Feasts of clay?

Ceramics and feasting at Early Minoan Myrtos: Fournou Korifi

Todd Whitelaw
Published in: Y. Galanakis, T. Wilkinson and J. Bennet (eds) 2014. AΘYMATA. Critical
essays on the archaeology of the Eastern Mediterranean in honour of E. Susan Sherratt.
Oxford: Archaeopress:247-59.
For forty years, the site of Myrtos: Fournou Korifi has been used to explore changing theoretical
perspectives in Aegean prehistory, because of its geographical and chronological context within the
EB II ‘emergence’ of civilisation (C. Renfrew 1972: 90-92), and particularly because of its near
complete excavation, limited later disturbance and thorough publication (Warren 1972). While
earlier debates focused on its overall structure and organisation (reviewed in Whitelaw 2007), more
recent interpretations have continued to engage with these questions, while using the site to
illustrate more subtle models of social interaction, integration and differentiation. But while
attracted to the site by the detail of the published data, most interpretations are simply imposed on
the data, not analysing them to learn whether the interpretations are actually relevant, or how past
occupants of the community actually behaved. Here, I will examine the ceramic assemblage in the
light of claims for large-scale feasting at the site.
The broadly accepted interpretation of the site is that it was composed of some 5-6 households, each
representing a nuclear family (Whitelaw 1983; 2007).1 These families co-operated in the decision to
reside in a nucleated community, and also in the construction and maintenance of a solid defensive
perimeter wall in its final phase, as well as several communal spaces (Figure 26.1). The principal
disagreement with this reconstruction has been the identification of one group of rooms at the
south-west corner of the community as a village shrine (e.g., Warren 1972: 265-66; in press; Gesell
1985: 114-16), which ultimately rests on the identification of a single figure-vessel as a cult image
(Warren 1972: 210; 1973; in press; Cadogan 2010).
Overlooked in alternative attempts to understand the nature of the community as a whole, is the
pervasive evidence for household independence within the community. Each architectural group of
inter-connected rooms has its own evidence for agricultural production (the biconically-bored stone
weights [3-5 per household] may be digging stick weights), food storage (storage vessels), food
preparation (hearths and cooking vessels, lekanai), and consumption (diverse small serving and
consumption vessels). In contrast, what is clearly missing are communal production or storage
facilities, which would represent a significant supra-household level of economic and social inter-
dependence.
What linked these households together? In a small community of this size, everyone was almost
certainly related. Indeed, given the scale of regional population necessary to sustain a small
community like this in a low-density landscape, residents probably had relatives spread across
many communities on the south coast between Myrtos and Ierapetra, and the uplands extending
much of the way to the Bay of Mirabello (Whitelaw, in press). What made them reside together,
and co-operate at least in maintaining the solid perimeter wall? Evidence from EM Crete is
increasingly drawing attention to defensive concerns, highlighted repeatedly in recent work in the
Mirabello region, and exemplified in the hilltop locations of many sites (Nowicki 2010; Watrous
2012; Betancourt 2013). While pragmatic, this nucleation may also have helped reinforce a sense of
community identity; Fournou Korifi may even have been a somewhat closed community. The
rooms with a bench situated at each entrance to the community may have served as reception areas
where visitors to the community were met, offered hospitality and vetted, or perhaps where all
interactions with them were undertaken, explicitly keeping them outside the community itself,
comparable to the village ‘guest houses’ maintained in many cultures.
Recently, there has been a great deal of interest in identifying feasting in Aegean prehistory (e.g.,
Wright 2004; Halstead and Barrett 2004; Mee and Renard 2007; Hitchcock et al. 2008), relevant to
both intra- and inter-community interactions and the negotiation of social [end page 247] and
political relations. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to identify feasting simply on the basis of
a ceramic assemblage, since with the differential breakage of small consumption vessels (David
1972; Varien and Mills 1997; Shott 1996), any accumulated deposit is bound to be dominated by
cups, bowls, jugs and similar small, frequently used vessels, a pattern often assumed to indicate
feasting. To counter-act this bias requires the documentation of individual depositional events or a
synchronous assemblage, as in the destruction deposits of the palace of Pylos (Whitelaw 2001), or
potentially at Fournou Korifi.
Arguments for feasting at the site (e.g., Haggis 1999: 61; Hershenson 2002; Catapoti 2011;
Hamilakis 2008: 11; Day et al. 2010; Damilati and Vavouranakis 2011: 40-44; Hamilakis and
Sherratt 2012: 191) have been based on the assumption that one or more of the well-preserved
Period II assemblages published from each household are simply too large to represent the needs of
a nuclear family. There are no norms from fully preserved households at other EM sites to support
this assertion, and it is at least questionable if one considers the more than 665 vessels recovered
from House N at Palaikastro (Sackett et al. 1965; Sackett and Popham 1970), or the circa 1,300
vessels from the West House at Akrotiri (Papagiannopoulou 1995). Assemblages of 50-80 vessels
are not exceptional among the household inventories of ethnographically documented small-scale
agricultural societies, though numbers are highly dependent on the availability of pottery and
containers of alternative materials (e.g., Foster 1960; Nelson 1981; Bedaux 1987; Arnold 1988;
Deal 1998).
Several assemblage-specific considerations are also relevant. First, many of the catalogued vessels
are extremely fragmentary, and are very unlikely to have been in use at the time of the destruction
(Figure 26.2). They were published because they were typologically interesting, not because they
were all part of the synchronous destruction assemblage. Unfortunately, fragmentation may be due
to their already broken condition (much refuse was allowed to accumulate in corners, particularly in
public spaces: Whitelaw 2007: 69-71); or to post-depositional loss, so the degree of preservation
alone cannot determine which vessels were in use at the time of the destruction. Second, it is clear
from the condition of their bases (with projecting burrs of clay surviving on the edges), that some
vessels had never been used. With grape skins still in the fermenting wine, the village was probably
burned in the autumn, and since traditional pot making in the Mediterranean is highly seasonal (for
drying), households would probably only recently have laid-in their supplies of new pots to last
them the year. Since small vessels have short use-lives, often less than a single year for small,
frequently used vessels such as cups, bowls and jugs (Shott 1996), these will have been acquired
preferentially and stored in excess of the quantity required for use at any one point in time (cf.
DeBoer and Lathrap 1979: 124; Nelson 1991: 171; Tani 1994: 56-57). So we should anticipate that
the preserved assemblages will be larger than needed for daily use, and that small vessels in
particular should be over-represented.
The typical approach is to look at the published quantities of cups, goblets, bowls, jugs and jars, and
decide that these are far beyond a single family’s needs, therefore they must [end page 249] be
exceptional. It is suggested that the largest assemblage represents a high status household (ignoring
the effects of complete excavation and particularly good preservation of that group of rooms), and
that household will have preferentially hosted feasts, to establish and maintain its social standing
(Haggis 1999: 61; Hershenson 2002). A variant interpretation, recognising that other households
also had large assemblages, suggests that such feasting rotated, being used to generate, but also
distribute status within the community (Catapoti 2011: 110; Damilati and Vavouranakis 2011: 40-
42), presumably on the model of Latin American cargo/fiesta festival sponsorship. While this
proposal recognises that the largest household assemblage is not really exceptional at the site, this is
probably not a particularly relevant model for such a small village. But rather than debate
theoretical expectations in the abstract, what can we actually learn from the preserved evidence?
I here consider 555 Period II vessels that served as containers. The numbers in specific categories
vary slightly from those catalogued in Warren’s 1972 publication, because several of these join, and
various catalogued but unreconstructed pots actually consist of sherds from multiple vessels. While
many of these vessels were certainly not in use at the time of the destruction, many others remain
uncertain, but they all contribute to identifying patterns in how vessels were probably used in the
EM IIB community.
I divide the assemblage by major shape categories, on the assumption that these are distinct enough
to have been emicly recognised types, and such major shape characteristics put constraints on how
vessels could be used effectively. Further dividing these will be modes in vessel volume, which
should also relate to how the vessels were used.2 Looking at all vessels together reveals volume
[end page 250] modalities which cross-cut the different vessel types and shapes (Figure 26.3).
Focusing-in on the range of smaller vessels likely to have been in everyday use (Figure 26.3C),
multiple modes can be recognised, with a lot of very small vessels (0.2-0.4 litres), many slightly
larger (up to 0.7 litres), another mode ending at 1.3 litres, possibly a few sub-modes within a
broader range up to c. 4.2 litres, and a much more dispersed range of volumes up to c. 12 litres and
beyond. Not only do these modes have relevance across different shapes, suggesting they relate to
the ways shapes were used together, they also span the three different pot-making traditions
represented at the site: the local South Coast and imported Vasiliki and Mirabello traditions
(Whitelaw et al. 1997). This suggests they relate to broadly shared ideas underlying how the
vessels were used, rather than purely local habits.
Goblets are all small, and with pedestal bases, so it is difficult to see them as designed for anything
other than drinking (Figure 26.4A). Most are imported, but a few were made locally. With not
enough for all residents, other small cup and bowl shapes must also have been used for drinking.
Whether the distinction between goblet and other [end page 251] small container use was
opportunistic or due to individual preference, status or social situation is not obvious, but most
households had them. Their small volume provides a guide for looking for vessels used similarly
among the cups and small bowls.
Cups come in a variety of forms, the major distinction being between simple s-profile cups, usually
with large loop handles, and other, often more finely finished varieties of hemispherical or globular
cups (the latter all imported, whereas most of the former are local). Nearly all of the fragments
catalogued as s-profile bowls have a localised wear pattern on lip and maximum diameter which
indicates that they were actually from handled cups, the wear resulting from their use as dippers, to
scoop food or drink from larger open vessels; some larger deep bowls have corresponding wear
inside. These cups may have been used to transfer food or drink from cooking or serving to
consumption vessels, or might have been used for direct consumption from a communal pot. The
generic cups (Figure 26.4B) usually hold 1-3 times the standard goblet volume, at the upper range
perhaps representing a full serving to accompany a meal. The act of refilling during the course of a
meal may have been socially important in goblet use, or the limited volume might suggest specific
use in hospitality or toasting, though goblets were not stored separately from the other drinking
vessels or otherwise distinguished as intended for restricted use. Dipper cups span the same range,
with a mode about twice the goblet norm (Figure 26.4C).
Bowls can be divided into three principal shapes: deep, shallow and hemispherical/globular. The
latter are the most straightforward, displaying a single mode (Figure 26.4D), which corresponds
with that of the dipper cups – convergence on a single food serving, probably for an individual (e.g.,
Turner and Lofgren 1968); they are nearly all imported. Deep bowls are considerably more varied,
with some corresponding to the small volume goblets and others to the larger cups and
hemispherical bowls (Figure 26.4E). Above this is a general spread up to c. 2.0 litres, another up to
c. 4.2 litres; these represent multiples of the small consumption units, suitable for servings for 3-5
individuals. Beyond this, the size ranges are more spread, with numerous vessels between 10 and 30
litres, and one around 38 litres. This spread of sizes would accommodate a wide range of uses, in
food preparation and serving (e.g., the dipper wear inside some vessels), as well as non-food related
processing activities and even short-term storage; the lack of clearly defined modes may suggest
general rather than narrowly defined or constrained anticipated uses.
Shallow bowls are much more restricted in volume with none over 9 litres (Figure 26.4F). There are
a few small examples, but the bulk concentrate in the middle range (0.6-2.2 litres), and only two
outliers are larger than 4.5 litres. It is difficult to fill a shallow bowl as much as a deep bowl and not
spill its contents when lifting or moving it, so we can assume these were usually less completely
filled than their deep counterparts, in part accounting for a shift upward in the volume modes. In
terms of stability to raise and drink from, and the large rim diameter, they are unlikely to have been
used as drinking vessels, accounting for the dearth of very small examples. The core of the
distribution would correspond to 1-2 food servings. Given the visibility and ease of access to
contents due to their wide and flaring apertures, the larger examples may have been used
preferentially as serving vessels for food shared among a small number of consumers. Interestingly,
just over half of the examples over 1.1 litres in volume were imported, whereas most of the smaller
ones were locally produced. This may represent complementary aspects of use, or else local
production filling a gap in the available imports, produced to meet slightly different local norms.
The two significantly larger vessels (6.5-9.0 litres) are both imports, and there is one from each of
the two best preserved households. These may have been display pieces, used for larger
presentations of larger quantities of food or on particular occasions, for example when outsiders
were invited for a meal. The volumes involved, however, would not suggest the ability to serve a
large extra-household group.
The few jars are insignificant in number as well as volume (Figure 26.4G), perhaps aligning better
with pyxides than serving vessels. Among spouted jars, I distinguish long-spouted ‘teapots’, given
arguments that the elaboration of spouts was to draw attention to serving, in contexts of hospitality
(Catapoti 2011: 110; Day and Wilson 2004: 55). The volume distributions support such a shape
distinction, with most ‘teapots’ corresponding to the middle mode (0.8-1.3 litres), suitable to hold
2-6 goblet or 2 cup refills (Figure 26.4H). The one much larger example (P665), is poorly preserved
but exceptional in most ways (one of only two ‘teapots’ made locally, with unique white painted
decoration).3 The other spouted jars are mostly flat-bottomed and short spouted (Figure 26.4I).
Their size range seems to complement that of ‘teapots’, perhaps suggesting slightly different
tendencies in use, with the less elaborate vessels at the smaller and larger ends of the serving vessel
range. The extravagant spouts on the mid-range ‘teapots’, this may be pragmatic and related to
balance and manoeuvrability, but probably also to the social contexts of use. The bulk of the
standard spouted jars are also imports, with the smaller range predominantly Vasiliki (2/3) and
South Coast (1/3), and the larger examples mostly Mirabello. Twenty-five examples are smaller
than 4.5 litres, within the documented range for serving and consumption containers, with only four
spread evenly from 7.5 to 32 litres, probably used for other tasks, distributed across three
households.
Jugs constitute the largest single class of vessels in the assemblage, with considerable variation in
volume, though high standardisation in shape (Figure 26.4J). Many smaller jugs held individual
goblet-scale servings, but this main mode [end page 252] extends continuously across the
capacities of goblets and cups, representing individual liquid servings (seemingly the equivalent of
modern individual cafetières). While not corresponding to our expectations about transfer vessels
(holding liquid for multiple servings or serving multiple individuals), this helps account for the
surprisingly large number of jugs recovered in some households. Above this, there may be sub-foci,
but these pretty much merge into a broad mode from circa 0.8-3.8 litres, incorporating the bulk of
the smaller jugs and spanning the serving range. Based on the smaller, goblet-scale jugs, this larger
mode represents multiple serving vessels, for 4-5 goblet to cup-sized servings. There are 18 larger
jugs, ranging fairly evenly from 4.5-13.0 litres. These would probably have been transfer vessels,
and possibly the principal vessels used to carry water up to the site (unless skin bags were used). A
few of the smaller piriform jars might have been similarly used (nine are 4.5-9.5 litres), but most
are 12.5-28 litres, representing a very considerable weight to carry up from the valley floor (though
water jars this large are documented ethnographically); many were positioned alongside large
storage jars, so are likely to have been used as mid- to long-term liquid storage.
We can finish this survey of the smaller containers by considering cooking pots (Figure 26.4K).
With identifications constrained by the degree of base preservation, four were certainly flat-based,
12 had tripod legs, and 15 are uncertain; the two forms presumably relate to different forms of
cooking. Most held 1.6-4.2 litres, with an additional cluster around 6.5-12.5 litres, and three much
larger (>30 litres). The smallest cluster corresponds to the mid-range deep bowl capacities, some 3-
5 individual small bowl servings, while the second mode might represent 2-3 meals for a
comparable group of people – for example where some or all components of a family’s daily food
consumption are cooked once in the day, supplying multiple meals (Nelson 1981). The three
exceptional examples are only represented by 5-10% of each vessel, so their actual capacity cannot
be estimated accurately; given such poor preservation, they may not have been in use at the
destruction. If in use, the very large vessels might have been for occasional larger cooking events
(Longacre 1985: 344-45), or for other large capacity heat-processing activities, such as cheese-
making, beer-brewing or wool-dying; these are distributed across three different households.4
Overall, pottery seems to have been used in very structured ways, with clear patterning by shape
and size. Most, not surprisingly, was focused on the preparation, serving and consumption of
relatively small quantities of food and drink, for individuals and aggregates of 3-6 individuals.
Small numbers of some shapes could have catered for slightly larger groups, but supra-household
groups would normally have required multiple vessels used side by side, whether for cooking,
serving or consumption: more pot-luck than feast. A range of larger cooking pots, deep bowls and
jugs (8.0-15 litres) may have been used in food processing and preparation, though potentially also
for other activities. A very small number of much larger vessels do not obviously fit into this inter-
connected series. These vessels may not have been used for food processing at all, but for other
activities; there is at most one example of such shapes per household.
Given the Pompeii-like character of some of the better preserved rooms at the site, one might hope
for some behaviourally meaningful associations, but the best preserved contexts for these everyday
vessels were storage (e.g., rooms 33, 72, the cupboard in 80, 82 and 91), and most other rooms had
vessels distributed across them individually or in only small clusters. One deposit, however,
recovered high up in the fill of room 79 and surmised to have fallen from the flat roof (Warren
1972: 72), provides an instructive assemblage. It included 5 goblets, 4 very small deep bowls, 1
much larger deep bowl (circa 27 litres), 1 dipper cup, a small piriform jar (circa 14 litres), and two 2
tripod cooking pots, and appears to be a serving and dining set for 4-5 individuals.
Figure 26.5 plots the representation of the different types and size classes of vessels across the
entire Period II assemblage. Many of these vessels were not in use at the time of the destruction.
Bearing in mind the dramatically different use-lives documented ethnographically for different
types of vessels, we can expect smaller serving/consumption vessels to be broken at a much higher
rate, accumulate as trash and therefore be significantly over-represented in any accumulated
deposits, including some contexts at the site.
Figure 26.6 plots the vessel representation for the four better-preserved households at the site. The
significant differences in preservation of different households and rooms within them, as well as the
vessels themselves, complicate direct comparisons. The North-central and South-east clusters are
the most difficult to interpret, as their full boundaries were not defined, and no storage areas for
small pots were preserved or excavated, arguably accounting for why small vessels are so
significantly under-represented in both. The South-central and South-west households are the best
preserved, with the former being significantly larger, with ancillary rooms expanding out from the
core suite of rooms shared by all households at the site (Whitelaw 2007: 71-72). The South-west
was the last household added to the community, probably not that long before the destruction, since
there were no architectural modifications, documented for all the others (Whitelaw 2007: 68-69).5
[end page 253]
The differences in physical scale are paralleled by the differential size of the preserved assemblages
and by the preserved storage capacity in each household, suggesting that each relates to a degree to
an underlying variable: the relative population of each household. This can be expected to change
through the domestic cycle of the occupying group, so storage capacity is likely to be a more
responsive index of resident population at any one time than house area. Because the storage
vessels are fairly robust, they are likely to serve as a more reliable archaeological index of the
number of consumers in each household, than the preserved small vessels, though both are also
likely to be influenced by relative household wealth.
The two best preserved households, with a regular factor of two-three difference between them in
quantity by small vessel categories, bracket the variations in nuclear family scale, bearing in mind
that with high child mortality, the number of consumers in a nuclear family will vary between
households and over the domestic cycle, even if the number surviving to adulthood may simply
replace the senior generation (i.e., a generic family of two parents and two surviving children, might
have had significantly more child consumers/vessel users in the earlier phases in its development).
Even anticipating such differences, what stands out is the low frequency of the different types and
size classes of consumption vessels, usually 2-5 of a type. Some overlap in uses (e.g., goblets, cups
and small deep bowls for drinking) and seasonal over-stocking accommodate the lower and upper
ends of the ranges, consistently pointing to a consuming group of some 4-6 individuals as the
household norm. The storage capacities support this view, with pithos, amphora and piriform jar
estimated total volumes: North-central: 1,742 litres; South-east: 1,461 litres; South-central: 2,046
litres; South-[end page 254]west: 796 litres.6 Using Christakis’ calculations (2008), these would
hold agricultural produce sufficient to support the equivalent of 5.3, 4.4, 6.2 and 2.4 adult
consumers, respectively. Given agricultural storage strategies in a highly uncertain environment, we
might expect a household to aim at storing two years’ provisions, while anticipating additional
storage in organic containers.
Returning now to the starting point for all interpretations claiming feasting at Fournou Korifi: this
analysis of the characteristics of the ceramics challenges the assumption that the preserved
household assemblages are far too large to have served the needs of nuclear families, so therefore
must have been used in feasts. Once the shapes and volumes of the vessels are considered in detail,
the large numbers of cups, bowls and jugs reduce to functionally differentiated components of
assemblages suitable for individual families. Different classes of vessels might have been drafted in
to serve in more generic ways for the occasional event (e.g., teacups and coffee mugs used
indiscriminately), but there is no evidence to support the sort of large-scale feasting events, which
have been asserted as obviously represented by the assemblages. [end page 255]
While the published detail of the data available from Fournou Korifi has encouraged the exploration
of new ideas, the applications usually do not engage with the data in ways that can test their
assumptions or the validity of the interpretations. This examination suggests there is more scope at
this site to investigate patterns in everyday commensality, rather than the large-scale feasting
proposed to date.
There are other, notionally common-sense assumptions that have become factoids through
repetition, which a critical look at the Fournou Korifi evidence also questions. It is often assumed
that Vasiliki Ware was high status, possibly associated with elites, because it appears to
skeuomorph metal vessels (e.g., Branigan 1970: 129-30; Betancourt 1979: 24; Wilson and Day
2004: 53, 58). Yet every household at a small, undifferentiated hamlet like Fournou Korifi had
access to it. Wine consumption has also been assumed to have been high status (Sherratt 1987: 92;
Hamilakis 1996; 1999; Morris 2008; Catapoti 2011; though see Christakis 2008: 31). But it was
produced at household level in the community (J. Renfrew 1972: 316), probably in most if not all of
the households.7
Identifying feasting has been pursued enthusiastically in Aegean prehistory, but by and large, we
have not developed convincing methods for recognising such behaviours archaeologically, nor
distinguishing the many different forms they may take, with their distinct social implications. In
many cases, our data do not have the chronological or depositional resolution necessary to identify
such behaviours or events securely. Faunal analysts have been considerably more successful,
paying close attention to deposit formation processes, and with the additional evidence from carcass
preparation and body part representation to inform more directly on the scale and time-scale of
consumption behaviour (e.g., Halstead and Isaakidou 2004; 2011; Pappa et al. 2004; Hamilakis and
Harris 2011). Ceramic assemblages need a similar degree of analytical consideration to be used
effectively to address the social contexts and implications of consumption. In specific
circumstances, this may be possible, and this examination outlines one approach to exploring the
patterns of use and social significance of ceramic assemblages.
Each analyst tends to see what they are looking for, but we need critically to assess whether an
interpretation actually works in terms of patterns in the data, giving adequate consideration to
depositional behaviour, formation processes, preservation, recovery and documentation biases,
community context and site history. While forty years after publication, Fournou Korifi still
provides our most detailed data for an EM community, it cannot be assumed to represent all aspects
of EM societies, nor to be relevant to all questions.
Acknowledgements
Sue Sherratt has constantly challenged Aegean archaeologists to explore the social role and
significance of ceramics. She has written on consumption and feasting, and here, I have explored
how we might analyse ceramic assemblages in detail to address some of these interpretive
possibilities. Permission to study the notebooks of the excavation at Fournou Korifi was granted by
Peter Warren and the Director of the British School at Athens, and facilitated by Tony Spawforth,
Lisa French and Penny Wilson-Zarganis. Permission to study the finds from the excavation was
granted by Peter Warren, the Managing Committee of the British School and the 24th Ephoreia of
Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities, and facilitated in every way for several seasons in the mid-
1990s by the staff of the Ephoreia and the Ayios Nikolaos Museum. That study was supported by
grants from the British Academy, the Natural Environment Research Council, the McDonald
Institute for Archaeological Research and the Institute for Aegean Prehistory. I am grateful to all of
these individuals and organisations for their support and assistance.
Footnotes
1. Driessen has proposed the application of Lévi-Strauss’ model of ‘house societies’ to Minoan
communities, using Fournou Korifi as a prime example, challenging the household model
(Driessen 2010a; 2012), but it is not clear what Driessen’s version of the ‘house society’ model
represents – it differs very considerably from Lévi-Strauss’ original formulation. It seems it can
represent entire communities (Driessen 2010a: 52, 55), though these may be sub-divided into
distinct households (ibid.: 40; seemingly accepted for Fournou Korifi: ibid.: 52), or blocks of
houses (ibid.: 36; discussed as neighbourhoods, wards or barrios in other regions), or even
distributed between different communities (ibid.: 55-56). The intent is to emphasise the house as
 a material and symbolic embodiment of the residential group, which resonates with part of Lévi-
Strauss’ model, but in the case of Early and early Middle Minoan Crete, given the preferential
investment of effort and material resources in tombs, it would seem more appropriate to refer to
these as ‘tomb societies’ (which I do not advocate). Driessen seems to expect one ideological
construct to extend throughout the Minoan period, whereas houses become more readily
identifiable architecturally at the same time as they become increasingly elaborated, in the early
Neopalatial period, when tombs decline as foci for intra-community identity and competition.
Only defined vaguely, not analytically or socially, it is not obvious that the concept of ‘house
society’ helps us to understand Early Minoan communities such as Fournou Korifi. [Page 247]
2. Volumes have been estimated for most shapes as two stacked truncated cones; even for broadly
conical vessels, this allows closer tracking of curved profiles. For estimation, some 66%
preserved all relevant dimensions, and for 80%, an accurate estimate is possible; for the
remainder, a key measurement cannot very reliably be reconstructed and the estimate is
approximate, particularly relevant to larger, often poorly preserved vessels. [Page 250-51]
3. There is no basis for considering the vessels with white painted chevrons, only found in the
South-central household (Whitelaw 2007: 73), as higher status (Haggis 1999: 61; Damilati and
Vavouranakis 2011: 40). This is simply asserted as notional support for the assumption that this
household, with more pots, must have been higher status. [Page 252]
4. I have not included baking plates, as these are not containers, but most are represented by a
single sherd (only one reaches 25% preservation). Most are very fragmentary and probably were
not in use at the time of the destruction, being merely over-looked refuse, often among the ashy
deposits on kitchen floors. A few have traces of legs, but most fragments do not preserve enough
of the vessel to know whether they had them or not. The low broad spouts on some suggest
heating small quantities of liquid (cheese-making?), or dry produce (grain roasting?); cooking
flat bread may be another option. [Page 253]
5. The shrine interpretation hinges on three characteristics: the female figure-vessel fallen from a
stand in Room 92, the skull fragment from Room 89, and the associated ceramic assemblage.
The latter is considered in the text, and is not exceptional. Opinion differs as to whether the
figure-vessel represents a goddess or not (Warren 1973; in press; Cadogan 2010). All
comparable vessels known to date come from burial contexts, and those from specific contexts
are found with burial offerings, not in public areas of the cemeteries, perhaps suggesting they
were individual offerings or personal possessions. It is usually noted that the skull fragment
might represent a victim of the destruction, but this is dismissed because no other bones were
recovered, and it is assumed that it was used in the room as a ritual item, representing the
ancestors (Warren 1972: 83; Soles 2001; Driessen 2010b). It is highly unlikely that much of it
will have been missed during excavation (though the intense burning, resulting in distortion of
the bone, might have destroyed the more fragile bones of the face), so it was probably far from
complete in situ. Given the complete burning of the village, despite its construction largely in
stone and mud, not wood, and with internal fire-breaks provided by the passages, courts and
abandoned unroofed rooms, it is likely that the burning was intentional. Some post-destruction
salvage may be documented by the dearth of metal artefacts recovered, and the skull fragment
may have been missed when a victim of the destruction/sack was later recovered for burial.
Working from the known to the unknown, this group of rooms is laid-out in a pattern
conforming to the other houses and is equipped like them, with the same features and a similar
assemblage, all implying a similar range of activities in the past. Identifying this household as a
community shrine, simply on the basis of the single figure-vessel, would seem to be a matter of
faith. [Page 253-54]
6. The presence or absence of holes near the base of pithoi or amphorae does not indicate whether
they were used for the storage of dry or liquid products (contra Warren 1972: 146), because the
holes were too low for tapping liquid into any vessels, and none are known to have been raised
 high enough on pot stands to allow this (Whitelaw 2007: 72). The household storage capacities
estimated here differ from those in Whitelaw 1983, where Warren’s average volumes were
applied to all vessels; here the volume of each vessel has been estimated. [Page 255]
7. Only a limited number of deposits with visible seeds or pips were floated. Residue analyses
conducted on six pithoi from the site suggest that wine was stored in pithoi from the North-
central, South-east and South-central households; no vessels were analysed from the South-west
(Warren 1999a; 1999b; McGovern et al. 2008). [Page 256]

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Figure 26.1. Myrtos: Fournou Korifi households and communal spaces. By the author. [Page
248]
Figure 26.2. Vessel fragmentation graph, entire Period II catalogued assemblage, distinguishing
vessels from interior and exterior spaces. By the author. [Page 249]
Figure 26.3. Estimated vessel volumes, Period II assemblage: A. full assemblage, 0-350 litres; B.
detail, 0-50 litres; C. detail, 0-7.5 litres. By the author. [Page 250]
Figure 26.4. Estimated vessel volumes, by vessel type: A. goblets; B. hemispherical cups; C.
dipper cups; D. hemispherical bowls; E. deep bowls; F. shallow bowls; G. jars; H. ‘teapot’ spouted
jars; I. short-spouted jars; J. jugs; K. cooking pots; insets showing whole size range. By the author.
[Page 251]
Figure 26.5. Vessel types in analysed Period II assemblage, distinguished by vessel preservation.
By the author. [Page 254]
Figure 26.6. Vessel types in four households, distinguished by vessel preservation. By the author.
[Page 255]