chapter 2, “Archaeological Cases: Blood from Stone,” deals with how the materiality of archaeological remains—such as monumental tombs (with an emphasis on Mediterranean and European examples)—do far more than memorialize the departed. As Webster explains, both tangible monuments and the interpretations that accompany them provide powerful and visible justifications for present social systems and group identities. Chapter 3, “Historical Cases: Contextualizing the Self,” merges the concepts of the previous two chapters by suggesting that each individual's deepest existential need is for a stable sense of orientation both within humanity as a whole and across vast stretches of time.

Inexplicably, Webster fails to offer a clear definition of “heritage”—the third key term in her title—despite the foundational work of scholars such as Raphael Samuel, Eric Hobsbawm, David Lowenthal, Pierre Nora, and Laurajane Smith, all of whom, in their distinctive ways, have clearly differentiated “heritage” from “history.” This is a crucial omission, because Webster seemingly assumes that fact-based narratives and empirically dated monuments all naturally comprise a community's heritage. She fails to recognize how heritage, especially in its collective form, is not an existential need but an ideological tool—a tactic to validate contemporary relations of power through officialized symbols and chronological narratives, whether they are factually reliable or not. In that sense, it could be argued that myth—and not only history or historical myth—is humanity's true existential need. Utopian, apocalyptic, and eschatological visions can be equally instrumental in orienting our existence and allaying deep-seated fears of fleeting mortality by focusing our insecurities on imaginings of the future, not the past.

Nonetheless, Heritage and the Existential Need for History is a well-written and highly readable study, in which Webster offers a wealth of insights on the emotional and ideological motivations for historical reflection. She artfully illustrates some of the many ways that the past has always exerted a profound grip on the human imagination, and she helps us to understand why the inescapable and often desperate human quest for certainty and psychological stability is so persistent in a world subject to dramatic, often unexpected, and unsettling change.