Book Reviews

Aiming for the top of the food chain

The issue of labeling for genetically engineered foods gained fresh momentum last week, when Sen. Barbara Boxer announced she’d be pushing for the U.S. Food and Drug Administration to require this consumer notification on a national level.

It’s sure to be an uphill battle for the organic food movement, which suffered a loss on this issue at the California ballot last year, but a new book calling for a mass restructuring of the nation’s food system might help provide ammunition for proponents of GE food labeling.

Wenonah Hauter’s Foodoply: The Battle over the Future of Food and Farming in America traces decades of little-known history documenting small farmers’ resistance to agricultural consolidation, followed by national and international policy agreements that gave rise to the commercialized agribusiness model that dominates America’s food system today. Hauter, executive director of Food and Water Watch, grew up on a farm.

“It gave me life experience about how difficult farm work is, and how hard farmers have to work, and how under-valued they are in our society,” the author said of that experience in a recent interview with the Bay Guardian. “One of the reasons I wrote Foodopoly was to get at this issue … It’s easy to demonize farmers rather than the systemic causes of the traditional food system.”

Her book is nothing short of a call to arms to take back corporate control of a food system that short-changes small farmers and leaves consumers with limited, unhealthy options.

“If we want to change our food system, we have to reclaim our democracy,” she says. “So many people just think we’re going to create an alternative system, without really doing the political work to address fundamental issues, like the consolidation that allows some companies to have so much power over our political system.” It won’t be achieved with certified sustainable agriculture programs or farmers markets alone, she says – but rather through confronting agribusiness’ influence in the halls of government.

Her meticulously researched work names names, providing detailed lists of the industry’s most influential processers, grocers, and junk-food manufacturers along with the ubiquitous brands they produce. It also sheds light on the ills of factory farming and genetically engineered foods.

“The top 20 processing companies and the grocery industry have benefited from figuring out that fat, sugar and salt actually addicts people to junk food, and is making people sick and overweight,” Hauter told us. “Children see just under 5,000 junk food ads a year. We know that children begin to identify with brands at about the age of two. Lots of junk food is placed at eye level for young children, because they pull on their parents’ shirttails, whining for the junk food.”

While organics may pose a healthier alternative, meanwhile, Hauter’s chapter on the “paradox” of attractively packaged, premium-priced organic food is rather disheartening. “Fourteen of the 20 largest food processing companies actually control many of the organic brands, and organics today are viewed as a rich market, where people can be charged,” Hauter notes, going straight to the heart of the matter. “It’s a lot different from the vision I think many people had in the early 1970s, when the organics movement began.”

Foodopoly also devotes considerable attention to the political influence of the biotech sector. “I think that the biotech industry has a lot of political power,” she told the Guardian, and then revealed that assertion to be a profound understatement: “Over a 10-year period, they spent $572 million on lobbying and campaign contributions, they hired 13 former members of Congress during this period, they hired 300 former staff from the White House … and they have about 100 lobby shops in Washington. … With Prop 37, [of the] the approximately $45 million put towards ads, about $8 million was Monsanto’s.”

This kind of influence doesn’t just carry troubling implications for the democratic process, but makes it less likely that looming questions around the long-term health effects of genetically engineered foods will ever be sufficiently answered.

“With all the new technology coming on – nanotechnology, cloning, genetic engineering – we really need to take a look again at our regulatory system,” Hauter insists. “There’s a lot of new evidence coming out on the problems with these new technologies. There was a review of hundreds of scientific studies around glyphosate, which is a major ingredient in Monsanto’s Roundup herbicide. It shows that there are cellular effects within the human body, and that these could very well be working together with other variables to trigger health problems. We’re talking about everything from gastrointestinal problems, to diabetes, autism, obesity, Alzheimer’s, and a number of different problems.”

Despite these disturbing findings, there’s been a distinct lack of long-term study or precautionary restraints imposed by lawmakers, Hauter says.

“There are a lot of other reasons that we should be concerned about genetic engineering, from the cost and control of foods, to the overuse of this dangerous herbicide, glyphosate, and the fact that it’s creating super weeds,” she says. Further complicating matters, “New pesticides are being developed to address the problems that these co-branded herbicides have caused. That’s the problem with our society,” Hauter adds. “We never look at the unintended consequences.”

Author (and former strip-club DJ) Dee Simon talks ‘Play Something Dancy’

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Former SF resident Dee Simon wrote a very funny, very raunchy book of short stories about his experiences spinning tunes at local strip clubs; it’s called Play Something Dancy. Clearly I had to talk to him and get the inside scoop.

San Francisco Bay Guardian Standard first question: how did you become a strip club DJ?

Dee Simon I moved to SF in 2000 to pursue a career in broadcasting. Unable to land a paying radio job, I started hosting Rampage Radio at KUSF 90.3FM and eventually found a job in production at The Industry Standard magazine. The Standard was very successful for about a year and then folded once the crash happened. I was unemployed for about eight months until that fateful day I ran into my weed dealer who hooked me up with an audition at a club on Broadway, which launched my illustrious five-year career as a DJ at clubs across the city.

SFBG When you lived in San Francisco, I used to see you at punk and metal shows all the time. Did you ever get to sneak that kind of music into your playlist?

DS When I first started working as a DJ, I mistakenly assumed that all strippers danced to Motley Crue or Guns n’ Roses. Those bands had loads of strippers in their videos. In reality, they don’t dance to hair metal. There might be a few exceptions but most tend to prefer hip-hop and R&B. In the story “Run to the Hills” I talk about how all strip club DJs reserve a special cache of music for girls who choose not to tip. If a girl tipped me, I would play her anything she wanted. But if she didn’t tip, she’d dance to the music I liked — Iron Maiden, Slayer, Gwar, W.A.S.P., Motorhead, the Dwarves — till she realized it was in her best interest to take care of the DJ.

SFBG What constitutes a good versus bad song for stripper utilization?

DS The managers invariably want the DJ to keep the music uptempo. However, there are a variety of factors involved in selecting a song for a dancer. If it’s a Friday night and the club is packed, you don’t want to play a slower song like Portishead or R. Kelly that will decimate the energy in the room. You’ll risk losing the crowd and invoking the wrath of your manager. But at the same time, the DJ also wants to satisfy the dancer, especially if she’s a good tipper.

I would base my decision on the crowd. If the crowd seemed to be really tipping the dancers on stage during rock songs, then I’d persuade her to dance to Aerosmith or Led Zeppelin or AC/DC because she’ll make a lot of money. Conversely, if the crowd was more into hip-hop, I’d choose something old school like Notorious BIG’s “Hypnotize” or Tupac’s “How Do U Want it.” Both songs are recognizable classics and upbeat.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glEiPXAYE-U

SFBG What was your most-hated song to play? Also, please explain how Weird Al became part of your playlist.

DS I despised the song “Hot In Herre” by Nelly. Try listening to that wretched song 12 times a night, four nights a week, and then see how many times you contemplate suicide. It’s been years and I still cringe when I hear it. Weird Al was only bought out in extreme circumstances when a non-tipping stripper was undaunted by the heavy metal and punk music that I was playing for her. In that case, I had no choice but to play some fine Weird Al tunes such as “Dare To Be Stupid,” “Yoda,” or “Amish Paradise.” Most dancers would usually tip after dancing to “Amish Paradise” two or three times in a night.

SFBG Were you writing down the crazy stories that happened to you all along, or did you compile them later? What inspired you to write a book, and how true to life are the stories?

DS Over the five years I worked at the clubs, I kept a journal to chronicle my mishaps and shenanigans. I had several notebooks filled with amusing stories but never really did anything with them. It wasn’t until two years ago when I moved to Los Angeles and was unpacking some boxes, I found my journals and decided to officially write some of the stories down in book form. Sadly, all of the stories in the book are quite true; however, in order to protect myself from criminal prosecution and civil liability, names, locations, and identifying characteristics had to be changed.

SFBG Strip clubs are often fodder for films (Showgirls, The Wrestler, etc.) In your opinion, which is the most accurate portrayal of what goes on behind the scenes? Which is the worst, and why?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRbUSIRV6i4

DS I think The Wrestler offered a very accurate portrayal of the depressing reality of a strip club and we got to see Marisa Tomei’s ta-tas. I also thought that Tarantino did an excellent job of showing how much of an asshole strip club owners can be in Kill Bill Vol 2.

I know it’s not a film but The Sopranos delivered a realistic portrayal of strip club life with the Bada Bing! club.

Critically, it might be one of the worst films ever made but Showgirls is a hilarious cult classic that has stood the test of time, and it would be blasphemy to criticize it. In my opinion, the worst strip club movie has to be Striptease with Demi Moore and Burt Reynolds. The name of the strip club where Demi Moore worked was called the Eager Beaver and that’s all I really need to say about that.

SFBG You DIY’d the publication of the book, and are doing your own publicity. How has that process been? How do you get the word out and what has the reaction been?

DS Like the music industry, publishing has radically changed and authors are no longer beholden to literary agents and the “Big 6” publishers to produce their book. Now all an author needs to do is find an editor and a digital conversion tool and he or she can make their own digital book and publish it on Amazon or iTunes.

Instead of spending months collecting rejection letters, an author can put his or her own work out there and see who wants to read it. I’ve found that the most difficult part of self-publishing is publicity and promotion. Since I cannot afford to hire a professional publicist nor purchase ads in the New York Times, I rely on social media, blog posts, podcast interviews, and book reviews to spread the word. From what I can tell, people seem to dig the book. I’ve received a lot of positive feedback and good ratings on Amazon and iTunes, which definitely helps with exposure.

SFBG Have any of the people who figure into your stories read the book and given you feedback? Which story do people respond to the most?

DS Thankfully, none of the people I have written about have recognized themselves in the book, hunted me down, and physically harmed me. I’m rather afraid of one character in particular named Pepper. He was a frightening individual but he didn’t strike me as the type of person who would bother reading a book that didn’t have any titty pics so I’ll probably be all right.

I’ve received the biggest response from the opening story “Lexi” and the final story “Kashmir.” In fact, several people mentioned that after reading “Kashmir,” they have been unable to listen to that Led Zeppelin song again without feeling nauseous.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwisLnjsOCA

SFBG What do you think of Tucker Max comparisons? Personally I think you are a better writer than he is, but some of the … racier subject matter might speak to similarities between you two.

DS Though I’m not a fan, Tucker Max is a bestselling author who has legions of devoted readers. I’d love to replicate that success. I suppose the subject matter of our books is comparable but the theme is vastly different. Rather than boast about my various sexual exploits and deviant acts, I regret having had to endure them.

A lot of the stories in the book are humiliating and some involve venereal disease and diarrhea. There’s a definite reason the full title of the book is Play Something Dancy: The Tragic Tales of a Strip Club DJ.

SFBG What are you up to these days? What is the Sick and Wrong podcast all about?

DS I live in Los Angeles now and am writing a follow up to Play Something Dancy. I host a weekly comedy podcast called Sick and Wrong where my cohost and I ridicule inept criminals, dish out horrible advice to callers, and interview some colorful guests. At seven years, Sick and Wrong is one of the longest-running podcasts and ranked among the top 100 comedy podcasts on iTunes. I also just started a new vidcast called the Obscenesters, which is recorded at Tradiov.com/LA.

SFBG Bonus question — what’s the best rock show you’ve seen lately?

DS My favorite recent show was Graveyard. Their new record, “Lights Out” is fantastic. I highly recommend it.

Dee Simon’s book Play Something Dancy is available on Amazon.com, iTunes Bookstore, and barnesandnoble.com. Learn more about Simon and his other ventures at his website.

Trash Lit.: Endless summer reading edition

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So much summer trash lit. So little of note.

I’ve been reading as fast as I can, catching up on all of the beach books I can find, looking for the Great Work of Summer, 2012. I still haven’t found it. There’s plenty worth reading, some decent drivel and distractions. But overall, I can’t say anything had my head spinning.

So here’s the first installment of my rundown, the good, the fair and the total waste cases.

Against All Enemies, Tom Clancy, Berkeley Books, 799 (gasp) pages, paperback $9.99.
Tom Clancy doesn’t need to write anymore. He’s 65, firmly ensconsed in the top slice of the 1 Percent, owns part of the Baltimore Orioles, makes a killing off franchising his name for cheap and worthless spin-off books … he can chill. And maybe he should.

Against All Enemies has his name on the top, although there’s a tiny “with Peter Telep” down below. That should have been a warning. The first 100 pages should have been another one. But I soldiered on to the very end, and trust me: It was a struggle.

Say what you want about Clancy’s politics; the guy can tell a story. His characters are interesting, the action crisp, the plots intricate and engrossing … and this one’s a piece of shit. It’s actually boring, deadly dull. And that’s a thriller no-no.

Nice idea: The Taliban and the Mexican drug gangs have formed an alliance and are using tunnels to sneak terrorists into the US. Could be full of fascinating people. But it’s not. The hero is a loser, the drug lords and terrorists are weak parodies of themselves — and it goes on and on and nothing happens. Don’t bother.

Robert Ludlum’s The Borune Imperative by Eric Van Lustbader, Hatchette, 435 pages, $27.99.

Another cheap attempt to profit off a talented (in this case, dead) author, but Van Lustbader’s no slouch himself, and some of his earlier efforts at this have been at least entertaining, so I thought I’d see what he could do with his laterst effort at reviving one of the great thriller characters in history. Shouldn’t have bothered.

There’s an assassin with amnesia (sound familiar?), a Russian spy gone rogue, a terrorist mastermind, a global conspiracy and … what? People going in and out of freezing water while they get shot. This series is getting seriously slow.

The Affair, Lee Child, 405 pages, Delacourte Press $28.

This one’s just coming out in paper, and it’s worth the wait. It’s a bargain at $9.99, a bit of a stretch at full price.

Jack Reacher is one of the best action characters of our time, up there with Spenser and Travis McGee, (and that’s serious). Child came up with a spectacular mix, a former military cop who wanders the world like Kwai Chang Caine, doing good work, sometimes relucatantly, with superior fighting skills that make him a true badass.

The Affair is sort of a prequel, and takes us back to Reacher’s army days. It’s absolutely formulaic, completely predictable, just like all the other Reacher books. There’s a murder that puts Reacher in danger, a gang of thugs who get their butts kicked, a beautiful woman in law enforcement with whom Reacher has what we all know will be a short-lived affair … and plenty of sharp dialogue the keeps the pages turning.

With all the pablum out there, it was a pleasure to sit down and read the work of a master who is still in his prime. At a certain point, like Ian Fleming in the glory days of Bond, Reacher can get away with formula — because it’s such a good formula. It still works, still delivers. He’s just a great writer, and if we sort of know what’s going to happen when half a dozen of the local losers try to attack Reacher in the streets, it’s still fun to see it unfolding.

Don’t expect anything new or dramatic here (except what Reacher fans will realize is the absolutely critical tale of where he got his portable toothbrush), but The Affair won’t let you down.

Stolen Prey, John Sandford, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 402 pages, $27.95.

Put this one up there with The Affair. If you love Lucas Davenport and his world of twisted murder shit in and around the Twin Cities, then Stolen Prey works fine. Again, Mexican drug gangs, which seem to be the Most Evil Fuckers In The World this summer, and in Stolen Prey, they’re particularly horrible, doing a stomach-turning murder that takes place in a nice upper-middle class town. The dead family appears to have no ties to any type of criminal activity — but ah, there is much more here. Again, nothing radically new (except a suprising ending involving Davenport’s adopted daughter, Letty, who apparently has some of the step-old-man in her). But Sandford, like Child, is a master, and you can enjoy this with the guilt of a lazy afternoon of Bud Light and bourbon. Nothing wrong with that.  

Trash Lit: The Expats (almost) lives up to the hype

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There’s an awful lot of hype around this first novel by Chris Pavone. John Grisham compares it to the early works of Ken Follett, Frederick Forsyth, and Robert Ludlum. The folks at Crown publishing think this is going to be the Next Big Thing in the thriller world. And since I’m such a huge fan of overhyped authors, I decided I’d pour a nice glass of Buffalo Trace and read the first 20 pages.

I have a William Shakespeare theory about thrillers. The way my English Lit professor in college used to tell it, Willie played to a tough room: The theater-goers in 16th Century London got bored fast, and they brought rotten vegetables, and it wasn’t pleasant up there on stage if the plot started to drag. So there’s always action in the Bard’s first scene or two.

I read a lot of thrillers and I drink fast, so if I can’t get past the first couple of chapters, I’m done. Saves a lot of time.

I got past the start of The Expats and kept going; it became hard to put down.

Grisham is wrong: It’s not a lot like the work of Robert Ludlum or Frederick Forsyth — but I can live with that. The world only needed one Ludlum; you like his style, have at it — he wrote 25 books.

Pavone is different, in an odd way more polished. The Expats is as much a novel about a woman trying to balance a job, a husband and kids as it is a spy thriller. And while there’s a little too much Mr. and Mrs. Smith going on, it’s really a pretty fun read.

You get fake passports, big money and a gun just a few pages in. Then you get the more mundane story of Kate giving up her job as a run-of-the-mill government analyst (read: deadly killer spy) to move with her husband to Luxembourg, where he’s got a job doing computer security for a bank.

Except, of course, that’s not what he’s really doing. And the nice expat couple that happens to befriend Kate and hubby might be CIA assassins coming to take out Kate for her past indescretions, or they might by FBI agents trying to frame hubby for something that he might or might not be doing, or they might be something else altogether. But nobody is telling the truth about anything. And Kate is bored taking care of the kids and the house, so she has to become a secret agent again to find out what’s going on.

There’s a great section about what it means to quit your job so you have more time to spend with the kids and then discover that you can’t stand being a full-time parent. There’s a Paris nightclub with naked people and random sex and violence. There’s wierd almost-sex with the hubby’s new best bud who is supposed to be married but really wants to fuck her. She has to fend him off, spy on hubby, spy on the neighbors, lie to everyone involved and still get home in time for dinner.

Unusually literary for a thriller. The flashbacks got tiring after a while, but overall, it works. Put it on the spring list.

 

Trash Lit: The commies of Agent 6

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Agent 6

By Tom Rob Smith

Grand Central Publishing, 467 pages, $25.99

I get it: Life in the Soviet Union under Stalin and Krushchev was pretty bad. Food was sometimes scarce, spies were everywhere, people got locked up in jail for disloyalty to the State … I know all that. I read The Gulag Archipelago when I was in High School. It made me more wary of powerful governments than it did of Communism, but whatever — I’ll stipulate that the Soviet Union of that era was not exactly the great workers paradise it was supposed to be. (We had a few problems with repression here at home, too.)

But Child 44, Tom Rob Smith’s bestselling 2008 thriller about Leo Demidov, an idealistic Soviet security officer, is still hard to read. Every single person in the Soviet government is corrupt and evil. Every aspect of life is absolutely miserable. There is no hope, just bleakness; the only way anyone can do any good at all is either by mistake or by subversion. Child 44 just drips of the sort of anti-Communist propaganda I was fed in grade school, and while it’s a brilliantly constructed crime mystery, I had to put it down every few pages and say:

Really?

So I opened the sequel, Agent 6, with some hesitation. These books are long and thick, and some of the references are obscure, so you have to pay attention. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to wade through another 467 pages of Commie Plot Nightmare.

But Agent 6 is a pleasant surprise. It’s much lower on the bleakness scale and much more of a serious international novel of intrigue, with realistic characters, some good action and (of course) not much sex. I guess they don’t do that in Russia. Maybe it’s too cold.

The plot actually stretches from the Cold War to the present, but the heart of the matter occurs in 1965, when out hero Demidov (dismissed from the security service in some sort of disgrace, downgraded to a minor plant manager with a crummy apartment) discovers that his schoolteacher wife, Raisa, has been asked to take her students on a friendship tour of the United States. Of course, the couple’s two teenage daughters will be going along — but not poor Leo. He’s been such a bad boy that he can’t leave the country.

Then there’s an African American singer who was a huge star — and an outspoken commie — in the U.S. in the 30s and 40s, but has since been blacklisted and driven to poverty by the American version of Soviet repression. He, like Leo, has a shitty apartment in a slum. But the singer, Jesse Austin, gets invited by some shady crew that may be part Soviet propaganda machine and may be part FBI/CIA op, to sing at the friendship event — except that he’s not really officially invited, so he stands outside on a box — and winds up dead. One of Leo’s daughters is arrested for the murder, Leo’s wife is killed along the way — and the former Soviet cop spends the rest of his life trying to figure out what happened (and for his efforts is exiled to Soviet-occupied Afghanistan).

What happened is a good tale. The parallels between the way the Americans treated a one-time commie and the commies treated a one-time cop make this a lot more intellectually interesting than the first book. The scenes (and lessons) from the Soviet disaster in Afghanistan are a good real, and relevant to anyone who thinks it’s every possible for a foreign nation to invade that country. The depressing ending is about what you’d expect from a writer who makes his living describing depressing conditions and sad people, but it works.

I’m changing my mind about Tom Rob Smith. And while this is being sold as the last one, I suspect he’s got another Leo Demidov story in him somewhere.

Trash Lit: Too much love for Stephanie Plum

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Janet Evanovich was a moderately successful writer of romance novels before she became the funniest thriller writer in the world, and I figured at some point that side of her would come out. It’s taken 17 books before the glorious madness that is the life of Stephanie Plum would start to take a turn toward the mundane normality of New Jersey polyamory, but that’s where the series is these days. In Smokin’ Seventeen and Explosive Eighteen, written and published less than 12 months apart, there’s a lot less insanity and a lot more about Plum’s love life.

At least she gets laid, a lot, once the grandmother of her sometimes boyfriend Morelli puts some type of evil-eye curse on her that makes her really, really horny. She goes back and forth between fucking Morelli, the Trenton cop, and fucking Ranger, the dangerous Cuban man of mystery (sounds like a romance novel, right?) — and she spends a fair amount of time (way too much) trying to figure it all out.

Seventeen is all about sex and dead bodies, the ones that appear in the empty lot near the trailer where her cousin Vinny’s bail-bonds business is temporarily located now that his old office was blown up. Although neither of these books is as funny as the others in the series, they both still have the Evanovich charm: In Seventeen, there’s the Gonna Gork Meter, a 72-year-old guy who thinks he’s a vampire and keeps biting women on the neck and an FTA who meets Plum and her pal Lula like this:

Merlin answered the door at the second knock. He was naked again, and he had a boner.
Lula checked Merlin out. “Must be that time of day.”

Eighteen has a really dumb theme about Plum taking a dream vacation in Hawaii with one of the two men but we don’t know which one, a gimmick that doesn’t really work. (Note to My Favorite Funny Writer Ever: The romance thing didn’t work out well, remember? Stick to gorking and vampires.) There’s a missing picture that half the crooks in Jersey seem to want to kill someone over and they think Plum has it. It’s actually a little more of a continuing plot line than a lot of the other books, and there’s still some excellent moments featuring Grandma Mazur, who loves to attend funerals and remains one of the best characters in modern American literature:

“It got better after you left,” she said. “Melvin Shupe came through the line and cut the cheese right when he got up to the casket. He said he was sorry but the widow made a big fuss over it. And then the funeral director came with air freshener and when he sprayed it around, Louis Belman got an asthma attack and they had to cart her out the back door to get some air. Earl Krizinski was sitting behand me, and he said he saw Louisa’s underpants when they picked her up, and he said he got a stiffy.”

Let’s face it: If you’re an Evanovich fan, and millions of us are, you’re going to read both of these books anyway, and you’ll enjoy them just fine. But if you haven’t been introduced to the world of this particular Jersey girl, I’d start with another selection.

Lit shorts: ‘Beck’ by the book

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Beck
By Autumn de Wilde
Chronicle Books
176 pp., hardcover, $35

 
For more than a decade and half, pop culture photographer (and video director) Autumn de Wilde has chronicled Beck, the iconic songwriter and her personal friend, on tour, in the studio, and as he’s posed before the camera — the latter especially.

Indeed, in Wilde’s photos we find Beck looking as impenetrably cool as ever. Incorporating fewer candid shots and plenty of showy staged ones — Beck in a white suite; Beck lifting an enormous red egg; Beck surrounded by loosely clad dancers — the collection has few insights into the mythologized songwriter and too many into his eclectic wardrobe. Wilde is a fine photographer, but her photos evoke the same Beck we’ve been looking at for decades. For real insights, look to the front of the book at the conversations between Wilde and Beck, where the two are finishing each other’s sentences and looking back on their collaboration. 

Read more book reviews in our Books Issue, on stands now