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Shutterbabe: Adventures in Love and War
NATIONAL BESTSELLER • The remarkable memoir of an ambitious young photojournalist who went off to war as a twenty-two-year-old girl—and came back, four years and many adventures later, a woman “Eloquent and well observed, not only about the memoirist, but about the war, death, photojournalism and, of course, the worldwide battle between the sexes.” —The Washington Post Book WorldIn 1988, fresh out of Harvard, Deborah Copaken Kogan moved to Paris with a small backpack, a couple of cameras, the hubris of a superhero, and a strong thirst for danger. She wanted to see what a war would look like when seen from up close. Naïvely, she figured it would be easy to filter death through the prism of her wide-angle lens. She was dead wrong.Within weeks of arriving in Paris, after begging to be sent where the action was, Kogan found herself on the back of a truck in Afghanistan, her tiny frame veiled from head to toe, the only woman—and the only journalist—in a convoy of rebel freedom fighters. Kogan had not actually planned on shooting the Afghan war alone. However, the beguiling French photographer she’d entrusted with both her itinerary and her heart turned out to be as dangerously unpredictable as, well, a war. Kogan found herself running from one corner of the globe to another, each linked to the man she was involved with at the time. From Zimbabwe to Romania, from Russia to Haiti, Kogan takes her readers on a heartbreaking yet surprisingly hilarious journey through a mine-strewn decade, her personal battles against sexism, battery, and even rape blending seamlessly with the historical struggles of war, revolution, and unfathomable abuse it was her job to record.In the end, what was once adventurous to the girl began to weigh heavily on the woman. Though she had finally been accepted into photojournalism’s macho fraternity, her photographs splashed across the front pages of international newspapers and magazines, Kogan began to feel there was something more she was after. Ultimately, what she discovered in herself was a person—a woman—for whom life, not death, is the one true adventure to be cherished above all.
336 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2001
50 people are currently reading
1807 people want to read
About the author
Deborah Copaken
8 books264 followersDeborah Copaken is the New York Times bestselling author of seven books, including Shutterbabe, The Red Book, Between Here and April, and Ladyparts, her most recent memoir of bodily destruction and resurrection during marital rupture (Random House, 2021). A contributing writer at The Atlantic, she was also a writer on the Emmy/Golden Globe-nominated Netflix hit, Emily in Paris, a performer (The Moth, etc.), and an Emmy Award–winning news producer and photojournalist. Her photographs have appeared in Time, Newsweek, and The New York Times. Her writing has appeared in The New Yorker, The New York Times, The Guardian, The Financial Times, Observer, The Wall Street Journal, The Nation, Slate, O, the Oprah Magazine, Air Mail, and Paris Match, among others. Her column “When Cupid Is a Prying Journalist” was adapted for the Modern Love streaming series. She is the founder, writer, producer, CEO, and publisher of the Webby Award-winning Substack, Ladyparts.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 159 reviews
June 8, 2013
before reading
I would like to submit this as Exhibit A for the failure of traditional publishing to redress issues of sexism, not to mention shooting itself in its stupid foot and being appallingly condescending to one of its strongest demographics.
I mean, first I'd like to read the book.
But I believe this paragraph from the author's incredible (and incredibly enraging) recent piece on the Nation should stand by itself to support my case:
It's 1999. I sell my first book to Random House, a memoir of my years as a war photographer, for twice my NBC salary. The book is sold on the basis of a proposal and a first chapter under the title Newswhore, which is the insult often lobbed at us both externally and from within our own ranks—a way of noting, with a combination of shame and black humor, the vulture-like nature of our livelihood, and a means of reclaiming, as I see it, the word "whore," since I want to write about sexual and gender politics as well. Random House changes the book's title to Shutterbabe, which a friend came up with. I beg for Shuttergirl instead, to reclaim at least "girl," as Lena Dunham would so expertly do years later. Anything besides a title with the word "babe" in it.
I'm told I have no say in the matter. The cover that the publisher designs has a naked cartoon torso against a pink background with a camera covering the genitalia. I tell them it's usually my eye behind the camera, not my vagina. When my publicist tries to pitch the book to NPR's Terry Gross, a producer tells him that Terry likes the "Shutter" part of the title but not the "babe" part.
It goes on. Please read the piece, it's a toxic horror and a trenchant howl against the fucking stupid male-philic literary establishment. I can't wait to get my hands on this book.
***
after reading
Well, I did get my hands on it; I ordered it shortly after reading that article. Hooray for journalism! Hooray for old media!
Hooray for this book!
It's pretty fantastic—a fantastic memoir of a fantastic life. Deborah was a photojournalist in the '80s and '90s, covering war in Afghanistan, poachers in Africa, revolution in Moscow, heroin addicts in Zurich, more and more. So it's the story of a life lived fucking fast and frantic, this nimble, inquisitive, often fearless, tiny woman striding manically through the chaos and clamor of the world, clawing desperately to make her mark in it.
It goes into a lot of fascinating detail about photojournalism just before everything went digital. For example, do you know how you got your film out of a war-torn or third-world country back then? You went to the airport, found a kind-looking person who was flying to your home airport, thrust the film into their hands, and then scampered back to your hostel or embassy or bar to call someone from your photo agency and describe what the person looked like so they could meet them at the airport and get the film. Can you imagine that happening today? Just running up to someone in an airport and trying to get them to stuff something unfamiliar into their luggage? You'd all be sent to fucking Guantanamo.
But so in addition to industry minutia like camera speeds and photographer fashion and the petty rivalries within the journalism community, Deborah also talks a lot—unsurprisingly—about what it was like to be a woman, a small woman, in a big boys' club. From editors commenting loudly and often about the size of her tits, to fixers in foreign countries who won't take her to the story unless she fucks them, to being raped by men she trusts, this is, just like the article I linked above, a fucking toxic horror.
But then, it's also a love letter. In fact, each chapter is titled after the man she loved during that period in her life. Lots of men are horrible, or misogynistic, or just misguided, but Deborah also reminds us often that lots of men are kind and sexually giving and protective and trustworthy. In fact, the biggest twist of the book comes toward the end, when tiny Amazonian Deborah meets her husband-to-be, finally notices that the her biological clock is hammering louder than the bombs outside her window, and decides, wrenchingly but with absolute conviction, to say goodbye to all that and go home and make some babies.
I had a sort of knee-jerk negative reaction to that part, to be honest. I often, like so many "modern" women, think a career girl abandoning her own life to focus on being a stay-at-home mom is a betrayal of feminism. Of course, that's an incredibly stupid and dangerous idea. The whole point of feminism, to me anyway, is the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want, and if what you want is to be a mom, you goddamn should. And Deborah does, and she is so happy, and even though the book gets kind of corny once she starts describing her love for her incredible, amazing, perfect children, it's still a wickedly terrific read.
I would like to submit this as Exhibit A for the failure of traditional publishing to redress issues of sexism, not to mention shooting itself in its stupid foot and being appallingly condescending to one of its strongest demographics.
I mean, first I'd like to read the book.
But I believe this paragraph from the author's incredible (and incredibly enraging) recent piece on the Nation should stand by itself to support my case:
It's 1999. I sell my first book to Random House, a memoir of my years as a war photographer, for twice my NBC salary. The book is sold on the basis of a proposal and a first chapter under the title Newswhore, which is the insult often lobbed at us both externally and from within our own ranks—a way of noting, with a combination of shame and black humor, the vulture-like nature of our livelihood, and a means of reclaiming, as I see it, the word "whore," since I want to write about sexual and gender politics as well. Random House changes the book's title to Shutterbabe, which a friend came up with. I beg for Shuttergirl instead, to reclaim at least "girl," as Lena Dunham would so expertly do years later. Anything besides a title with the word "babe" in it.
I'm told I have no say in the matter. The cover that the publisher designs has a naked cartoon torso against a pink background with a camera covering the genitalia. I tell them it's usually my eye behind the camera, not my vagina. When my publicist tries to pitch the book to NPR's Terry Gross, a producer tells him that Terry likes the "Shutter" part of the title but not the "babe" part.
It goes on. Please read the piece, it's a toxic horror and a trenchant howl against the fucking stupid male-philic literary establishment. I can't wait to get my hands on this book.
***
after reading
Well, I did get my hands on it; I ordered it shortly after reading that article. Hooray for journalism! Hooray for old media!
Hooray for this book!
It's pretty fantastic—a fantastic memoir of a fantastic life. Deborah was a photojournalist in the '80s and '90s, covering war in Afghanistan, poachers in Africa, revolution in Moscow, heroin addicts in Zurich, more and more. So it's the story of a life lived fucking fast and frantic, this nimble, inquisitive, often fearless, tiny woman striding manically through the chaos and clamor of the world, clawing desperately to make her mark in it.
It goes into a lot of fascinating detail about photojournalism just before everything went digital. For example, do you know how you got your film out of a war-torn or third-world country back then? You went to the airport, found a kind-looking person who was flying to your home airport, thrust the film into their hands, and then scampered back to your hostel or embassy or bar to call someone from your photo agency and describe what the person looked like so they could meet them at the airport and get the film. Can you imagine that happening today? Just running up to someone in an airport and trying to get them to stuff something unfamiliar into their luggage? You'd all be sent to fucking Guantanamo.
But so in addition to industry minutia like camera speeds and photographer fashion and the petty rivalries within the journalism community, Deborah also talks a lot—unsurprisingly—about what it was like to be a woman, a small woman, in a big boys' club. From editors commenting loudly and often about the size of her tits, to fixers in foreign countries who won't take her to the story unless she fucks them, to being raped by men she trusts, this is, just like the article I linked above, a fucking toxic horror.
But then, it's also a love letter. In fact, each chapter is titled after the man she loved during that period in her life. Lots of men are horrible, or misogynistic, or just misguided, but Deborah also reminds us often that lots of men are kind and sexually giving and protective and trustworthy. In fact, the biggest twist of the book comes toward the end, when tiny Amazonian Deborah meets her husband-to-be, finally notices that the her biological clock is hammering louder than the bombs outside her window, and decides, wrenchingly but with absolute conviction, to say goodbye to all that and go home and make some babies.
I had a sort of knee-jerk negative reaction to that part, to be honest. I often, like so many "modern" women, think a career girl abandoning her own life to focus on being a stay-at-home mom is a betrayal of feminism. Of course, that's an incredibly stupid and dangerous idea. The whole point of feminism, to me anyway, is the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want, and if what you want is to be a mom, you goddamn should. And Deborah does, and she is so happy, and even though the book gets kind of corny once she starts describing her love for her incredible, amazing, perfect children, it's still a wickedly terrific read.
April 22, 2011
Cheesy title, I know. And in the first two pages, I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue, so loud were the author's claims on feminism. (She starts out on the back of a truck in Afghanistan, in the male dominated 1980's world of photojournalism, lamenting her lack of tampons). But stick with it, I swear it's worth it.
The truth is, photojournalism really was a boys' club, and I doubt I'd have understood the extent of it without reading this book. But it's not entirely the main focus of the book, and is nearly canceled out by the constant parade of men with whom the author has flings of varying length and intensity.
I didn't read it for the sex scenes, and I didn't read it for the sometimes enlightening, sometimes overdone feminism, so what is this book good for? WARS. She describes the boredom, horror, filth, and hilarity of war zones in a way that's downright addictive. Her lack of knowledge - that feeling of "how does everybody but me understand the intricacies of this conflict already?" - is also extra relatable and endearing. It helps that she's doing a job I always imagined myself doing (until I had to actually pay for things), and it helps that reading about other terrains always feels like the best escape.
The stuff that keeps me from giving this book, which I loved, all five stars were a few too many scenes in which the eyes of men are described in cringey detail, and the whole end part about motherhood. Not that the motherhood thing is bad, it's just not as interesting as being stranded in the middle of the jungle. Plus I'm sick of all my recent authors feeling some obligation to do the "moral of this story/older and wiser" thing. Just end it with a bang, already.
The truth is, photojournalism really was a boys' club, and I doubt I'd have understood the extent of it without reading this book. But it's not entirely the main focus of the book, and is nearly canceled out by the constant parade of men with whom the author has flings of varying length and intensity.
I didn't read it for the sex scenes, and I didn't read it for the sometimes enlightening, sometimes overdone feminism, so what is this book good for? WARS. She describes the boredom, horror, filth, and hilarity of war zones in a way that's downright addictive. Her lack of knowledge - that feeling of "how does everybody but me understand the intricacies of this conflict already?" - is also extra relatable and endearing. It helps that she's doing a job I always imagined myself doing (until I had to actually pay for things), and it helps that reading about other terrains always feels like the best escape.
The stuff that keeps me from giving this book, which I loved, all five stars were a few too many scenes in which the eyes of men are described in cringey detail, and the whole end part about motherhood. Not that the motherhood thing is bad, it's just not as interesting as being stranded in the middle of the jungle. Plus I'm sick of all my recent authors feeling some obligation to do the "moral of this story/older and wiser" thing. Just end it with a bang, already.
January 4, 2017
This memoir was one of the more difficult books I've read, both because Kogan was relatable, and wholly unrelatable. Kogan's memoir was difficult to relate to because her experiences paint her as reckless and morally loose. Until the last 2 chapters, it seemed that her experiences, which are framed inside which lover she is experiencing at the time, were not serving to help her grow and become a better person. In fact, I wondered for 3/4 of the book if this memoir was an excuse to retell her sexual exploits. However, near the end of my reading, I realized that Kogan has a good story to tell, however she has very little experience story telling, which meant that her personal development and growth (which was the point after all!) was not conveyed well. Her lack of experience in character development, which happened to be herself, resulted in a somewhat cliche story of a feminist girl growing up to realize that she did want to have conventional womanhood in her life after all.
On the positive side, once I read the entire book, I realized that I could relate to her framework if I chose to look at my life through the lens she chose. I too could chronicle my experiences through the lens of which man I was dating at the time, though I don't think that I would necessarily choose to do that myself. I suppose she chose to do this because one of the things she needed to learn what what love was, and she just happened to go about it in a difficult manner. She was an insecure girl who insisted she was a feminist, yet couldn't go a moment without the attention of a man. So, after many men, she finally found the one she loved and loved her back. Though, as I'm writing this and trying to be positive, I find this theme still cliche.
I am happy that, as a character, she did grow and develop. This is critical to any story, and it was interesting to see that,in the end, she came to realize that what she truly wanted was to be a wife a mother despite her decade of fighting against that notion. She had to find a reason to stop being reckless and running into war, she had to find a reason to live and to value her life and another's life. I think this is a journey most of us go though, it is a coming of age-type of story. Though, I suppose all this story is, is a memoir of what it is like to gain maturity.
The afterword was not my favorite. Kogan is about to publish her book just as 9/11 happens outside her window (as she lives in Manhattan). I wonder if I had read this book around the time when the towers fell that I would have appreciated her metaphor for "America being raped by the destruction of the Twin Towers". However, again, it felt forced and a cliche. Though, I have to concede that this may be a result of over 15 years of 9/11 metaphors at this point. Her thoughts may have been original and deep at the time.
The most difficult thing about this book is that I cannot think of one person I would recommend this book to. Kogan's use of language, sexual content, and her experiences in war make it difficult to pass along. It's almost like you would have to find this book on your own to read it. Though I think her story has value, it is not the most inspiring coming-of-age memoir out there. I would probably recommend another memoir over this one if I though someone would benefit from a book about maturing.
On the positive side, once I read the entire book, I realized that I could relate to her framework if I chose to look at my life through the lens she chose. I too could chronicle my experiences through the lens of which man I was dating at the time, though I don't think that I would necessarily choose to do that myself. I suppose she chose to do this because one of the things she needed to learn what what love was, and she just happened to go about it in a difficult manner. She was an insecure girl who insisted she was a feminist, yet couldn't go a moment without the attention of a man. So, after many men, she finally found the one she loved and loved her back. Though, as I'm writing this and trying to be positive, I find this theme still cliche.
I am happy that, as a character, she did grow and develop. This is critical to any story, and it was interesting to see that,in the end, she came to realize that what she truly wanted was to be a wife a mother despite her decade of fighting against that notion. She had to find a reason to stop being reckless and running into war, she had to find a reason to live and to value her life and another's life. I think this is a journey most of us go though, it is a coming of age-type of story. Though, I suppose all this story is, is a memoir of what it is like to gain maturity.
The afterword was not my favorite. Kogan is about to publish her book just as 9/11 happens outside her window (as she lives in Manhattan). I wonder if I had read this book around the time when the towers fell that I would have appreciated her metaphor for "America being raped by the destruction of the Twin Towers". However, again, it felt forced and a cliche. Though, I have to concede that this may be a result of over 15 years of 9/11 metaphors at this point. Her thoughts may have been original and deep at the time.
The most difficult thing about this book is that I cannot think of one person I would recommend this book to. Kogan's use of language, sexual content, and her experiences in war make it difficult to pass along. It's almost like you would have to find this book on your own to read it. Though I think her story has value, it is not the most inspiring coming-of-age memoir out there. I would probably recommend another memoir over this one if I though someone would benefit from a book about maturing.
May 12, 2022
I’m not a big fan of memoirs as I believe this genre is typically a vehicle for massively overblown egos. “Shutterbabe” has not disavowed me of my prejudice. Deborah Copaken Kogan is a good writer, but a big talker with a knack for constantly combining verbosity with melodrama, particularly when discussing her prolific love life. Sex is a nightmarish seesaw with this author: she vacillates between bragging about her youthful promiscuity and conquests on one hand; and then, on the other hand, horrifies her readers with painful revelations regarding sexual violence of which she’s been a victim. She’s the kind of self-pitying GenX feminist that conveniently forgets the ginormous hurdles overcome by women a few years her senior; those seemingly minor steps, stumbles, skips, and occasional leaps, that working women in the Sixties, Seventies and early Eighties struggled to accomplish so that Ms. Shutterbabe could even contemplate a career as a war zone photojournalist in 1988. What redeems this book is not so much her personal confessions, but her very vivid descriptions of the gruesome casualties of war. Copaken’s observations are genuinely gut wrenching. One of the highlights of the book is the poignant Afterward she wrote immediately following the terrible events of 9/11/2001. Here, with only four spare pages, she accomplishes a perfect word picture of those catastrophic days in our country’s history.
January 29, 2020
This was... fine? I picked it up thinking it'd be a memoir about being a female war photojournalist in the late 80s/early 90s, and it was. But it was partly also a romantic memoir, enumerating the author's relationships with the men she met; partly an account of being a photographer and how payments and agencies and publication rights worked in the journalism circuit during that time; and partly a treatise/reflections on the author's approach to feminism... and partly also about motherhood, and partly also about war and the Jewish legacy; and partly about poaching, rape, and the fall of the Soviet Union? It was a lot of things at once, with sudden lurches in tone; occasionally breezy sex memoir and occasionally a stomach-churning snapshot of Romanian orphanages. No doubt Kogan has led a very interesting life, but the book felt disparate; ironically, for a photographer, it felt out of focus. I was definitely speed-reading through the end.
I liked the moments when Kogan questions the ethics of her job and how it impacts on her own sense of morality, her way of seeing the world. There are instances where Kogan pays a heroin addict to shoot up so that she can shoot him; or moments when she waits for a poacher to be shot so that she can spring through the jungle quickly to, also, shoot him; and accounts of nightmares and questions about her own culpability and responsibility balanced against her own need to earn a living. These moments, however, however incandescent, are brief. Maybe it's not the story Kogan wanted to tell, or only part of her wider story. While I ultimately didn't really like the book, I'm sympathetic--the task of tidying your life into neat narrative isn't an easy one.
"Call it the curse of the photographer. Unlike the memories of my childhood--fuzzy around the edges, suffused more with movement and smell and sound than with the rigidity of graphic lines and shapes--most of the memories I have since becoming a photographer are four-sided and flat. When you learn to properly frame an image in the viewfinder of a camera, you start to frame and catalog everything you see, whether you photograph it or not. And suddenly, memory has the shape of a rectangle. The vastness of a forest becomes twelve trees with a rock balancing out the foreground. A person becomes a close-up of the crow's-feet around his eyes. A war becomes red blood in white snow. Sometimes I feel like my brain has become nothing more than an overstuffed spiral notebook full of negatives, printed at will in a disorganized flurry by the slightest provocation."
"I stop to change my film. Without the camera to shield my eyes, I start to feel weak. Queasy. The room tilts. I see the heart lying there, inert and cold. I see the women shoving it back inside the chest cavity... I picture the cavity behind my eyes, and instead of a brain I imagine an enormous roll of film, winding maniacally inside a bloodless metallic skull. A simple recording device, nothing more."
I liked the moments when Kogan questions the ethics of her job and how it impacts on her own sense of morality, her way of seeing the world. There are instances where Kogan pays a heroin addict to shoot up so that she can shoot him; or moments when she waits for a poacher to be shot so that she can spring through the jungle quickly to, also, shoot him; and accounts of nightmares and questions about her own culpability and responsibility balanced against her own need to earn a living. These moments, however, however incandescent, are brief. Maybe it's not the story Kogan wanted to tell, or only part of her wider story. While I ultimately didn't really like the book, I'm sympathetic--the task of tidying your life into neat narrative isn't an easy one.
"Call it the curse of the photographer. Unlike the memories of my childhood--fuzzy around the edges, suffused more with movement and smell and sound than with the rigidity of graphic lines and shapes--most of the memories I have since becoming a photographer are four-sided and flat. When you learn to properly frame an image in the viewfinder of a camera, you start to frame and catalog everything you see, whether you photograph it or not. And suddenly, memory has the shape of a rectangle. The vastness of a forest becomes twelve trees with a rock balancing out the foreground. A person becomes a close-up of the crow's-feet around his eyes. A war becomes red blood in white snow. Sometimes I feel like my brain has become nothing more than an overstuffed spiral notebook full of negatives, printed at will in a disorganized flurry by the slightest provocation."
"I stop to change my film. Without the camera to shield my eyes, I start to feel weak. Queasy. The room tilts. I see the heart lying there, inert and cold. I see the women shoving it back inside the chest cavity... I picture the cavity behind my eyes, and instead of a brain I imagine an enormous roll of film, winding maniacally inside a bloodless metallic skull. A simple recording device, nothing more."
January 19, 2011
This was a great book, and as another Shutterbabe, I really enjoyed reading this memoir. There were a few things that I disagreed with, but can still understand and sympathise. One thing that really bugged me about this book was how much of a feminist the author claimed to be, and yet wrote the book around her experiences with ex lovers. Honestly, even though it sometimes hurts, and there are those worse times where it REALLY Freakin' hurts, you must put it behind you, and leave it be. Though the author does move on, and eventually finds love and happiness, I couldn't help but wonder why the book was even designed around the ex lovers names (the chapters are devided not by assingments, or adventures)and her journeys WITH THEM. Not about so much the other experiences.
But, it's still an enjoyable, and gripping read. The chapter Doru (another ex-lover), was especially heart wrenching and saddening. I read most of this book in the bath tub, and when I read about the orphange in Romania, I nearly threw up in the bath water! (I know gross, sorry, but brace yourselves if you are reading this book)
Deborah Kogan is a great writer, and you can read her brilliance in her choice of words, or her descriptions. There were quite a few times where I literally (as I lay alone in my tub :D ) pulled my face out of the book, and said aloud, "Huh." or "Wow," and reread that sentence or page over and over, just wishing I was as knowledgable with my own words.
Great book, and look forward to reading anything else Kogan has or will write.
But, it's still an enjoyable, and gripping read. The chapter Doru (another ex-lover), was especially heart wrenching and saddening. I read most of this book in the bath tub, and when I read about the orphange in Romania, I nearly threw up in the bath water! (I know gross, sorry, but brace yourselves if you are reading this book)
Deborah Kogan is a great writer, and you can read her brilliance in her choice of words, or her descriptions. There were quite a few times where I literally (as I lay alone in my tub :D ) pulled my face out of the book, and said aloud, "Huh." or "Wow," and reread that sentence or page over and over, just wishing I was as knowledgable with my own words.
Great book, and look forward to reading anything else Kogan has or will write.
June 22, 2009
This is an autobiography of a short, female photojournalist working in a man's world. I liked it because I once had similar aspirations (and am vertical challenged), but did not have the courage or self-belief of Deborah Copaken Kogan. So the majority of the book provided fascinating "what ifs" for me. Then, she discovers the struggle to balance career and motherhood, which is universal these days. This seemed a bit self-indulgent and ordinary... like looking at pictures of a stranger's child. The book should have ended before it did.
January 5, 2024
Newswhore to Shutterbabe. We all need something to aspire to!
As a journalist (though nowhere on this level) I really appreciated the honesty and humour.
I read this AFTER reading her fiction first. Glad I did.
(I like to read about combat journos - particularly women.)
As a journalist (though nowhere on this level) I really appreciated the honesty and humour.
I read this AFTER reading her fiction first. Glad I did.
(I like to read about combat journos - particularly women.)
January 8, 2009
Deborah Copaken Kogan graduated from Harvard in 1988 and plunged straight into the world of photojournalism. Like most fresh grads, reality is something college doesn t prepare you for.[return][return]Living in Paris, she knocked on agency doors for an assignment. Within weeks, she was in Afghanistan with Pascal, a more senior photojournalist who promised that he would help get her into the thick of the war.[return][return]The book opens with her travelling in a group of mujahideen - rebel "freedom fighters", shortly after Pascal abandoned her, forcing her to make her own arrangements. So her short career in photojournalism begins, and they lead her into some very hairy situations, in parts of history that I was too young to care about at the time.[return][return]Kogan gives us a peek into the world of the photojournalist fraternity, a group dominated by men. For that reason, the book is broken down into six chapters that relates to a man in her life and career - starting with Pascal, who took her into her first war and ending with her son Jacob, who is the reason she decided to end her career. [return][return]Her memoirs, candid as it may be in some places, is eye-opening to those of us who have no idea how the international media works. It also hammers home the fact that it is sometimes necessary for journalists to lie, bribe and persuade so that their journey would not be for nothing, and they will bring back images that will help cover their expenses.[return][return]At one point of the book, Kogan described feeling like a vulture as she entered the scene to photograph an African poacher shot dead. There is, after all, no story without a dead body. Horrifying? That's the media industry.[return][return]Kogan's photographs have appeared in magazines such as Time, Newsweek, and the New York Times, her freelance writing in The New York Times, Paris Match, and O, the Oprah Magazine, and her television segments on ABC News and Dateline NBC.[return][return](2006)
April 29, 2011
This is a memoir of a young woman who becomes a war photographer without really knowing what she's getting into. She's a bit wild, looking for adventure, and in a *very* male-dominated world, working in *very* male-dominated countries. I liked parts of the beginning of the book, just because her experiences were so unusual and her perspective was so interesting. But it gradually fell apart for me towards the second half, when she basically renounces her youthful follies and settles down to be a grownup.
Of course, this is, in fact, her story, so it's not exactly that it doesn't ring true. But somehow -- it doesn't. The *events* of course, are obviously true, but it's like she's tried to overlay this "story" with a "dramatic arc" and "character development" on top of it (or more like some editor told her that her memoir needed to have a dramatic arc and character development). It just transitions too abruptly and doesn't really make sense -- which wouldn't matter as much, I think, if she didn't try so darn hard to *make* it make sense.
It's also very much one of those books that in the end says, "Hey! Girls! You can try for a while, but you can't have it *all*, since I couldn't, so just give it up and settle down!" Which is really sort of disappointing since she was such a barrier-breaker in her youth. It's like your only choices in life are (a) defy all convention and give up anything positive that might come with conventionality, or (b) suck it up and be a conformist. Maybe she couldn't find the middle path -- which, again, wouldn't be such an issue if she didn't seem to be trying so hard to overlay a "message" on the book.
I guess I wanted to like the book more than I did. I did think that the author seemed like a really interesting person and I enjoyed reading about her experiences. It was the overlaid "messages" that I objected to, and they really ruined the book for me.
Of course, this is, in fact, her story, so it's not exactly that it doesn't ring true. But somehow -- it doesn't. The *events* of course, are obviously true, but it's like she's tried to overlay this "story" with a "dramatic arc" and "character development" on top of it (or more like some editor told her that her memoir needed to have a dramatic arc and character development). It just transitions too abruptly and doesn't really make sense -- which wouldn't matter as much, I think, if she didn't try so darn hard to *make* it make sense.
It's also very much one of those books that in the end says, "Hey! Girls! You can try for a while, but you can't have it *all*, since I couldn't, so just give it up and settle down!" Which is really sort of disappointing since she was such a barrier-breaker in her youth. It's like your only choices in life are (a) defy all convention and give up anything positive that might come with conventionality, or (b) suck it up and be a conformist. Maybe she couldn't find the middle path -- which, again, wouldn't be such an issue if she didn't seem to be trying so hard to overlay a "message" on the book.
I guess I wanted to like the book more than I did. I did think that the author seemed like a really interesting person and I enjoyed reading about her experiences. It was the overlaid "messages" that I objected to, and they really ruined the book for me.
May 5, 2017
This was both painful and amazingly awesome. Deborah's life represented to me the path "not taken". Also born in 1966, I had some of the same black and white "TN" type memories that inspired me and confused me. In high school, I chose the road where the girl delivers and raises her baby and struggles through life. Deborah chose NOT to have her baby and seemed to have regretted it enough to have nightmares about her unborn baby. She, like me, lived in a world of "what if's". Maybe everyone does? But HOLY COW! Was her life ever exciting! She did the things that I'd once only dreamed about! Foreign countries, hiding behind her camera, love and hate and everything in between.
In the end, I loved how honest yet unflattering she was about her life. She never expected to find herself craving all the things many of us have (and sometimes don't appreciate)... things like marriage, love and especially motherhood. While she was young, she lived on the edge and was sometimes even careless. When you're young, you think you can afford to be careless. I think even her work reflected her honesty in the beginning. We either loved it or we hated it but then again... so did she! She was honest enough to call herself a sellout but in the same breath admit that she had to do it if she wanted to eat. I have nothing but respect for this woman. I think for me, the life of Deborah Copaken Kogan showed me that my old 80's dream of being a woman with "it all" could really happen. Although by the late 90's she decided that in order to enjoy "it all", she'd have to sacrifice. But if I could ask one question, it would be this: If the thing you're made to sacrifice is the thing that made you resort to calling yourself a sellout (so to speak), is it really such a sacrifice?
Fascinating life! I'm glad I read the book and can't wait to read more from this author and artist!
In the end, I loved how honest yet unflattering she was about her life. She never expected to find herself craving all the things many of us have (and sometimes don't appreciate)... things like marriage, love and especially motherhood. While she was young, she lived on the edge and was sometimes even careless. When you're young, you think you can afford to be careless. I think even her work reflected her honesty in the beginning. We either loved it or we hated it but then again... so did she! She was honest enough to call herself a sellout but in the same breath admit that she had to do it if she wanted to eat. I have nothing but respect for this woman. I think for me, the life of Deborah Copaken Kogan showed me that my old 80's dream of being a woman with "it all" could really happen. Although by the late 90's she decided that in order to enjoy "it all", she'd have to sacrifice. But if I could ask one question, it would be this: If the thing you're made to sacrifice is the thing that made you resort to calling yourself a sellout (so to speak), is it really such a sacrifice?
Fascinating life! I'm glad I read the book and can't wait to read more from this author and artist!
March 12, 2013
If you enjoy vicariously living a life of adventure, this book may be for you. The memories of a thrill seeking photojournalist, fresh out of school and anxious to make a name for herself, are often harrowing tales of near misses and last minute rescues both at the battle front and in the bedroom. Working in the competitive male dominated world of photojournalism requires her to take risks and witness events that no one should. Her close encounters with world events from the late '80s and early '90s like the Afghan/Russian war and the children in Bosnian orphanages, to name a few, cast a personal, close-up and raw look at stories from the front pages of that era. The adrenaline seeking youngster gradually finds her lifestyle at odds with her long term life goals. (Here comes the spoiler.) She finds her husband to be and leaves her beloved camera behind for a more practical job producing television news programs. When that too interferes once too often with her family life, she gives up her career completely to become a full-time mother.
September 25, 2007
This autobiography is a must-read for any woman working in a predominately male industry. It's filled with triumphs and failures similar to any woman climbing the ladder to a successful career.
She opens the book by describing how one of her traveling companions has sat on her bookbag (filled with camera equipment) squashing a bottle of rubbing alcohol which in turn expands and explodes all of her tampons... All while crouched - in a burka from head to toe - in the back of a truck in the middle of the mountains of Afghanistan. And that's just the start of it.
She excels and she gets kicked down (several times, in fact) but always seems to remain focused on getting more out of life and not giving up. For that reason, this is in my top 10 books of all time.
She opens the book by describing how one of her traveling companions has sat on her bookbag (filled with camera equipment) squashing a bottle of rubbing alcohol which in turn expands and explodes all of her tampons... All while crouched - in a burka from head to toe - in the back of a truck in the middle of the mountains of Afghanistan. And that's just the start of it.
She excels and she gets kicked down (several times, in fact) but always seems to remain focused on getting more out of life and not giving up. For that reason, this is in my top 10 books of all time.
January 18, 2016
As I was reading, there was a period of time near the beginning when I really wanted to take the author and shake some sense into her, to the point where I nearly put the book down, but I'm glad I didn't - a very human portrait began to emerge shortly thereafter. Her experiences from then on really stuck with me, from witnessing the inhuman conditions in Romanian orphanage to dealing with the otherwise-unremarkable execution of a poacher in Africa. Her incidental lovers became consequential and part of her journey through what must be one of the most emotionally destroying professions there is.
March 21, 2007
Have I told you guys how much I LOVED This book? I probably have. The situations this woman puts herself in are ridiculous, but man does she live an exciting life. If you are like me who longs to be in the middle of the action in terms of world affairs this is a good book to read.
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March 3, 2008Fun to read about the adventures of this "tiny girl" (her description) in an all male world (war, war, war), but the voice gets grating. I was rolling my eyes after she'd slept with/fallen in love with the 10th guy and we were only 1/2 way through the book.
September 11, 2016
Great book with tons of adventure. The plot line of having a female photographer who travels abroad to wars is very captivating. Recommend this to anyone interested in a fun read about a true story with some darkness built in.
April 4, 2019
Cogan is a gung ho girl who after graduating from college, flew to Paris to establish herself as a photojournalist. The book consists of six chapters narrating her travel assignments in Afghanistan, Switzerland, Zimbabwe, Romania, and Russia. She was only 22 when she took on her first assignment in Afghanistan where she travelled as a lone photojournalist with mujahideens. Cogan’s memoir stops at New York where she eventually settled when she had two children. But that’s getting ahead of the story.
Each chapter in Shutterbabe narrates Cogan’s travel assignments in these different countries, the dangers she faced (she’s been assaulted, propositioned, and left in the middle of a desert, among other things), the financial hardships (in most of these assignments she had to pay for most of her expenses and hope that her pictures get published), the men she met in these trips (one terrifyingly obnoxious and one gently pointing to her some lessons in life), political background of the stories she was covering, her opinions on photography (she thinks “photo montees are bullshit”) and a lot of tips for those interested to take the photojournalism route. The memoir is full of Cogan’s observations on human prejudices, poverty, and the difficulties of a woman trying to make her mark in the world.
Cogan, while in the middle of a tortuous relation with a Romanian, a liaison with a Frenchman, and an impending visit from an American who broke her heart years before, would meet a Russian émigré who became her future husband. In a span of 10 days, Cogan, who thrives on a constant adrenaline high, and who is determined to keep herself free from personal commitments, made up her mind that she couldn’t be parted with this man.
Cogan eventually moved to New York, sold her cameras “but never her Leica”, and joined ABC. She has now two children, a boy and a girl.
Cogan writes of her children:
“You kind of have to wonder why it took my son less than four years to own one of the truths I had to spend more than two decades figuring out. Just ask him. He’ll tell you. The secret to a happy life is love.
When he’s old enough, when tiny Sasha’s old enough, I’ll jump on my soapbox and tell them a few more. Simple truths, like the quest is as important, if not more important, than the goal. Like hearts have a surprising resilience. Like war is bad. Like some things in life are inexplicable, and many others are ambiguous. Like not everyone can be saved. Like sex can either be beautiful or ugly but never both simultaneously. Like reading and travelling teach us more than we can ever learn in school. Like girls have it tougher than boys, still, and that owing to such things as body mass and the mechanics of rape, perhaps always will. Like babies should be born only to people who are ready for such a colossal responsibility. Like parenthood – a parenthood sown of planning and love – is by far and away the most profound experience life holds.”
Shutterbabe reads like a travelogue/Time extended feature article/Charlie’s Angels. At the end, we’re ready for a sequel.
Each chapter in Shutterbabe narrates Cogan’s travel assignments in these different countries, the dangers she faced (she’s been assaulted, propositioned, and left in the middle of a desert, among other things), the financial hardships (in most of these assignments she had to pay for most of her expenses and hope that her pictures get published), the men she met in these trips (one terrifyingly obnoxious and one gently pointing to her some lessons in life), political background of the stories she was covering, her opinions on photography (she thinks “photo montees are bullshit”) and a lot of tips for those interested to take the photojournalism route. The memoir is full of Cogan’s observations on human prejudices, poverty, and the difficulties of a woman trying to make her mark in the world.
Cogan, while in the middle of a tortuous relation with a Romanian, a liaison with a Frenchman, and an impending visit from an American who broke her heart years before, would meet a Russian émigré who became her future husband. In a span of 10 days, Cogan, who thrives on a constant adrenaline high, and who is determined to keep herself free from personal commitments, made up her mind that she couldn’t be parted with this man.
Cogan eventually moved to New York, sold her cameras “but never her Leica”, and joined ABC. She has now two children, a boy and a girl.
Cogan writes of her children:
“You kind of have to wonder why it took my son less than four years to own one of the truths I had to spend more than two decades figuring out. Just ask him. He’ll tell you. The secret to a happy life is love.
When he’s old enough, when tiny Sasha’s old enough, I’ll jump on my soapbox and tell them a few more. Simple truths, like the quest is as important, if not more important, than the goal. Like hearts have a surprising resilience. Like war is bad. Like some things in life are inexplicable, and many others are ambiguous. Like not everyone can be saved. Like sex can either be beautiful or ugly but never both simultaneously. Like reading and travelling teach us more than we can ever learn in school. Like girls have it tougher than boys, still, and that owing to such things as body mass and the mechanics of rape, perhaps always will. Like babies should be born only to people who are ready for such a colossal responsibility. Like parenthood – a parenthood sown of planning and love – is by far and away the most profound experience life holds.”
Shutterbabe reads like a travelogue/Time extended feature article/Charlie’s Angels. At the end, we’re ready for a sequel.
November 4, 2021
I assumed I'd relate to this book as a woman photographer (that's why I picked it up). What surprised me was the discovery of a familiar voice, shared views about the world, men, relationships, growth, independence, feminism, and most of all the challenges society places on women who ultimately want to become mothers and work.
I was on the edge of my seat reading her accounts of front-line adventures in photojournalism from events all around the world (many such events I remember watching unfold in real time and it was amazing to read her insider perspective). I can't imagine being brave enough to pursue that particular line of photographic work (she has a line about the 'varieties of human animal' that made me laugh, myself being of the variety who'd rather have patience to sit for days waiting to photograph a passing lion). Despite being an entirely different variety of human/photographer, I found these stories intimately, infinitely relatable as a woman who has walked a not so "normal" life. And I loved how each story was framed within a chapter named for a man she related to in some way at that time. Such an interesting juxtaposition of independence and reliance on other humans.
Great writing, pacing, perspective and story-telling. Finished last night and went out today to pick up Ladyparts. Thank you, Deb, for sharing your stories!
I was on the edge of my seat reading her accounts of front-line adventures in photojournalism from events all around the world (many such events I remember watching unfold in real time and it was amazing to read her insider perspective). I can't imagine being brave enough to pursue that particular line of photographic work (she has a line about the 'varieties of human animal' that made me laugh, myself being of the variety who'd rather have patience to sit for days waiting to photograph a passing lion). Despite being an entirely different variety of human/photographer, I found these stories intimately, infinitely relatable as a woman who has walked a not so "normal" life. And I loved how each story was framed within a chapter named for a man she related to in some way at that time. Such an interesting juxtaposition of independence and reliance on other humans.
Great writing, pacing, perspective and story-telling. Finished last night and went out today to pick up Ladyparts. Thank you, Deb, for sharing your stories!
May 8, 2025
Interesting stories and I definitely learnt about the bts of journalism from this book. However I found the narrator really unlikeable which I feel a bit bad about cos I know it’s an autobiography. Agreed with some of the points and speculations she made but generally found her self centred and unempathetic :/
December 16, 2017
Surprisingly different.
December 25, 2019
The signs are everywhere !!
August 30, 2020
This was a page turner for me. Deborah's character arc combined with her adventurous young spirit are an amazing story.
February 10, 2022
Really liked this one
April 20, 2022
Really better than I thought it would be. The last chapter gets a little mushy and philosophical, but all in all, a good book and I'm anxious to see the movie.
May 24, 2022
It was a good book to read.
July 19, 2022
My absolute favourite book read so far this year. Really loved it!!
October 24, 2022
I did not get too far into this at all. The author seems interesting and entertaining, but the book lacks conviction. I cannot help thinking if she doesn't care, why would I?
October 22, 2023
I fell in love with this book when I was a photography and journalism major in college. I still love this book to this day!!
June 24, 2025
the title is yuck but interesting view on journalism and i liked how it explores motherhood in the ending
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