You'll have to forgive some of the fuzziness of this review, but I've had a beach holiday between when I finished reading it and now, and the things I sharply wanted to say are now less clear.
Dewey's book is a strong piece if cultural anthropology, writing up the results of her decade-ago graduate studies assignment looking at the workers in a rust-belt upstate NY strip club. Dewey is well read, and clear, and her summaries of existing scholarship in the field are welcome. The very earnest academic feel of the book can reinforce how much of an outsider she is - not helped by an intro which emphasises her own nervousness and fear for her safety engaging in a poverty-stricken world and can sometimes feel as if she is too quickly leaping to theorise and shelve an observation or an experience, perhaps without letting it resonate.
As the book progresses, the stories if the women at the centre of the book begin to assert themselves through the analysis, and in this case, to the book's benefit. The complexity of choices made by the women, about their bodies, their incomes, their children, seem to defy being easily shelved or packaged up. Similarly, the complexity of the author's own experience shines through glimpses into what was clearly a life-changing and challenging experience.
It was good to read stories of working, rather than middle, class sex workers, whose choices were often more constrained than the better-off workers more often represented. The my raid of ways that these women's lives were defined by their limited control over bodies and reproduction, including the right to raise their children, well before they entered the sex industry was fascinating to me. The extent to which social systems had failed, and continued to fail them, was infuriating. The clear interchangability of poverty wages and welfare systems in particular - Wal Mart signing new employees up for food stamps as part of the intake process, was particularly rage-inducing. And intended eh end, the women shine sharper than the container their story comes in - the author's affection and understanding outstripping her tools perhaps - pleading for the reader to listen more than analyse - remind in me that analysis can sit uncomfortably close to judgement.