A heavenly book. Large format, not too large, sturdily bound. Open it and you walk straight into what it’s all about: the title stares you in the face from the flyleaf. For the rest there is very little text: apart from the title there are brief publishing details, barely visible thanks to the pale lilac print. The images have little need of words, just a subtly placed number. Otherwise there is no explanation and nothing by way of narrative: all you have to do is look and enjoy.
The photos, small in format, are Polaroids; they consist of series of images of generously proportioned women interspersed with a number of other subjects, starting with death. Most of the Polaroids are in black and white, colour making its first appearance in the last quarter of the book. The pictorial matter has been carefully and variously placed on the page, given plenty of space and beautifully printed with spot varnish so that it seems to leap off the page.