The book explores the history of the inhumane punishment known as “solitary housing units” in prisons, although it doesn’t explicitly question whether these units should exist at all until the last few pages of the book— too little, far too late. It’s unthinkable to me that someone who has spent her whole academic career looking so closely at the deep torment of prisons, the way they break families and communities and minds and bodies, the sheer extent of the system’s cruelty, is not an avowed prison abolitionist.
In her first chapter, Reiter concedes that some people might be “so depraved” that it’s justified to permanently remove them from human contact (p. 33) and that she was grateful for the shatterproof glass separating her from one of the incarcerated folks she interviewed, further legitimizing the idea that people are subjected to such tortuous conditions not because the prison system is harmful, but because those subjected to its abuse are. She then admits that she drifted away from prison abolitionists in order to gain access to prisons in furtherance of her academic career and that when called to testify in legislative hearings, her main point was that solitary confinement is “overused,” implying it’s sometimes justified (p. 62). She dislikes the SHU because it fails to distinguish “mad from bad,” (p. 194), reinforcing the idea of deserving versus undeserving incarcerated folks.
Finally, she continuously centers the feelings, analysis, justifications, and self-serving ideas of prison bureaucrats, administrators, guards, officers, and proponents, saying she was happy to see their “shared commitments to public service.” (p287). There are no two sides to torture, something the author has failed to learn in her decades of academic engagement with the subject.