There is something totally thrilling about Kleeman's journalism. Her book is emotive, impassioned, but unafraid of peeling the curtain back, unembarrassed by the taboo shadiness around the subject of life, death, and the money associated with moving from the former to the latter; indeed. Kleeman highlights just how this uncertainty and inability to talk about the real monetary values ascribed to death perpetuate the systemic shadiness surrounding it--the unrevealed statistics of casualties of war and military operations, for example, or the numbers of a hitman's fatalities possibly bloated by macabre bravado and bragging rights. Early on, Kleeman states that she is not a numbers person, something that is not to the book's detriment. In fact, it's why 'The Price of Life' reads so well, her frank discussions with each chapter's subjects (ranging from trafficked domestic slaves to wealthy families of ransomed relatives) humanising the statistics, and treating an otherwise uncomfortable subject with humanity, kindness, but a certain refreshing candour.
Kleeman's approach is enlightening, engaging, and didactic without ever being forceful--though one is left wishing she could perhaps be a little more political in her writing, a little less keen to leave the topics so open to the reader. For example, the uneasy and unsurprising political pertinence of the body broker, commodifying and carving up the literal human body into its value and worth, who is also a Republican Party nominee could have been stressed more, in an age in which certain political platforms are formed purely on the grounds of disenfranchising persons due to the material 'uses; of their organs. Likewise, the glossy photo-ops and factory tours of Lockheed Martin factories--in which the Disneyland effect seems to stretch even to defence contractors--is gestured to at the start of one chapter, but one feels as though in light of current events such poor taste posturing ought to be spoken about with greater condemnation and clarity.