532 College & Research Libraries May 2022 that while industrial advancement may increase productivity, it also devastates the planet and creates new demands for reproductive labor required to sustain human life in increas- ingly damaged ecosystems. This chapter calls for a shift away from Marxist communism toward a politics of the commons, focused on building a society modeled on “spaces [such as community gardens] that are self-organized and both require and produce community” (67). While libraries are not named in this chapter (nor are they typically self-organized), I found myself thinking about how they serve as a commons, providing space and labor that supports a variety of productive and reproductive communal activities. In the final two chapters, Federici discusses the history of two categories of feminized laborers: housewives and sex workers. The central argument of both of these chapters is that as capitalism shifted into heavy industry in the late nineteenth century, workers’ bodies required more care so they could handle the physical demands of the labor. Workers also needed to be replaced more often. This led to the development of the family wage and the housewife required to care for a male worker’s body, as well as to bear and care for children who would serve as future laborers. This duty to reproduce led many married women to resist sex and created the need for another kind of reproductive laborer: the sex worker, who could serve men’s need for sexual pleasure when their wives would not. These are interesting argu- ments, but I wish these chapters had been longer and contained more supporting evidence for Federici’s historical claims. The history of sex workers, the history of housewives, and the complex relationship between the two in the context of patriarchy and capitalism is simply too much to cover in two short chapters. These chapters would also have benefited from more analysis of race and how it intersects with dominant views of housewives and sex workers. Patriarchy of the Wage offers an important feminist intervention into socialist practice and theory, and I admire Federici’s commitment to addressing both at once. This book has much to offer for anyone interested in socialist praxis that accounts for reproductive labor and the environmental toll of capitalism. While some of its arguments are underdeveloped, it is particularly strong when laying out Federici’s politics of the commons, pulling in arguments from Marxist and feminist theory, and examples from feminists and socialists struggling in a variety of contexts. Library workers will value this book for contributions to theory about reproductive labor and feminized professions, and for the possibilities it offers in viewing li- braries as sites for building a politics of the commons.—Melissa A. Hubbard, University at Buffalo Note 1. Federici frequently uses the word “women” to refer to cisgender women whose bodies are capable of producing children. I believe she does so because this artificial conflation of sex and gender is fundamental to the systems of oppression she is exposing in her work. Capitalism and patriarchy position “women” as a biological category destined to engage in reproductive labor because of the assumed reproductive capacities of our bodies. Federici’s arguments in this book would be stronger if she had engaged critically with this use of the word women and its power to reinscribe the gender binary and reinforce patriarchy. Jamie A. Lee. Producing the Archival Body. Oxfordshire, UK: Routledge, 2021. 182p. Hardcover, $160 (ISBN: 978-0367182199). Jamie A. Lee’s Producing the Archival Body weaves together many timely conversations held both in the academy and among the broader public. The book is organized into two parts, “Body Parts” and “Assembled Bodies in Action.” Each section uses multiple frameworks from somatechnics to queer theory, feminist theory, and archival studies alongside Lee’s personal Book Reviews 533 experiences building the Arizona Queer Archive (AQA). This deep and insightful text will be useful for those with an understanding of archival theory and for those who work within archives as practitioners or schol- ars and others who seek to challenge standard pedagogical approaches to how archives are constructed. Lee’s introduction asks a range of questions: What does it mean to have a body? What does it mean to be a body? What constitutes a body? Lee applies the language of the body, whether referencing a specific hu- man body or a “body of work,” to many things ranging from structure, to container to host, to collection. Throughout the book, Lee urges the reader to think through the ways that archives and bodies are taken for granted. Bodies encapsulate a multiplicity of meanings, often with simultaneously contradictory values, and are understood differently in different cultures around the world. Not everyone in a society is granted the same permission to have a body or to be a body where autonomy and agency are concerned. For the purpose of her book, Lee centers the body through a “… myriad of definitions, from the human and corporeal to the collected and aggravated corpus of records, memories, histories, or what I consider the archival body” (10). Lee makes her bodily location known through the anecdotes of experiences she shares with her readers. By practicing positionality in this way, Lee enriches the reader’s understanding of the ways that archival bodies are produced. The juxtaposition of “archival” and “bodies’’ calls attention to the roots of its production, as the origin of the word “archive” denotes an authority over a history. “Body” in this sense denotes the production and maintenance of history itself (57). Lee’s methodology emerges from her work with the AQA as a repository of queer expe- riences in Arizona. The AQA does not simply catalog and store archival material. Through Lee’s oral history interviews and “storytelling,” the AQA presents opportunities for those not represented in mainstream archives to be embodied in a way that moves beyond norma- tive archival standards. She presents eloquent cases of why questioning these standards is important and how heterochrononormative standards in the archival process has rendered certain bodies to the periphery (80). A major contribution that this work brings to the archival field is the concept that Lee calls contextual relationality through which she remedies an important lack in the field, that being “touch.” The aesthetic stereotypes of an archive as institutional repositories with tow- ers of bankers boxes and Hollinger boxes filled with documents and records seems to deny any aspect of touch; while handling materials, one must wear a white glove to sift through them. Lee’s book on bodies comes to us during the Covid-19 pandemic, when many are sore for touch and where digital boundaries seem to deny this. This isolation abounds as we are restricted to virtual interfaces to protect our communities. A book covering any aspect of bodies would be remiss without covering touch; through Lee’s anecdotes about the storytell- ing methodology and interviews she engages in, she reminds us that touch is still integral to our body’s integrity, whether it’s giving a hug after an interview or the emotive connections built on touching someone’s heart after truly recognizing and acknowledging them (102). The contextual relationality that Lee sets forth as a method in creating the AQA’s finding aid is a refreshing take that embodies touch as a cornerstone for this finding medium, where its effectiveness is evident “through a method of storytelling and through relating stories that 534 College & Research Libraries May 2022 offer an interactive exchange … it makes an archival document accessible through imagined and engaged relations” (59). In Producing the Archival Body, she queers the archive in this way by introducing methods, forms of relation, and a deconstruction of time that call into question the privileging of certain archival practices over others. Lee concludes her book with hashtags such as #SayTheirNames, #BlackLivesMatter, #BlackTransLivesMatter, #BlackTransMovement, #MMIW, #MMIWG, #MMIWG2S, and #NoMoreStolenSisters (162). These hashtags follow discussions ranging from police brutal- ity against Black people in the United States and missing and murdered Indigenous women. Coincidentally, at the time of writing this review, the United States is following the case of Gabby Petito, a white woman who disappeared in the Grand Tetons of Wyoming following a dispute with her boyfriend. “Producing the Archival Body” arrives at a time where larger critical conversations are being held around the coverage of different bodies and challenge the roles archivists play not just as managers of history but as creators of history and the bodies it holds. Living in the Covid-19 pandemic and following these conversations and hashtags do not diminish the loss of Petito; rather, they bring up the uneven media coverage of miss- ing people, namely the lack of coverage of missing black, brown, and indigenous women. Producing the Archival Body will touch any archivist’s heart, as it is a well-crafted love letter to the field on how we can all do better in questioning our daily practices and reconstruct archives toward a liberatory framework. Lee holds true to her claim at the beginning of the introduction where she promises that “at the end of this book, you and I will both be differ- ent” (1).—Jade Levandofsky, University of California, Los Angeles Jeanie Austin. Library Services and Incarceration: Recognizing Barriers, Strengthening Access. Chicago, IL: ALA Neal-Schuman, 2021. 208p. Paper, $54.99 (ISBN 978-0-8389-4945-0). The ongoing crisis of mass incarceration and racialized, violent policing in the United States touches more aspects of our daily lives than many realize, and libraries are no exception. Library furniture built by exploited prison labor, book and information censorship, reference by mail requests, police presence in libraries as security, re-entry services for formerly incarcerated community members: these are just a small handful of the ways in which libraries and library workers are integrated into the carceral system in the United States. People experiencing incarceration are often marginalized or entirely omitted from discussions of censorship, both in popular and professional discourse, and library services for incarcerated people rarely make more than a brief appearance in LIS school curricula. There has never been a better time to correct these concerns. Although prison libraries and librarianship have been discussed and championed within the library profession for nearly a century now, Austin’s Library Services and Incarceration: Recognizing Barriers, Strengthening Access comes at a time of “deep introspection and critical engagement” [xi] for the LIS field; it charges us to not only rethink prison librarianship and information access, but also larger issues of incarceration in a society that imprisons more people than any other country in the world. The text is not only thorough and highly informa- tive, but powerful and reflective in its abolitionist approach. One of the greatest strengths of the book is its explicit linkage of past and present scholarship, not just in LIS, but in fields like surveillance studies, criminology, gender studies, critical carceral studies, law, and history.