Review: Nachtwey, James. Inferno. Phaidon Press: 1999.

Having finished Linfield’s Cruel Radiance, in which James Natchwey was the subject of an entire chapter, I was inspired to investigate Inferno, his tome to suffering in the 1990s, with a particular eye on my emotions.  Linfield argues that many of us are dishonest to our feelings when discussing images of cruely and suffering.  They make us feel uncomfortable and so we call for the images to be banned or restricted, or accuse the photographer or media of being pornogrpahers.  What we rarely do is ask how to resolve the situation depicted in the photographs, or how to deal appropriately with our feelings.

Romania:  The pain from having to sleep on cots with no mattresses, only wires to hold blankets.  The cold.   The poor food.  No empathy.

Somalia/Sudan:  The bravery and sense of duty of those who take care of corpses.  A young boy tending to a starving middle-aged man, a father carrying the tiny corpse of his child.  The ability of the photographer to work, to point his camera at such suffering;  I don’t know that I could.

India:  The Dalit depicted here have not been physically violated.  Their bodies appear healthy, even if their environment is not.  They seem relatively well off compared to the  Somalis or Sudanese - there is food, work, water, homes, families.

Bosnia:  Because so little context is presented, these appear like images of generic war.  There is no righteousness or justice in the suffering - only suffering.  Bodies dumped like garbage from the back of a truck: when lives are less valuable than land, money, power.

Rwanda:  Corpses.  Rotting corpses dissolving into the earth.  Nothing remains but dust blown on the wind. To this end these people came for no good reason, only ignorance and hate.  They have suffered far more, but we all end the same.

Zaire:  More starvation, sickness and death.  Piles of corpses moved by bulldozers, buried in mass graves.  And for what?  What end was so important?

Chechnya:  A corpse lies in a snowy street.  It appears as if the person just fell over from a heart attack, but I suppose this is the work of snipers targeting civilians, one of whom appears to have just completed a round of shopping at the local market.  Another group of civilians go through the basket of goods - the corpse won’t be needing them.  More images of hospital wounded, burials, and battle ravaged city streets.  Few battle images.

Kosovo:  Refugees trying to escape, battered city streets, casualties, and another disintegrated corpse.

Natchwey is often described as a war photographer, but Inferno consists of very few images of actual battle.  What we see instead is the aftermath of war:  wounded and maimed, starving, diseased, corpses, burials, rubble.  It is a sad, sad litany of ignorance, hatred, and suffering.

I didn’t experience any strong emotions while looking through Inferno.  I wasn’t disgusted or repulsed.  I don’t know why.  Perhaps because I looked quickly.  I did not linger.  Perhaps if I had, and been drawn into the image, I might have experienced something different, something more visceral.  Perhaps I have been inured by regular exposure to such images. Or perhaps because they depict the aftermath they are somewhat less shocking. I know I cannot watch ISIS videos.  I haven’t seen any and I refuse to do so.  To watch someone killed seems too, too cruel.  To see a corpse afterwards seems less threatening and easier to absorb.  The stillness of a photo is also much less disturbing than the movement of video.   The video pulls us in, but we can distance ourselves from the photograph, in which time has been stopped.

On my way to return the book to the library, I went to the coffee shop for tea and left Inferno on a nearby table.  A couple of colleagues looked, but only briefly.  When they found out the book was mine, they wanted to know why I was looking at it, as if it I shouldn’t, or maybe there was something wrong with me for doing so.


James Nachtwey: Images from, "Inferno" from CC on Vimeo.

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