They are not the famous duo from the silver screen this time, yet if you ask, they might have collaborated on an unusually framed movie directed by Billy Willder. In truth, they are Juan José Millás and Juan Luis Arsuaga, the unlikely pair who bring informative anthropology to life in Life Narrated to a Neanderthal by a sapiens and Death Narrated to a Neanderthal by a sapiens. Two works that move with a graceful ease, guided by Horace’s principle of teaching pleasure through storytelling.
The author Juan José Millás, renowned for his celebrated columns, has devised an inventive narrative device that threads these two works together. A seamless stream of lessons directed by Juan Luis Arsuaga, a paleontologist and co-director of the Atapuerca excavations, acts as the guiding mentor. In this imagined dialogue, Arsuaga assumes the role of the sapiens of the modern era: the wise professor, the skeptic, the exacting scientist who demands evidence. Millás, meanwhile, embodies the Neanderthal: humble, a touch naive, still steeped in wonder and a pinch of magical thinking. The rapport is playful, with Arsuaga gently lampooning the Neanderthal as a character who often confounds him with curiosity and irony.
Arsuaga invites the reader to travel through a mosaic of places that feel almost cinematic. The journey meanders from a pet fair to a Chamartín market, from excavations to toy stores, from a junkyard to a science museum, and from a Japanese restaurant to a wide streetscape of daily life. It moves through the Fuente del Berro park, the yew woods, a gym, a sex shop, and a hospital. Across these scenes, Arsuaga reveals a scholar’s breadth of knowledge to the silent Millás, who records what is spoken. Yet Millás does more than listen; he probes with insightful questions, demonstrating a journalist’s instinct for inquiry. He also performs a quiet stagecraft, playing the neurotic with self-deprecating humor, allowing the dialogue to stay within the script while feeling completely natural in its rhythm.
In this collaboration, a common thread is the interplay between expertise and curiosity. The narrative treats second episodes as capable of surprising value, offering a fresh lens on how science and storytelling intersect. As the tale unfolds, Millás subtly critiques the pace of dialogue and the way ideas are shared, while Arsuaga defends the rigorous demands of scientific inquiry. When the two voices finally converge on a matter as timeless as consciousness, the conversation deepens. The paleontologist reflects that the most profound challenge in science is grappling with the nature of awareness and the faculties that define us as a thinking species. He suggests that cooperation is a fundamental driver in the emergence of consciousness, a premise that resonates through every turn of their conversation. If time allows, they hint at composing another volume together, a thoughtful exploration of consciousness, intelligence, and cooperation. The moment feels intentional, overdue, and ripe with possibility for a continued dialogue between the two minds.
What emerges is more than a playful exchange. It is a meeting of the human and the scientific, of wonder and method, of questions that probe beneath the surface and answers that invite further exploration. The dynamic between Millás and Arsuaga becomes a compact guide to how narrative and science can illuminate one another. The Neanderthal voice, earnest and searching, challenges the sapiens voice to articulate what dominates modern understanding, while the sapiens voice offers disciplined insight without surrendering curiosity. This balance keeps the reader engaged, inviting reflection on how knowledge is built and shared across time and culture. The result is a lucid meditation on the conditions that make cooperation possible and the ways in which shared inquiry can illuminate the mysteries of mind and society, all within a dialogue that remains accessible, inviting, and richly rewarding for readers seeking both intellect and imagination.