Often, we ask: how can regulation mitigate risk? What might happen if instead we ask: what does regulation tell us about socially situated action? This article poses a thought experiment along these lines. The emerging conversation about regulation and the risks of mobile financial services has been relatively silent on a ubiquitous set of things people do with cash and coin not limited to the strictly economic functions of these media. Adding mobile into the mix of people's existing; highly complex monetary practices has the potential to create new risks -- but also new opportunities for product design and smarter regulation. This paper describes the social uses of mobile phones and cash from different cultural contexts, including proscriptions regarding the disclosure of certain transactions, and multi-person sharing of money and mobiles. It then reflects on how we might understand regulation as an account of people's practices and experiences, an account we might set alongside other forms of data on use cases for mobile and money. It argues that the risks identified by the regulators, rather than hindering innovation or frightening off developers, might instead inspire user-oriented solutions for mobile money, and for mobile money as part of, not a replacement for, the user's world of diverse social currencies.

New research on Caribbean tourism solidly locates it within the regional shift from "incentive-induced exports" like bananas to "service-based exports" like data processing, offshore finance, and novel forms of mass tourism (Mullings 2004:294; Duval 2004). Earlier studies may have made mention of the similarities between plantation economies and tourism development, but new models like the all-inclusive resort demonstrate a near identity of form and structure with plantation systems: foreign dominance over ownership and profit leaves little multiplier effect for the Caribbean islands playing host to enclaved resorts. Agricultural exports have been in free fall since the end of preferential trade protocols, and export manufacturing after the North American Free Trade Agreement is in steep decline. If new service economies seemed to offer a solution to economic and social disorder, the reaction to the events of September 11, 2001 demonstrated the fragility of service-based exports and, in particular, of new kinds of tourism. It took four years for international tourism to rebound to pre-9/ 11 levels; 1 with the perceived threat of SARS and avian flu, as well as the Iraq war and the weak U.S. dollar, official projections of the industry's near future are "cautiously optimistic."

This exciting volume fills gaps large and small and points to directions for future research. I emphasize one such direction here - the connection between liberal ideology, free trade, and new forms of exclusion - which may become more important, with the rise of regional free trade agreements that leave out the Leeward Islands and the globalization of finance and production that weaves them in. Regardless, this book affords an opportunity to reflect on emancipation and rethink liberal conceptions of freedom. As Olwig writes, "(t]he ability to absorb the contradictions of freedom may well be one of the most important legacies of emancipation for Caribbean societies" (p. 7).

This volume brings together the work of fourteen scholars of West Indian religious beliefs and practices. It will be a handy guide for future research, especially since the chapters, taken together, usefully summarize the literature to date on religion in the Caribbean and in Caribbean diasporic communities. The editor is to be commended for providing a sense of coherence to the very disparate case studies presented here. The analytical focus of the book is the formation of West Indian religiosity in the diaspora- and, indeed, as Aisha Khan puts it forcefully in her contribution, of the very idea of religion itself, constructed as a cultural and an analytical domain separate from other domains of social life. Refusing to view Caribbean religion as either made up of timeless traditions or as cut from whole cloth, and resisting temptations to see diaspora as a unidirectional flow from the Caribbean to immigrant communities in North America or to view cultural hegemony as a process emanating from North America southwards, the volume's contributors see diaspora itself destabilizing the traditional/modern dichotomy. Several contributors reveal the utter embeddedness of rational secularism and modernity, with their narratives of progress and development, in dominant Western religious cosmologies, and Caribbean religions' implicatedness in the constitution of specifically West Indian modernities at home and abroad.

In 1975, Jeanette Baptist burned all of her belongings in front of her family, had a prophetic vision that the End was near, and went naked into what she called Hell Valley, on Trinidad's remote northeast coast. Throughout 1981, anthropologist and psychiatrist Roland Littlewood paid her visits. This sensitive and unusual ethnography is the product of Littlewood's dialogues with Baptist, who re-named herself Mother Earth. It is, first, a powerful statement of Mother Earth's cosmology, and that of the young, underclass, urban men who came to join her in the bush intermittently from the founding of her settlement until her death in 1983. Second, it is a richly textured story about the dynamic interweaving of diverse cultural practices in the contemporary Caribbean. Third, it is an exercise in reconciling bio-psychological explanation with ethnography. Here is where it founders, as Littlewood freely admits, but not without posing unsettling questions.

This volume is the product of a workshop on ‘transnational flows’ held in 2001 with support from the Norwegian Research Council, and the majority of the chapters have been contributed by Scandinavian anthropologists, many based at the University of Oslo. The editor argues that recent attention to ‘globalization’ has tended uncritically to reject the traditional tools of the discipline, only to reinvent the wheel when it comes to conducting research. The view from Oslo sheds much needed light on the pretensions of such scholarship. As Eriksen puts it, ‘quests for symbolic power and professional identity sometimes tempt academics to caricature the positions taken by their predecessors, so that their own contribution may shine with an exceptionally brilliant glow of originality and sophistication’ (pp. 5–6). Eriksen wants to ‘cut globalization research down to size’ (p. 15), and to ‘reintegrate it into the methodological mainstream of anthropology’ (ibid.). These remarks may frustrate readers who wonder whether that methodological mainstream is up to the task, or even complicit with the phenomena that the anthropologist of globalization seeks to understand. Still, Eriksen valuably reminds us of the work on flows, fuzzy boundaries, and change by the Manchester School, cultural ecology, and various Marxisms that constituted much of mid-twentiethcentury anthropology.