International Journal of Osteoarchaeology

Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)

Published online in Wiley Online Library
(wileyonlinelibrary.com) DOI: 10.1002/oa.1212

SHORT REPORT

Taphonomy and Interpretation:

An Analytical Framework for
Social Zooarchaeology
D. C. ORTON*
McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, University of Cambridge, Downing Street, Cambridge, UK.
CB2 3ER

ABSTRACT Taphonomy is central to many attempts to address social questions from archaeological animal remains,
especially where those questions relate to practices of consumption and deposition. Without a clear analytical
framework for this purpose, however, results can verge on the anecdotal. Following a review of the structure of
taphonomy, this paper presents just such a framework designed to isolate archaeologically relevant patterns
of behaviour through a comprehensive, quantitative analysis of numerous taphonomic variables. The typical
formation processes shaping zooarchaeological assemblages are grouped into five broad stages and
considered in reverse chronological order, allowing the analyst to work backwards towards the ‘death
assemblage’ while identifying evidence of cultural practices. Particular attention is paid to differences between
taxa, context types, phases, etc., that cannot be explained in mechanistic terms. This process is illustrated
with selected data from a wider study of the Vinča (late Neolithic) site of Gomolava, Serbia, tracing the
identification of one particular set of depositional practices. Copyright ß 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

Key words: taphonomy; social zooarchaeology; Neolithic; Gomolava; Vinča

Introduction disposal that may be of wider archaeological interest.

The interpretive role assigned to taphonomy differs
widely within zooarchaeology, and forms an important
methodological difference between researchers with
varying research agendas and theoretical orientations.
By its very nature quantitative, taphonomic reconstruc-
tion in archaeology grew out of, and is often associated
with, the more avowedly scientific branches of the
discipline. However, a focus on consumption and
deposition in recent more socially oriented perspectives
has brought taphonomy to the fore in a rather different
context. Taphonomic concerns have never been more
central than in the latest formulations of ‘social
zooarchaeology’.
This paper sets out a new framework for taphonomic
analysis, one which is designed to combine the
systematic rigour of traditional taphonomic study with
an emphasis on isolating patterns of treatment and
* Correspondence to: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research,
University of Cambridge, Downing Street, Cambridge, UK. CB2 3ER.
e-mail: dco21@cam.ac.uk
This is illustrated with selected results from the
Neolithic site of Gomolava, Serbia, tracing the
identification of one particular phenomenon.
Taphonomy
In current usage, ‘taphonomy’ refers to the study of all
processes intervening between a live community of
animals and the records in an analyst’s database. The
discipline is concerned with understanding these
processes, primarily through actualistic studies, and
using this understanding to assess their impact on
archaeological or palaeontological assemblages. Flow
charts illustrating the ‘taphonomic history’ of a generic
assemblage are a common heuristic device here,
consisting of series of populations from ‘life-assem-
blage’ to published data. Each population is a sample of
the previous one; where sampling is non-random we
have taphonomic bias. Accordingly, the sequence is
often seen as a progressive loss of information content

Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Received 28 January 2010
Revised 30 July 2010
Accepted 6 August 2010

(e.g. Clark & Kietzke, 1967, 117; see also Hesse &
Wapnish, 1985, 19).
Bias is a relative term, dependent on the questions
being asked (Lyman, 1994, 32). Indeed, many
taphonomic inputs represent the addition of information
to the assemblage, providing evidence regarding the
processes which have taken place. This not only helps
us to understand the likely biases in the observed data
but also may be of interest in its own right. Taphonomy
therefore has two aspects:
(1) Reconstructive: Controlling for bias and ‘working
back’ from the observed assemblage.
(2) Descriptive: Detecting and describing events and
processes that are of interest in and of themselves.
The balance between these depends on one’s research
interests, as does the point in the sequence towards
which one’s reconstructive efforts aspire (Figure 1).
Palaeontologists are usually concerned ultimately
with the life assemblage—and possibly also with causes
of mortality—so the reconstructive aspect predomi-
nates. Archaeologists, in theory, are interested in all the
human-mediated processes, but again differences in
research agenda apply. Destructive processing might be
a hindrance to analysts with an interest in procurement
strategies, but for those pursuing questions of consump-
tion it is the very object of study. Close parallels can be
drawn here with wider archaeological debates regarding
formation processes, especially within the processual
movement (e.g. Collins, 1975; Schiffer, 1976, 1983;
Binford, 1981a). In archaeology as a whole we are not
interested in any one sampling population but in a whole
section of taphonomic history. Archaeological taphon-
omy is thus unavoidably a simultaneous process of
reconstruction and interpretation, aspects that cannot be
separated sequentially.
Figure 1. Targets of taphonomic research.
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
D. C. Orton
Social zooarchaeology
Much work on the ‘archaeology of food’ is fundamen-
tally taphonomic (e.g. Miracle & Milner, 2002;
Serjeantson, 2006). The most overtly taphonomic
formulation of ‘social zooarchaeology’, however, is set
out by Marciniak (2001, 2005b), who advocates that
inferences about human–animal relations be made via
the reconstruction of contexts of consumption and
differential practices of treatment and disposal.
Marciniak’s (2005a) study of animals in the Polish
Neolithic is a landmark for social zooarchaeology, but
has scope for methodological refinement. His six-step
methodology is outlined below:
(1) Qualitative taphonomy (surface modification,
butchery and breakage)
(2) Correlation of NISP with density
(3) Correlation of NISP with MGUI (Binford, 1978)
(4) Correlation of NISP with MI (Binford, 1978)
(5) Interpretation of body part profiles by context
(6) Interpretation of taxonomic composition by context
The first stage is aimed at elucidating patterns of
human processing, consumption and disposal, while
steps 2–4 fall firmly within the realm of quantitative,
reconstructive taphonomy, aimed at identifying the
primary determinants of observed element profiles.
Stage 5—only applied where preservation bias is
judged to be minor—returns to the more interpretive
side of taphonomy, while stage 6 is a standard element
of zooarchaeological analysis.
The structure of this approach effectively divides
analysis into qualitative (descriptive) and quantitative
(reconstructive) portions. The qualitative section—
stage 1—risks becoming anecdotal, while the quan-
titative part is essentially a matter of working back to a
desired point (stages 2–4) before commencing
interpretation (stage 5). The potential for under-
standing the interaction between the various anthro-
pogenic and non-anthropogenic factors in assemblage
formation is thus limited.
‘Multivariate taphonomy’
An alternative analytical structure is proposed by Bar-Oz
& Munro (2004) under the title of ‘multivariate
taphonomy’, referring not to statistical data-reduction
techniques but to an integrated approach in which
numerous taphonomic variables are brought to bear.
Quantitative taphonomy inevitably suffers from appar-
ent equifinality, and Bar-Oz and Munro argue that this is
best dealt with by applying a wide range of analyses in a
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
Taphonomy and Interpretation
structured fashion. They propose a three-part method-
ology:
(1) Descriptive phase: Overall frequencies of various
taphonomic variables are summarised and tabulated
in a quantitative version of Marciniak’s stage 1.
(2) Analytical phase: Possible factors shaping the assem-
blage are worked through in broadly reverse-
chronological order: in situ attrition, density-
mediated attrition, fragmentation, human transport
and disposal. This is aimed at identifying influential
agents of attrition—as with Marciniak’s stages 2–
4—but also draws on the information on breakage
and bone modification from phase 1.
(3) Comparative phase: The impact of particular tapho-
nomic agents is confirmed by comparing assemblage
sub-groups (taxa, elements, age groups, context
types, etc.) that are expected to be affected differ-
entially.
This is methodologically more rigorous and ana-
lytically deeper than Marciniak’s scheme, but is
primarily reconstructive and not geared towards the
questions of distribution, consumption and deposition,
which are of most interest to many archaeologists.
A new framework
The analytical structure advocated here incorporates
elements of both these schemes. Five stages are defined
working broadly backwards through possible tapho-
nomic processes, and the descriptive, analytical and
comparative phases are included informally within
each, where appropriate. Each analysis informs
subsequent stages, but in many cases also provides
direct information on human activities, and there is also
a degree of feedback since stages inevitably overlap in
reality. Whereas Bar-Oz’s and Munro’s comparative
phase is intended as a check on the impact of particular
agents, the purpose of comparison between assemblage
sub-groups in the present context is primarily to detect
differential treatment by humans. The structure is
summarised in Figure 2 and Table 1.
The aim of this structure is to glean as much
information as possible on the human activities resulting
in assemblage formation, and particularly on differences
in treatment between species and/or between deposi-
tional contexts, sites, phases and so on. At the same time,
by working backwards—more-or-less—through for-
mation processes it becomes possible to distinguish
culturally interesting patterns from biases introduced
either by non-human agents or by subsequent human
activities.
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
Figure 2. Structure of taphonomic analysis.
Of course, once patterns have been identified their
interpretation in terms of human social action will
never be straightforward, belonging in the realm of
archaeology as a humanity rather than of taphonomy as
a science. It will always be subjective to a considerable
degree, dependent both upon the data and upon
archaeologists’ readings of the stratigraphy and of the
wider archaeological context, not to mention the
schools of social theory to which they subscribe. The
view is taken here that this is no bad thing; nonetheless,
the aim of the proposed analytical structure is to be as
rigorous, comprehensive and objective as possible in
identifying patterns in post-mortem treatment and
disposal of animals that may be worthy of further
archaeological consideration.
The stages within this analytical framework are
discussed in some detail below, then illustrated with a
case study from the Neolithic site of Gomolava, Serbia.
Full details of both methodology and results are
available elsewhere (Orton, 2008, 64–77, 229–291). It
should be stressed that this framework is intended as a
heuristic guide rather than a rigid, prescriptive,
formula; the details of specific analyses performed at
each stage will depend partly on context, research
agenda and data quality.
The methodology is designed partly to be applicable
to assemblages with limited documentation, low
stratigraphic resolution and poor recovery standards,
a category into which Gomolava falls. In such cases a
very first step—‘Stage 0’—involves assessment of
possible excavation, curation and recovery biases,
working both from site documentation/metadata and
from empirical tests such as fragment size distributions,
comparisons with units known to have been sieved, and
so on. In ideal conditions, meanwhile—for example
when working with material from ongoing excavations
or from particularly well-curated and comprehensively
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
 D. C. Orton

Table 1. Components of taphonomic analysis, with potential certain parts of the skeleton are consistently better
cultural information preserved in archaeological assemblages and structural
Stage Analysis Potential cultural
density is currently the best predictor of survival (see
information Lyman, 1994, 234–258). In theory, an assemblage in
which skeletal part frequency strongly correlates with
1 Evidence for density- density is likely to owe its composition primarily to
mediated attrition
Correlation between density-mediated destruction, rendering inferences
element abundance regarding human selection unreliable.
and density This approach suffers from equifinality. An element
Completeness of
carpals and tarsals profile matching that expected from density-mediated
2 Evidence for peri-
destruction of complete carcasses does not necessarily
depositional damage indicate that complete carcasses were ever present on
Frequency/severity Refuse disposal site, nor even that differential preservation was the
of gnawing practices primary factor in determining the observed profile.
Frequency/severity
of weathering Human selection and density-mediated destruction
Comparison with will both have been important in the formation of most
fragment size zooarchaeological assemblages, and element profiles
3 Breakage and reflect this in that they rarely conform closely to ideal
fragmentation models. This is compounded by a weak but significant
Qualitative Food preparation negative correlation between density and utility for
assessment (specific practices)
Size distributions Food preparation some species (Lyman, 1985).
(’pot-sizing’) Density-mediated attrition can in theory be well
Percentage completeness understood from actualistic studies, but human selec-
Identification rate Intensity of human use
Index of breakage tion is a different matter due to sheer complexity and to
freshness the unpredictability of cultural preferences. Accord-
4 Visible human modification ingly, the approach advocated here avoids utility
Frequency of burning Food preparation, indices and commences with a critical application of
refuse disposal the traditional correlation of abundance against
Location of burning Food preparation vs.
refuse disposal density. Element profiles are treated with caution
Butchery marks Food distribution and where appreciably correlated with bone density, but
preparation not necessarily rejected out of hand.
5 Assessment of element Correlation between abundance and density raises
representation numerous technical issues, concerned with choosing
Correlation with FUI Transport, primary vs.
secondary butchery the best (a) measure of density, (b) measure of
deposits abundance, (c) level of anatomical aggregation and (d)
Assessment of MAU Transport, selective statistical treatment.
profiles deposition
Comparison of anatomical/ Differential access, Published bone density measurements are reviewed
taxonomic profiles sharing/distribution, elsewhere (e.g. Lam & Pearson, 2005). Sample size is
between features selective deposition important here but the use of shape-adjusted data is
crucial (Lam et al., 2003, 1706), with Quantitative
documented museum collections—the structured Computed Tomography (QCT) being the most
quantitative approach advocated here should be accurate technique. For pigs, Pugsley’s (2002) QCT
applied alongside more qualitative assessment of study of 11 individuals is thus preferable to Ioannidou’s
context-level assemblages as coherent wholes. (2003) entirely un-adjusted data from six skeletons.
Likewise, Symmons’ (2002) well-stratified sample of 95
sheep currently provides the best data for bovids: apart
Stage 1: density-mediated attrition from sheer sample size, Symmons’ use of two
perpendicular radiographs at each scan site allows
This is the only stage that is purely reconstructive. readings to be adjusted for the thickness of scanned
Comparison of element frequencies with bone density bone (Symmons, 2004). Although absolute values will
and measures of utility has been used widely since its vary considerably within the bovid family, the relative
introduction by Binford (1978), and the phenomenon density of skeletal parts is likely to be fairly consistent
of density-mediated destruction of bone is well known: between species. These data are probably also the best

Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
Taphonomy and Interpretation
choice for cervids, since Lyman’s (1984) study of 13
Odocoileus specimens assumes rectangular cross sections
and deer have a similar pattern of density to bovids
(Kreutzer, 1992). A variety of datasets is available for
other taxa (see Orton, 2008, 68).
Turning to quantification, Marshall & Pilgram (1991)
demonstrate inconsistent results using NISP versus
minimum number of elements (MNE). Since the
underlying principle is to compare observed element
frequencies to an ideal complete profile, MNE-derived
measures are theoretically more appropriate than
NISP. Marciniak (2005a, 115) uses NISP for reasons
of availability, and others suggest that it is an
acceptable proxy for MNE (e.g Grayson & Frey,
2004). Ringrose (1993) advocates using multiple
measures to explore the data more thoroughly, a
prescription which is followed here.
Body part representation should be compared with
abundance for all body parts, including long bone shafts
(Pickering et al., 2003). Since density differs within each
bone, MNEs should ideally be calculated separately for
portions of major elements using diagnostic zones that
correspond to specific density scan sites. The Dobney &
Reilly (1988) zoning system is used here.
Non-parametric correlation coefficients will typi-
cally be more appropriate than Pearson’s r here but it
may be worth calculating both, and it is unwise to rely
on either without assessing the relationship graphically
(Ringrose, 1993, 147). Median rather than mean
density values should be used where possible, to reduce
the effect of outliers (Symmons, 2002, 224), and
variation in density should also be represented
(Symmons, 2005, 89). Significance tests are inap-
propriate as n would represent the number of scan sites
used rather than the size of either the reference or
archaeological samples. Instead, plots should be
produced and inspected wherever appreciable corre-
lations are evident. Sample sizes permitting, one would
ideally assess correlation for individual phases, context
types, and even specific deposits, since taphonomic
processes are unlikely to be uniform across each site.
Even where overall correlation is weak, density-
mediated attrition may be evident through comparison
between skeletal portions that are unlikely to be
separated by butchery but which have appreciably
different densities, such as the glenoid process versus
the collum scapulae, or the articular surface of the ulna
versus the olecranon process. In such cases, other—
possibly cultural—selective processes have presum-
ably masked the impact of attrition. Additional control
for density-mediated effects can be obtained by
assessing fragmentation—presumably post-deposi-
tional—amongst small dense bones such as carpals
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
and tarsals (Marean, 1991). If an assemblage shows a
strong correlation between abundance and density yet
has a high frequency of intact carpals, this might imply
that a substantial amount of damage was caused by
peri-depositional processes such as weathering, leading
onto the second stage of the analysis.
Stage 2: peri-depositional damage
Weathering and gnawing provide direct information
regarding formation processes and, by extension,
depositional practices: both sub-aerial weathering and
pig/carnivore access imply that remains were exposed for
some time before final burial. In addition, the frequency
and severity of marks can assist in the interpretation of
element frequencies by indicating major agents of
destruction, feeding back into Stage 1. Comparing the
extent and severity of weathering and gnawing between
assemblage subgroups may help one to understand
differential processes of attrition; it may also reveal
variation in depositional practices between—for
example—species, body parts, or phases at a site.
Formal hypothesis tests can be employed here to
evaluate the significance of observed trends, but this
requires some justification. Inferential statistics in zoo-
archaeology suffer from sample inflation; the signifi-
cance accorded to any test statistic is dependent as much
on the degree of fragmentation in an assemblage as it is
on either the strength of association or the ‘original’
number of specimens contributing to the sample
(Grayson, 1984, 22–23). When analysing weathering
or gnawing, however, the datum of interest is not
necessarily the number of elements affected, but rather the
number of specimens in whatever state of fragmentation obtained
at the commencement of the process. The validity of formal
hypothesis testing for comparing rates of weathering and
other taphonomic variables between assemblage sub-
groups thus depends on the amount of fragmentation
which occurred subsequent to the commencement of the
process in question. Strictly speaking, any further frag-
mentation entails sample inflation and thus invalidates
significance values. If one accepts that apparent sample
size is always an overestimate of the true value, however,
and errs on the side of caution accordingly, formal
significance testing remains a very useful tool, especially
if one assesses computed p values rather than relying on
arbitrary cut-offs. Very highly significant results would
require an improbable degree of sample inflation in order
to be invalidated, while patterns which prove statistically
insignificant even on the basis of the apparent sample size
would certainly not be significant were the true
frequencies known.
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)

Methods for scoring weathering and gnawing vary.
Even where standard schemata are followed—for
example Behrensmeyer’s (1978) five-stage scale for
weathering—direct comparability between analysts is
probably illusory. More complex recording systems
separating type, degree and extent of damage (e.g.
Phoca-Cosmetatou, 2005) may be appropriate in some
research contexts but are very time-consuming. Here,
both weathering and gnawing are recorded on simple
four-point scales of increasing severity.
Stage 3: breakage and fragmentation
The aim of comparing breakage and fragmentation
data is to highlight differences between taxa and/or
depositional contexts in terms of pre-depositional
damage, specifically that which might be related to
differential processing and different contexts of
consumption. Insofar as subsequent processes can be
controlled for, extent of fragmentation serves as a
measure of carcass processing intensity (Halstead,
2007, 30). A major difficulty here lies in distinguishing
fragmentation by humans from peri-/post-depositional
damage, although this can be approached through
assessment of breakage ’freshness’ (see below). The
analyses at this point will often feed back into the first
two stages accordingly, and the separation between
them is to some extent artificial. However, the order in
which each stage is tackled means that by the time one
starts to assess human carcass processing one already
has a good idea of the impact of subsequent processes
on the assemblage, reducing the risk of over-
interpreting fragmentation patterns.
Measures of fragmentation include:
Percentage identification rate: A crude measure of
fragmentation at the unit level.
Fragment maximum dimension: This is useful for testing
the impact of taphonomic processes on fragmentation,
and for detecting possible ‘pot-sizing’.
Percentage completeness: Both of the above are valid for
comparison between sites or context types, but percen-
tage completeness also allows comparisons amongst taxa
and between elements. It can be calculated for long bones
using the formula described by Morlan (1994):
PP=NISP
PD
where PP represents ‘Portions Preserved’ and PD is ‘Portions
Defined’. The portions used here are Dobney’s & Reilly’s
(1988) diagnostic zones, which only give an approximate
percentage but allow rapid recording.
To assess the relative importance of pre- and post-
depositional agents of fragmentation, one can look at
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
D. C. Orton
types of breakage, especially on long bone shafts.
Outram (2001, 2002) combines ‘fracture edge texture’,
‘fracture outline’ and ‘fracture angle’ into a Fracture
Freshness Index (FFI) for this purpose. The case study
below uses a simpler index, omitting fracture angle for
ease of recording. Differences in breakage freshness
between assemblage subgroups may reveal meaningful
variation in processing, but should also be considered
carefully alongside fragment length and completeness,
with possible body-size effects in mind.
Stage 4: visible human modification
Leaving aside artefacts produced on bone, ‘visible human
modification’ refers to butchery marks and burning.
Burning may sometimes be a direct result of food
preparation, but the majority of recorded cases are
probably too severe to reflect ordinary cooking practices
(Kent, 1993, 348) and may tell us more about
depositional processes.
Ideally, both location and colour of burning should
be recorded, with detailed comments where appro-
priate. Colour varies with temperature, duration and
type of heating, as well as condition prior to heating
and depositional environment afterwards (Shipman
et al., 1984; Nicholson, 1993; Pearce & Luff, 1994;
Bennett, 1999). No universal scheme can thus be drawn
up, and categories may have to be refined through
observation of the material itself. In practice, colour
categories are likely to be grouped into, for example,
‘light’ and ‘severe’ in the final analysis.
Analysis of burning data may simply compare
frequencies between assemblage sub-groups, but it is
also useful to look at ratios of burning on long bone ends
versus shafts, since this may reflect food preparation
practices. More frequent burning on articular surfaces
might indicate roasting (Russell, 1999), while concentra-
tion of burnt patches on shaft fragments points
towards the use of fire to facilitate cracking for marrow.
In the latter case, distinctive patterns of post-burning
breakage are often evident (Marciniak, 2005a, 131;
Serjeantson, 2006) and should be noted during
recording.
Burning potentially contributes to fragmentation, so
it may be worth assessing its impact in this respect.
Simply correlating burning with fragment size is
problematic since larger specimens are inherently more
likely to include noticeable evidence of heating. It is
more useful to look for relationships between burning
rate and average fragment size at a context level.
Cut- and chop-marks, impact scars and chop
surfaces should be recorded with a detailed description,
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
Taphonomy and Interpretation
allowing qualitative as well as quantitative analysis. The
interpretation of butchery evidence is an extremely
complex field in its own right, and this is not the place
for a full discussion, particularly of its more qualitative
aspects. Likewise, the identification of cut-marks and
other butchery traces is discussed at length elsewhere
(e.g. Guilday et al., 1962, 63–64; Binford, 1981b). For
purposes of quantitative analysis, it is typically more
useful to quantify cut-marks as ‘fragment-count’ than
‘cutmark-count’ data as defined by Abe et al., (2002)—
that is, to look at the numbers of fragments showing
evidence of butchery rather than tallying the number of
individual marks—although there is a strong argument
for ‘cutmark-count’ data in highly fragmented assem-
blages. Sample size permitting, data can be given as the
percentage of fragments from each element or portion
having evidence of butchery. Presenting these data
graphically on skeletal templates allows for rapid
comparison of butchery patterns between taxa, phases,
or contexts; potentially interesting patterns may then
be studied in more detail with the aid of qualitative
data, a process which is beyond the scope of this paper.
Stage 5: assessment of element
representation
Interpretation of element representation is often based
partly upon comparison of body part frequency with
utility indices. This technique is most commonly
employed in studies of hunter-gatherer groups, either
to distinguish kill or primary butchery sites from camps or
to elucidate changes in selection and transportation
strategies, but is in principle equally relevant for hunted
animals in any context, or indeed for domestic animals
which may have been slaughtered off-site. In principle,
the technique may also be applied to contexts or context
types within a settlement, with the distribution of high
and low utility parts potentially reflecting patterns of
structured deposition and/or differential access to
resources. However, the likely complexity of such issues,
coupled with cultural variability in the value of body
parts, renders formal correlation between utility and
abundance of limited use in all but the simplest scenarios.
More usefully, an informal impression of variation in
body-part representation is gained by comparing bar
charts between phases, taxa and context types. At this
stage, elements can usefully be aggregated to the level
of Stiner’s (1991) nine anatomical regions.
It is difficult to make abstract prescriptions about the
analysis of body part profiles, since its scope depends
heavily on sample sizes, available documentation and
the nature of the archaeology. However, the general
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
aim is to identify the existence (or absence) of patterns
in element profiles that cannot be explained simply in
terms of processes identified in the previous stages of
analysis. For example, intensive processing of certain
meaty elements—identified during stages 3 and
possibly 4—might account for a general paucity of
these bones in a sample.
The simultaneous use of both NISP and MAU profiles
is important here: discrepancies between the two can
help to distinguish the effects of fragmentation from
genuine under- or over-representation. Graphs using the
two quantification methods should be read in different
ways. NISP values are not corrected for symmetry or for
the number of elements in each region, and would in any
case be biased by differential fragmentation between
elements. NISP-based profiles are thus uninformative
taken alone, only becoming useful for comparisons
between taxa and between contexts.
In principle, MAU-based profiles show which body
parts are missing as much as which are present: given
complete carcasses and perfect preservation and
recovery all bars would be equal. Where body parts
are underrepresented at a site level, the ‘missing’ bones
must be accounted for by one of the following:
(1) Incomplete recovery due to excavation technique.
(2) Differential destruction (density-mediated and/or
linked to processing techniques).
(3) Incomplete recovery due to limited excavation area
and structured spatial distribution of remains.
(4) Selectivity in elements brought on-site.
(5) Removal of bones from the site by humans and/or
carnivores.
By this stage in the taphonomic analysis one should
already have a good understanding of differential des-
truction and recovery, allowing inferences to be made
about the more archaeologically interesting processes.
At a context level, under-representation of elements
might also reflect structuring in the distribution of
remains, whether between context types or areas of the
site. This could be the result of functional zoning,
refuse disposal practices, differential access to
resources, or structured patterns of food distribution/
sharing, although in reality these factors overlap
somewhat and are difficult to separate either empiri-
cally or theoretically. Differences between context
types are perhaps more likely to be functional or related
to structured refuse disposal practices, while variability
amongst similar contexts in different areas of a site, or
associated with different dwellings, might potentially
be explained in terms of differential food distribution.
Sharing/distribution of food is a major determinant
of faunal assemblage composition (Kent, 1993), but is
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)

notoriously difficult to identify even where even where
deposits can convincingly be attributed to separate
domestic groups. Sharing between such groups will
tend to smooth differences in species availability but
may or may not create structured variation in element
representation: in Marshall’s (1993, 234–235) Okiek
case study a combination of differential hunting success
and structured carcass distribution resulted in some
variation in species composition but much more in
body part profiles. However, sharing which is less
structured, broadly symmetrical, or simply averaged
over a considerable length of time may serve rather to
obscure any differences in the initial availability of
carcasses (e.g. Kent, 1993, 349–350).
Application
There is little amongst the above specific methodologi-
cal prescriptions that has not been said before; the aim
here is to demonstrate that conducting these more-or-
less standard taphonomic analyses thoroughly and
within a coherent framework can help to reveal patterns
of cultural activity which might otherwise go unnoticed.
This is illustrated here with results from the Vinča period
(later Neolithic) site of Gomolava, Serbia. These have
been selected from a much larger body of taphonomic
data in order to trace the identification of one interesting
pattern of behaviour—the following is an illustrative
rather than exhaustive account of all the taphonomic
analysis applied to the Gomolava dataset.
Gomolava is a large tell on the river Sava in Serbia.
The Vinča phase, Gomolava I, is dated to around
4900–4600 cal. BC and split into three sub-phases by
the excavators (Brukner, 1980):
Gomolava Ia is dominated by large pits, the primary
function of which is unclear (see Orton, 2008, 163–
171) but from which the bulk of the faunal material
derives.
Figure 3. Location of Gomolava Blok VII.
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
D. C. Orton
Gomolava Iab also features some large pits, often re-
cut into earlier fill, but is characterised by post-and-
trench structures and a large amount of apparently
redeposited burnt rubble. The majority of animal
remains derive from the ‘cultural layer’. This is a
general build up of cultural material, typical of Balkan
Neolithic and Copper Age sites, that seems to have
formed very rapidly and presumably reflects a rather
idiosyncratic approach to waste disposal (Chapman,
2000b).
Gomolava Ib has no large pits, although a few smaller
examples may have been used for storage, and is
dominated by largely in situ remains of burnt houses.
While typically smaller than those from the previous
phase, these are very substantially built. Very few
bones were found within the houses, so the cultural
layer again provides most of the faunal material.
Taphonomic study was restricted to the most
recently excavated part of the site, Blok VII
(Figure 3), since the animal remains from earlier
campaigns do not have consistent contextual data. A
traditional archaeozoological report has previously
been published on a portion of the material from the
1973 campaign in Blok I (Clason, 1979). Even Blok VII
at Gomolava is far from an ideal test-bed—the
resolution of documentation is low and recovery poor,
with little or no sieving—but it hopefully demonstrates
that thorough taphonomic study can produce useful
insights even in problematic conditions.
Blok VII is a 40 m
20 m area of the tell, excavated
between 1980 and 1985 but never fully published
(although see Brukner, 1988; Orton, 2008, 150–176).
The archaeology follows the same pattern as the rest of
the site, although the density of pits and houses appears
unusually high.
Table 2 summarises the comparative aspect of the
taphonomic study, while illustrative results from each
stage are outlined below. A total of 4751 specimens was
recorded, with 3240 identified to species. Table 3
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
Taphonomy and Interpretation
Table 2. Summary of taphonomic evidence from Gomolava
Stage Pattern
2 Larger species generally
more weathered and gnawed
Pigs slightly more weathered and
much more gnawed than expected
Weathering more common in
cultural layer than pits or houses
No difference in gnawing between
pits and cultural layer; higher in houses
Pigs (especially wild) far more weathered
in cultural layer than in pits—much smaller
differences for other taxa
Gnawing decreases between phases
in cultural layer; varies in pits
3 Fragmentation increases with size category
FI steady between small and large taxa
Most cattle/pig-sized elements
reduced to < 25%
Modal long-bone end-and-shaft lengths
differ between elements and species
Post-burning breakage on
(mostly) cattle metapodials,
almost always found in cultural layer
FI lower in cultural layer
4a Superficial burning moderately common;
severe burning very rare
Burning more common in SOME
pits than in cultural layer
Burning rarest in houses, but severe burning
probably most common (small sample)
Burning more common on smaller animals,
and on wild taxa within each size category
Wild pigs MUCH (>x4) more
frequently burnt in pits
Aurochsen very rarely burnt in pits
(fairly small sample)
Generally higher end: shaft burning ratio in pits
Higher end: shaft burning ratio
for pigs than other species
Pigs actually have LOWER ratio when
deposited in pits compared to on surface
Burning rare on crania
4b Cut marks increase with body size category
Roe deer more cut-marked than caprines;
wild pig more than domestic pig
Lack of cut-marks on large mammal feet
Cut-marks more frequent in pits than
cultural layer, except for aurochs
More butchery marks on ribs
and vertebrae in pits
Cut-marks very frequent in houses -
but mostly due to one particular building
5 No correlation between abundance
and FUI (Metcalfe and Jones 1988)
MAU profiles fairly ’flat’ for cattle,
allowing for differential destruction/recovery
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
Interpretation
Larger fragment sizes,
scavenger preferences, etc.
Physical properties
of pig bones?
Burial more rapid in pits
Some secondary
deposition in pits?
Different mode of deposition
for pigs in pits
Fewer dogs/pigs on
site in later phases?
Intensive processing of all categories?
Or post-depositional?
Human role in increased fragmentation:
would expect lower values for large
species if primarily post-depositional
Intensive processing
No sign of ’pot-sizing’
Expedient practice of eating freshly
extracted, warmed marrow?
Artefact of weathering
Mostly in situ burning; maybe
also different processing
Most ’house’ material NOT contents
at point of destruction by fire
Surface density? Probably
not differential processing
Common in situ burning following
deposition, or different processing
Roasting more common in pit deposits?
Pigs more commonly roasted?
In situ burning obscures
pre-depositional pattern?
As expected if all sizes processed intensively
Possible butchery differences along
wild/domestic lines, but doesn’t apply
to cattle versus red deer
Not processed
Probably artefact of weathering
Different processing pathways
(temporal rather than contextual trend?)
No clear-cut differential transport,
or high vs. low utility deposits
Complete representation on-site
(Continues)
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)

Table 2. (Continued)
Stage Pattern
Heads and necks underrepresented
for red deer and probably aurochsen
Pig heads overrepresented
Cattle heads rare in houses
Post-cranial axial:appendicular
ratio increases over time
Cranial elements more common in
pits for red deer
(and probably roe deer, caprines)
Opposite true for pig
Dogs represented by
remarkably intact
specimens—mostly
cranial, also tibiae
provides raw NISPs for the main species, elements, and
feature types at the site. This is intended only as a guide
to sample sizes in the taphonomic study; full data are
available elsewhere (Orton, 2008, 176–203).
Stage 1
Appreciable correlations are observed between density
and corrected NISP at Gomolava, especially for cattle
(Figure 4). It is notable that while the more porous
elements are typically rare, denser elements are not
necessarily common—the graphs form ‘wedges’ rather
than lines. The implication is that density-mediated
attrition is an important factor in assemblage formation
but that other forms of selection also apply. Much weaker
correlations are observed when abundance is quantified
by MAU, possibly indicating that this measure is more
robust with regard to differential preservation. Which-
ever measure is used, little difference in the impact of
density-mediated processes is observed between context
types. Lower correlations for pigs may indicate that their
remains were less subject to density-mediated attrition
or, more likely, that the impact of other agents and
processes was more marked for this species. Density
actually matches abundance very well within each
element, if one allows for the difficulty of identifying
shaft fragments to element and species (Figure 5). Poor
recovery precludes reliable assessment of in situ attrition
from fragmentation of carpals and tarsals.
Stage 2
Over 25% of specimens at Gomolava have clear
evidence of sub-aerial weathering, although severe
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
D. C. Orton
Interpretation
Field butchery and differential transport
?
Depends on nature
of house contexts.
Avoidance of deposition?
Changing butchery practices
Selective deposition
Disturbed dog burials/head
placements/other
special deposits
cases are rare. Gnawing marks were observed on nearly
20% of fragments but, again, are typically superficial.
No relationship is observed between median fragment
length and weathering/gnawing rates at the unit level,
indicating that the impact of these processes on
fragmentation was limited.
Weathering is significantly (x2: p < 0.0001) more
common in the cultural layer than in pits, an unsurprising
phenomenon given presumed differences in the rapidity
of burial. Amongst taxa, pigs stand out as particularly
subject to both weathering and gnawing, against an
overall trend of increasing frequency alongside body
size. In the case of weathering this masks a second-order
effect: both wild and domestic pigs are actually very
unweathered in pits but highly weathered in the cultural
layer, with around 17 and 43% of specimens affected
respectively. Pigs were presumably buried much more
rapidly when deposited in pits than on the surface. Since
there is much less difference between context types for
other taxa, it appears that pigs were treated unusually in
depositional terms.
Stage 3
Fragmentation of bones is caused by a variety of pre-
and post-depositional processes. In situ attrition,
weathering and gnawing have already been mentioned,
but much breakage is likely to have been caused by
direct human action, from initial butchery to proces-
sing for marrow or grease (Outram, 2002, 51).
Unsurprisingly, long-bone completeness is inversely
correlated with body size (Table 4). A Kruskal–Wallis
test for differing means between body size groups was
highly significant ( p < 0.0001). If peri- or post-
depositional processes alone were responsible for this,
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
 Table 3. Raw NISPs for the main species, elements and feature types in the Neolithic levels at Gomolava

Element NISP NISP

(cultural layer) (pits)

Bos Cervus Sus Capreolus Ovis/ Canis Cattle- Pig- Sheep- Dog- Bos Cervus Sus Capreolus Ovis/ Canis Cattle- Pig- Sheep- Dog-
elaphus capreolus Capra sized sized sized sized elaphus capreolus Capra sized sized sized sized

Horn 12 2 26 2
core
Antler 21 1 68 7
Skull 60 2 40 16 5 2 59 20 45 3 1 11 10 3 3
Taphonomy and Interpretation

Upper 37 4 32 1 4 4 1
teeth
Mandible 59 7 47 1 1 1 4 1 75 29 54 16 16 24 9 2 2
Lower 50 3 4 25 1 12 2 3
teeth
Atlas 15 5 5 9 5 4 2 1
Axis 10 6 1 1 1 8 5 1 1

Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

Sacrum 6 4 1 1 2 1 1
Scapula 67 29 13 1 12 4 1 42 24 27 1 7 1 25 1 1
Humerus 50 17 19 9 43 32 33 4 2 1 3
Radius 61 19 5 1 7 1 37 32 17 2 4 3 8
Ulna 21 11 15 1 1 29 23 25 5 1 2 2
Carpals 7 1 6 2
Metacarpal 27 17 4 33 32 10 12 3
Pelvis 77 23 8 1 7 37 26 35 2 1 8 2
Femur 36 20 14 10 2 36 30 22 3 1 8 1
Tibia 87 33 14 1 2 14 1 30 43 38 18 3 7 6
Fibula 1 1
Lateral 2 1
malleolus
Astragalus 18 4 1 16 15 6 3
Calcaneus 14 8 6 12 19 8 2 3
Navicular- 14 2 3 4
cuboid
Metatarsal 63 26 6 2 1 55 45 12 11 3
Phalanx I 46 20 1 24 9 4 1
Phalanx II 22 5 11 6 1 1
Phalanx III 5 1 12 1
Long bone 85 14 9 2 118 35 27 1
Rib 208 97 57 14 146 67 46 1
Sternum 1 1
Cervical 30 1 4 43 6 8 1
vertebra
Thoracic 49 15 3 16 6 4
vertebra
Lumbar 26 5 3 27 6 3
vertebra
Caudal 1
vertebra

Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)


Figure 4. Relative density versus corrected NISP at Gomolava for (a) cattle, (b) red deer, (c) domestic pig and (d) wild pig. Density data for
cattle and deer from Symmons (2002) show medians and interquartile ranges; pig data from Pugsley (2002) show means and one-sigma
confidence intervals. Correlation coefficients are Spearman’s r.
one would expect the Freshness Index (FI) to be lower
for larger species; conversely, if human processing were
the only factor then FI should increase with body size.
In fact it is fairly constant (Kruskal–Wallis: p ¼ 0.4094),
implying that both played a part in increased
fragmentation of large carcasses. These results suggest
that there was no gross difference in the manner of
processing larger and smaller animals, i.e. that both
were used fairly intensively.
The most notable difference between context types is
that pig-sized specimens in the cultural layer have a
much lower FI, although a small difference is also seen for
other sizes. This probably reflects the elevated weath-
ering rate amongst pigs noted above, both introducing
new breaks and rendering existing surfaces less ‘fresh’;
given that average completeness for this size category
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
D. C. Orton
barely differs between context types, the difference in FI
is unlikely to represent differential processing.
Stage 4a: burning
Calcined and/or carbonized bones are very rare at
Gomolava, constituting less than 1%. Lighter traces of
burning, noted on around 17.5% of specimens, are
notoriously hard to identify with certainty but are useful
at a statistical level. Light burning is unlikely a priori to be
a major destructive factor and its frequency is not
correlated with mean fragment length at the unit level.
Burning is significantly more common in pits than in
the cultural layer, with 20% and 15% of specimens
affected respectively. There is some evidence from the
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
Taphonomy and Interpretation

Figure 5. Density and MAU by portion for pigs (wild and domestic) at Gomolava. See Pugsley (2002) for exact scan sites.

documentation—and from comparable sites (Russell,
1993, 428–461; Chapman, 2000a)—either for periodic
in situ burning events or for large-scale dumps of burnt
material. Sadly, stratigraphic resolution does not allow
this to be tested using the faunal material.
Burning appears systematically more common on (a)
smaller species and (b) wild animals (Table 5). This is
likely to be a mechanistic effect related to bone density
rather than evidence for differential treatment.
However, second-order effects again emerge between
context types and taxa. Most notably, the difference
between context types is much more pronounced for
pigs than for other species, with wild pigs in particular
almost five times as likely to be burnt when deposited
in pits rather than on the surface. Either wild pig
remains were subject to unusually high burning prior to
deposition in pits, or in situ burning took place
Table 4. Mean long-bone completeness and Freshness Index
scores at Gomolava by body size
preferentially following their deposition. In either
case, the taxonomic differences indicate that we are not
observing a purely functional ‘burning down’ of pit fill.
Pig specimens are most frequently burnt on articular
ends but other species most frequently on shafts. Overall
end: shaft burning ratios are higher on material deposited
in pits, but the reverse is true for pigs, perhaps due to
in situ burning obscuring pre-depositional patterns.
Stage 4b: butchery marks
Butchery marks are observed on just under 5% of
specimens at Gomolava. Halstead (2007) argues that,
unless utilised less intensively, large species should have
a higher frequency of cut marks than smaller, and this
more-or-less holds for Gomolava (Table 6). The
difference between wild and domestic pigs is probably
too large to account for purely in terms of size, however,
once again suggesting unusual patterns of processing.

Sheep- Pig- Cattle- Table 5. Burning rate by species at Gomolava

sized sized sized
Body Species % n End: shaft
Mean Pits 0.31 0.28 0.22 size burnt indexa
completeness
n 54 91 360 Large Bos taurus 14.3 1380 0.71
Cultural 0.26 0.23 Bos primigenius 16.0 81
layer Cervus elaphus 22.3 782 0.81
n (4) 44 353 Medium Sus (domestic) 14.9 154 1.07
Freshness Pits 1.22 1.26 1.24 Sus (wild) 18.9 301 1.07
index Small Canis familiaris 20.3 59
n 152 169 740 Ovis/Capra 24.1 58
Cultural 1.18 0.85 1.18 Capreolus 34.3 102
layer capreolus
n 28 93 776
a
% end fragments burnt/% shaft fragments burnt

Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
 D. C. Orton

Table 6. Frequency of cut-marks by species at Gomolava

Cultural layer Pits

% cut n % cut n

Bos taurus 4.77 733 5.78 571

Cervus 4.90 286 5.35 467
elaphus
Sus (all) 3.40 206 6.11 360
Sus (wild) 5.00 80 7.83 217
Sus (domestic) 1.25 80 4.17 72
Capreolus (6) 3.23 93
capreolus
Cattle-sized 4.04 1632 6.11 1571
Pig-sized 2.53 356 5.95 487
Sheep-sized 1.83 109 2.39 251
Total 3.66 2103 5.83 2369

Comparing context types, cut-marks are consistently

more frequent in pits than in the cultural layer. The
obvious explanation that this reflects differences in
weathering—which has the potential to obscure
cuts—is supported by the fact that the difference is
most pronounced for pigs.
The sample of pig-sized specimens identified to
element is too small to allow anatomical distribution of
butchery marks to be compared between context types
or wild and domestic forms. Cattle-sized specimens,
however—primarily Bos taurus and Cervus elaphus—
show marked differences in location of butchery marks
between pits and the cultural layer (Figure 6). This does
Figure 6. Anatomical distribution of butchery marks on cattle-
not simply reflect different stages of processing, since sized specimens at Gomolava, by feature type. Skeletal template
element representation differs fairly little between from Orton (2010), after original by M. Coutureau.
context types (see below). At present it is unclear what
underlies this phenomenon, but it presumably indicates this only applies in the cultural layer. Pigs, meanwhile,
differential treatment prior to deposition in these appear to have a surfeit of cranial elements when
contexts. Unfortunately, samples are too small to deposited on the surface. Apart from cranial:postcranial
separate the effects of context type and of site phase. ratios there is very little sign of human selection.
Unfortunately, samples are too small to permit
comparison between individual pits or spatially across
Stage 5: anatomical representation the cultural layer, so questions of sharing and differential
access cannot be addressed.
Anatomical frequency was assessed using both NISP
and MAU. The former is only useful in comparative
terms. MAU profiles, by contrast, should in theory be Summary
‘flat’ unless either differential destruction or human
selection has applied. Grouping elements into regions The taphonomic evidence from Gomolava reveals clear
reduces the effects of differential destruction and differences between the main two context types on the
recovery. However, the former remains a problem for site. Data concerning weathering, burning, and the
‘Upper Hindlimb’—consisting solely of the femur with frequency and pattern of butchery marks all point to
its porous articular ends—while the latter still afflicts marked differences in depositional and pre-deposi-
‘Feet’, composed almost entirely of small elements. tional processes. Since many of these patterns cannot
MAU profiles for most common species at Gomolava be explained in mechanistic taphonomic terms they
are fairly complete apart from these two regions must be underlain by differential patterns of proces-
(Figure 7). Cranial elements are underrepresented for sing, consumption and/or deposition, presumably
red deer, presumably reflecting transport decisions, but occurring in differing social contexts. In particular,

Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
Taphonomy and Interpretation
Figure 7. Element profiles for the most common species at Gomolava by corrected NISP (left) and MAU (right).
there seems to have been a special mode of deposition
involving pigs—and perhaps especially wild pigs—in
pits. From the taphonomic data alone one cannot move
beyond this point: the analytical structure advocated
here has simply enabled the identification of an
anomaly that requires a social explanation.
Interpretation
Further interpretation requires one to step back
somewhat and view the taphonomic results in broader
archaeological context. In the present case, this
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
includes arguments for structured deposition in pits
on Balkan Neolithic sites (e.g. Chapman, 2000a).
Russell (1993) suggests that feasting remains at the
Vinča site of Opovo were preferentially deposited in
pits, with red deer and wild pig particularly implicated
in the inferred communal consumption events.
The term feasting is highly loaded, and taphonomic
analysis at Gomolava revealed no evidence for the
wastage with which it is commonly associated. None-
theless, the unusual mode of deposition identified for
pigs in pits seems likely to represent a particular social
context prior to deposition, quite possibly involving
consumption on an unusual scale. Since pit-fill makes up
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)

Figure 8. Distribution of pig measurement log ratio values in pits
versus the cultural layer at Gomolava.
the bulk of deposits from Gomolava Ia, ‘special’ practices
presumably only account for a subset of this material.
Making the same case for the Opovo pits, Russell links
‘feasting’ deposits to burnt layers, and this would fit with
the burning data for the Gomolava pigs. Taxonomic and
demographic data at Gomolava also support an inter-
pretation along these lines. Pig specimens in the pits are
heavily biased towards wild individuals, while males are
preferentially deposited in pits regardless of domesti-
cation status, and adult pigs are also overrepresented.
Measurement data suggest that sheer size may have been
an important factor in selection (Figure 8).
Placing this in the context of change over time at
Gomolava, there is a trend away from pit-filling and
towards surface deposition, one which is associated
with changing forms of architecture and, probably,
social organisation. Hunted species—including wild
pigs— also become less common between phases,
while age data suggest that deliberate, targeted hunting
declines, leaving a more opportunistic mode of hunting
in later phases. Separating contextual from temporal
trends is problematic for reasons of sample size, but
taxonomic representation actually remains fairly con-
stant over time for each feature type; rather than being
coincidental trends, the decline in deposition in pits
and the decrease in hunting seem to go hand-in-hand.
At this point one could step back further and cast the
changes in both hunting and depositional practices in
terms of social change during the period, an argument
developed in detail elsewhere (Orton, in press).
Conclusions
The framework for taphonomic analysis set out here
has considerable potential (a) to detect and mitigate
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
D. C. Orton
the biasing effects of taphonomic processes on faunal
assemblages and (b) to isolate archaeologically
interesting patterns of differential processing and
deposition from more mechanistic effects. The
analytical procedure cannot reveal the precise forms
of consumption or deposition practices, but it can
identify where patterns exist that require interpretation
in terms of deliberate human action. Close attention to
taphonomic detail through structured analysis along
the lines of that presented here is vital if ‘social
zooarchaeology’ is to move beyond the superficial and
speculative.
Acknowledgements
This research formed part of a PhD funded by the
University of Cambridge. An earlier draft benefited
considerably from suggestions by Kathy Twiss and her
zooarchaeology discussion group at Stony Brook Uni-
versity, particularly Arzu Demirergi and Serkan Yeni.
Comments from two anonymous reviewers also con-
tributed to the finished paper.
References
Abe Y, Marean CW, Nilssen PJ, Assefa Z, Stone EC. 2002.
The analysis of cutmarks on archaeofauna: a review and
critique of quantification procedures, and a new image-
analysis GIS approach. American Antiquity 67: 643–663.
DOI: 10.2307/1593796
Bar-Oz G, Munro ND. 2004. Beyond cautionary tales: a
multivariate taphonomic approach for resolving equifin-
ality in zooarchaeological studies. Journal of Taphonomy 2:
201–221.
Behrensmeyer AK. 1978. Taphonomic and ecologic infor-
mation from bone weathering. Paleobiology 4: 150–162.
Bennett JL. 1999. Thermal alteration of buried bone. Journal
of Archaeological Science 26: 1–8. DOI: 10.1006/jasc. 1998.
0283
Binford LR. 1978. Nunamiut Ethnoarchaeology. Academic Press:
New York.
Binford LR. 1981a. Behavioural archaeology and the Pom-
peii premise. Journal of Anthropological Research 37: 195–208.
Binford LR. 1981b. Bones: Ancient Men and Modern Myths.
Academic Press: New York.
Brukner B. 1980. Naselje Vinčanske grupe na Gomolavi
(neolitski i ranoeneolitski sloj). Izveštaj sa iskopavanja
1967–1976 .g. Rad Vojvopanskih Muzeja 26: 5–55.
Brukner B. 1988. Die siedlung der Vinča-gruppe auf Gomo-
lava (die wohnschicht des spätneolithikums und frühä-
neolithikums (Gomolava Ia, Gomolava Ia-b und
Gomolava Ib) und der wohn horizont des äneolithischen
humus (Gomolava II), In Gomolava: Symposium, Tasić N,
Petrović J (eds). Muzej Vojvodine: Novi Sad.
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)
Taphonomy and Interpretation
Chapman J. 2000a. Pit-digging and structured deposition in
the Neolithic and Copper Age of Central and Eastern
Europe. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 66: 51–67.
Chapman J. 2000b. ‘Rubbish-dumps’ or ‘places of deposition’?
Neolithic and Copper Age settlements in Central and
Eastern Europe. In Neolithic Orkney in its European context,
Ritchie A (ed.). McDonald Institute: Cambridge; 347–362.
Clark J, Kietzke KK. 1967. Palaeoecology of the lower
modular zone, Brule formation, in the big badlands of
South Dakota. Fieldiana: Geology Memoirs 5: 111–137.
Clason AT. 1979. The farmers of Gomolava in the Vinča and
La Tene period. Palaeohistoria 21: 42–81.
Collins MB. 1975. The sources of bias in archaeological data,
an appraisal. In Sampling in Archaeology, Mueller JW (ed.).
University of Arizona Press: Tucson; 26–32.
Dobney K, Reilly K. 1988. A method for recording archae-
ological animal bones: the use of diagnostic zones. Circaea
5: 79–96.
Grayson DK. 1984. Quantitative Zooarchaeology. Academic
Press: New York.
Grayson DK, Frey CJ. 2004. Measuring skeletal part repres-
entation in archaeological faunas. Journal of Taphonomy 2:
27–42.
Guilday JE, Parmalee PW, Tanner DP. 1962. Aboriginal
butchering techniques at the Eschelman Site (36 La 12),
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania Archaeology,
32: 59–83.
Halstead P. 2007. Carcasses and commensality: investi-
gating the social context of meat consumption in Neo-
lithic and Early Bronze Age Greece. In Cooking up the Past:
Food and Culinary Practices in the Neolithic and Bronze Age
Aegean, Mee C, Renard J (eds). Oxbow: Oxford; 25–48.
Hesse B, Wapnish P. 1985. Animal Bone Archaeology. Tarax-
acum: Washington.
Ioannidou E. 2003. Taphonomy of animal bones: species,
sex, age and breed variability of sheep, cattle and pig bone
density. Journal of Archaeological Science 30: 355–365. DOI:
10.1006/jasc.2002.0847
Kent S. 1993. Variability in faunal assemblages: the influ-
ence of hunting skill, sharing, dogs, and mode of cooking
on the faunal remains at a sedentary Kalahari community.
Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 12: 323–385. DOI:
10.1006/jaar.1993.1010
Kreutzer LA. 1992. Bison and deer bone-mineral densities—
comparisons and implications for the interpretation of
archaeological faunas. Journal of Archaeological Science 19:
271–294. DOI: 10.1016/0305-4403(92)90017-W
Lam YM, Pearson OM. 2005. Bone density studies and the
interpretation of the faunal record. Evolutionary Anthropol-
ogy 14: 99–108. DOI: 10.1002/evan.20053
Lam YM, Pearson OM, Marean CW, Chen X. 2003. Bone
density studies in zooarchaeology. Journal of Archae-
ological Science 30: 1701–1708. DOI: 10.1016/S0305-
4403(03)00065-7
Lyman RL. 1984. Bone density and differential survivorship
of fossil classes. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 3: 259–
299.
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
Lyman RL. 1985. Bone frequencies: differential transport, in
situ destruction and the MGUI. Journal of Archaelogical
Science 12: 221–236. DOI: 10.1016/0305-4403(85)
90022-6
Lyman RL. 1994. Vertebrate Taphonomy. Cambridge Univer-
sity Press: Cambridge.
Marciniak A. 2001. Scientific and interpretive components
in social zooarchaeology. The case of early farming
communities in Kujavia. Archaeologia Polona 39: 87–110.
Marciniak A. 2005a. Placing Animals in the Neolithic: Social
Zooarchaeology of Prehistoric Farming Communities. UCL Press:
London.
Marciniak A. 2005b. Social changes in the early European
Neolithic. A taphonomy perspective. In Biosphere to Litho-
sphere: New Studies in Vertebrate Taphonomy, O’Connor TP
(ed.). Oxbow: Oxford; 148–154.
Marean CW. 1991. Measuring the postdepositional destruc-
tion of bone in archaeological assemblages. Journal of
Archaeological Science 18: 677–694. DOI: 10.1016/0305-
4403(91)90029-O
Marshall F. 1993. Food sharing and the faunal record. In From
Bones to Behaviour: Ethnoarchaeological and Experimental Contri-
butions to the Interpretation of Faunal Remains, Hudson J (ed.).
Southern Illinois University: Carbondale; 228–246.
Marshall F, Pilgram T. 1991. Meat versus within-bone
nutrients: another look at the meaning of body part
representation in archaeological sites. Journal of Archae-
ological Science 18: 149–163. DOI: 10.1016/0305-
4403(91)90044-P
Miracle PT, Milner N (eds). 2002. Consuming Patterns and
Patterns of Consumption. Cambridge: McDonald Institute.
Morlan RE. 1994. Bison bone fragmentation and survivor-
ship: a comparative method. Journal of Archaeological Science
21: 797–807. DOI: 10.1006/jasc.1994.1077
Nicholson RA. 1993. A morphological investigation of burnt
animal bone and an evaluation of its utility in archaeology.
Journal of Archaelogical Science 20: 411–428. DOI: 10.1006/
jasc.1993.1025
Orton DC. 2008. Beyond hunting and herding: humans,
animals, and the political economy of the Vinča period.
Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis, Cambridge.
Orton DC. 2010. A new tool for zooarchaeological analysis:
ArcGIS skeletal templates for some common mammalian
species. Internet Archaeology 28.
Orton DC. In press. False dichotomies? Balkan Neolithic
hunting in archaeological context. In A Walk on the Wild
Side: Hunting in Farming Societies, Mulville J, Powell A (eds).
Oxbow: Oxford.
Outram AK. 2001. A new approach to identifying bone
marrow and grease exploitation: why the ‘indeterminate’
fragments should not be ignored. Journal of Archaeological
Science 28: 401–410. DOI: 10.1006/jasc.2000.0619
Outram AK. 2002. Bone fracture and within-bone nutrients:
an experimentally based method for investigating levels of
marrow extraction. In Consuming Patterns and Patterns of
Consumption, Miracle P, Milner N (eds). McDonald
Institute: Cambridge; 51–63.
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)

Pearce J, Luff R. 1994. The taphonomy of cooked bone. In
Whither Environmental Archaeology, Luff R, Rowley-Conwy
PA (eds). Oxbow: Oxford; 51–56.
Phoca-Cosmetatou N. 2005. Bone weathering and food pro-
curement strategies: assessing the reliability of our beha-
vioural inferences. In Biosphere to Lithosphere: new studies in vertebrate
taphonomy, O’Connor TP (ed.). Oxbow: Oxford; 135–145.
Pickering TR, Marean CW, Dominguez-Rodrigo M. 2003.
Importance of limb bone shaft fragments in zooarchaeol-
ogy: a response to ‘On in situ attrition and vertebrate body
part profiles’ (2002) by M. C. Stiner. Journal of Archae-
ological Science 30: 1469–1482. DOI: 10.1016/S0305-
4403(03)00042-6
Pugsley L. 2002. Exploitation Patterns: food utility and bone
mineral density indices for wild and domestic pigs. Unpub-
lished Ph.D. Thesis, University of Cambridge.
Ringrose TJ. 1993. Bone counts and statistics: a critique.
Journal of Archaeological Science 20: 121–157. DOI: 10.1006/
jasc.1993.1010
Russell N. 1993. Hunting, Herding and Feasting: human use
of animals in Neolithic Southeast Europe. Unpublished
Ph.D. Thesis, University of California at Berkeley.
Russell N. 1999. Symbolic dimensions of animals and meat
at Opovo, Yugoslavia. In Material Symbols: Culture and
Economy in Prehistory, Robb JE (ed.). Center for Archae-
ological Investigations: Carbondale; 153–172.
Schiffer MB. 1976. Behavioural Archaeology. Academic Press:
New York.
Copyright # 2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.
D. C. Orton
Schiffer MB. 1983. Towards the identification of formation
processes. American Antiquity 48: 675–706. DOI: 10.2307/
279771
Serjeantson D. 2006. Food or feast at Neolithic Runnymede?
In Animals in the Neolithic of Britain and Europe, Neolithic
Studies Group Seminar Papers 7, Serjeantson D, Field D
(eds). Oxbow: Oxford; 113–134.
Shipman P, Foster G, Schoeninger M. 1984. Burnt bones and
teeth: an experimental study of color, morphology, crystal
structure and shrinkage. Journal of Archaeological Science 11:
307–326. DOI: 10.1016/0305-4403(84)90013-X
Stiner MC. 1991. Food procurement and transport by
human and non-human predators. Journal of Archaeolo-
gical Science 18: 455–482. DOI: 10.1016/0305-
4403(91)90038-Q
Symmons RH. 2002. A re-examination of sheep bone
density and its role in assessing taphonomic histories of
zooarchaeological assemblages. Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis,
University College, London.
Symmons RH. 2004. Digital photodensitometry: a reliable
and accessible method for measuring bone density. Journal
of Archaeological Science 31: 711–719. DOI: 10.1016/
j.jas.2003.11.002
Symmons RH. 2005. Bone density variation between similar
animals and density variation in early life: implications for
future taphonomic analysis. In Biosphere to Lithosphere: New
Studies in Vertebrate Taphonomy, O’Connor TP (ed.). Oxbow:
Oxford; 86–93.
Int. J. Osteoarchaeol. (2010)