Even if the reader can understand the photographers' almost aloof response to the violence and death around them as they seek out bloodbaths and bodies, their manifest coldness (evidenced by both their words and their photographs) remains undeniably disturbing. Although compelling, their story suffers from a lack of hard-core introspection. Heard and seen almost entirely through the voice and eyes of Marinovich, this memoir is about, in the words of Archbishop Tutu, the ""remarkably cool, no, even cold-blooded"" photographers who negotiated a war zone for journalistic gain and not the war itself. Before those years passed, two of them would be dead (one by his own hand), and their lives would be forever changed ("" `I was appalled at what they were doing.
Four white South African photographers (Marinovich, Silva, Kevin Carter and Greg Oosterbroek) decide to chronicle the years of violence-ostensibly ""black on black"" violence but actually apartheid-sanctioned violence aimed at destabilizing the ANC-that marked the time from Nelson Mandela's release from prison to the first nonracial elections in their land.
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