Book Review : Tattoo Machine - Tall Tales, True Stories and My Life in Ink

Before my family's Epic Road Trip, I packed up my two teens and headed to one of our fave places in the whole city of Portland: Powell's City of Books.  I turned them loose in the caverns of the mammoth bookstore  with a prime directive.  "Find two books you can enjoy on this road trip that will keep your sanity (and mine!)"

As they searched for titles in the Rose Room I prowled around the various levels waiting for a book to call out to me. If it dared. I am a bonafide bookhound with a stack of books constantly queued up on my nightstand as well as my office and other corners around the house.  I did not need to buy any books for our Epic Road Trip. I already knew which two books I was picking from the line-up.

But then, there it was. I can't even remember which room I came upon it.  The cover caught my eye. I judge books by their cover and their title and this one hooked my attention on both counts.  Tattoo Machine - Tall Tales, True Stories and My Life in Ink.

Ok. This got the book off the shelf and into my hands. But was it any good?

I scanned the backcover noting that the author, Jeff Johnson, is an owner of Portland's Seatramp Tattoo Company, a shop I've driven by many times on Grand Avenue. 

 The book's author is an experienced tattoo artist and this book is his memoir.

But...and this is the biggest hurdle to cross with me as a reader...is the book any good?  He might have a reputation as a great tattoo artist, but can he write? I did my final test for an unknown writer, my  Random Read Test. This is where  I fan the pages open and randomly stop and start reading. It's kind of like web surfing. The average cyber visitor will give a website about seven seconds before they decide whether to stay or move on. I typically give a book about a quarter to a half page of reading before I make a decision.

I knew I had a keeper when I was on my third page.

And so, my kids and I checked out of Powell's with $78 of books. Three each for them (they always find an extra title and hey, am I gonna deny them the pleasure of reading??!!) and a new copy of  Tattoo Machine safely tucked away in my oversized bag.

Days later I cracked it open while Jerry navigated our Road Beast on a Utah highway. We were headed for Zion National Park and other scenic places scattered around the Utah-Arizona desert lands. I should have been able to finish it on our 2000 mile Epic Road Trip, but the stunning canyons with their red hues and jagged edge kept me from reading very much.

Back in Portland we've  had to take our 16-year old daughter to OHSU for a scheduled surgery. Totally on edge as my nerves frayed at the thought of my baby girl under the surgeon's knife, I packed Tattoo Machine to keep me company for what I knew would be long nights of vigil at her bedside. Long nights they've been,  but Tattoo Machine has been a great companion when my husband and mom left us for the evening.

All of this to say, Tattoo Machine is a great read and Jeff Johnson is an amazing writer. This book is  more than tall tales and true stories of the tattoo scene of his Seatramp shop and life.  Johnson provides well-crafted writing about the insights he has gained from his weird and true stories as a Portland swamp panther. The  storytelling is vivid. He  totally induces the so-called fictive dream, that trance-like state that takes a reader like me to the place of the storytelling.

If you've ever wanted to know what it's like to hang out with tattoo artists and their shops, here's your chance. This is not a reality tv-show with glamorous divas or heartbreaking stories to make the tattoo a ritual of meaning. Instead, Johnson describes a kind of sub-culture of Portland - my beloved Portland! - that's not as far off the lined pages as one might think. Turns out people are people no matter what they do for a living or how late they might do it at...which, by the way, Seatramp is distinct for also being one of the only late night tattoo shops in the city. If you're in Portland and it's midnight and you finally decide to get your grandma's name inked on your bicep, Seatramp is the rare shop that you'll find open (10am - 2am seven days a week).

Johnson writes with a lot of snark and humor. At times I laughed out loud. Like when I read this description he had of vegan tattoo clients:

Vegans smell like fried chicken when they sweat. And they tend to pass out. For heaven's sake, can't something be done about this?

My friend Mimi came to the hospital to sit a spell with me (that's what southern woman do to show they care and Mimi, with her Tennessee lilt, is a great sitter). She saw my copy of  Tattoo Machine and told me she had read it. "I got it from the library," she drawled. 

"Did you like it?" I asked,  surprised that my virgin-skin southern friend would be interested in a book about a tattoo artist. But then again, it really shouldn't surprise me. Mimi is a brilliant writer who really shines when she writes memoir. She's a great storyteller and like most storytellers, she loves to hear and read a good story. Memoir is one of her favorite genres to read.

"Free tattoos," she flatly said. "That was a good story when you get to it."

"Free tattoos," I repeated.

"Yep, free tattoos,"said Mimi.

Mimi and I both have southern roots which means we both have stories of bigotry and racism in our past. 

I read the free-tattoos-story. Chapter five. Mimi was right. And with our southern heritage pocked with Aryanesque bitterness, it made the free-tattoos-story even more poignant. I'm sure I'll be retelling it for years to come. And I'm sure you'll spot it as fast as I did...  free tattoos story.

I'm not an artist. I can barely doodle. But I do like tattoo art and I have "collected" a nice number of tattoo pieces over the years, most recently on my arms. Since I was 14 years old I have enjoyed the images and colors of tattoos, but it would take years before I would appreciate the art craft that it is. Once I hit my forties I began to get the art that I denied myself for so long. It wasn't a mid-life crisis. I prefer to describe it as a mid-life evaluation. Middle-aged men buy sports cars; many women remodel their kitchens or take luxurious trips to Europe.

I got tattoos.

Like this one. Meet Rita Mae. Traci Manley of New Rose Tattoo in southeast Portland did this one.  I always wanted a pin-up girl tattoo and since I recently retired from my trade as a cleaning woman it seemed like a good time to finally get one.

I have other art I've gotten in my post-forties mid-life evaluation years. I've been to several shops in the Portland metro area over the years and have become acquainted with several artists and heard about many others  around the city.  Tattooed people are always exchanging information about who, what , when and where. It's kind of like talking about where you get your hair done. Or where you buy shoes. Reading Tattoo Machine was more  interesting for me as a Portlander since the author  he mentioned some of the city's artists and shops I've heard about mentions the tattoo-scape of our city.

Tattoo collectors like me are customers. I was glad to note in his memoir that Johnson  has this in his mind and is respectful of those who give him their business. I have walked into a few shops where the coolness-vibe was so effin' off the chart that I  did not have enough of the coolness factor to even warrant an artist's welcome or acknowledgment.

A certain shop in Portland is notorious for this kind of vibe. Other tattoo artists I know have said, "I'm not even cool enough to walk into that shop!"  When I started the book  I was a bit nervous if Johnson would be one of those arrogant inksters and write disparagingly of ordinary people like me who happen to enjoy tattoo art on our bodies. Nope. He does tell some great tales of interesting clientale, and for sure he writes with scathing contempt for those on both sides of the needle who he perceives as a menace for whatever reason. But he is respectful, even at times tender, as he tells of the many different people from all walks of life who have  walked through Seatramp's doors.

So, here I sit, still at the hospital. My mom is with Rose who should be able to come home tomorrow. This is her third night here. I don't normally blog reviews from hospitals but writing, like reading, is a way for me to pass the time while I wait it out for my daughter to be well enough to come home.  {An interesting side note:  Johnson writes about time he has spent in Monterey, California and it's famous Cannery Row. We lived there for a few years back in the nineties. Rose was born there. That was a cool connection to read about}



Don't ask to read my copy. I just gave it away to some scratcher who told me about his living room tattoo operation. He noticed my arm tattoos when he walked into the hospital family lounge. Maybe if he reads this book and pays attention to Johnson's experience and wisdom he won't stay a scratcher but can some day be a bona-fide pussy-eating swamp panther like Johnson and his Seatramp cohorts.

I live in this skin. I will be me from now on, and I respect your right not to give a shit what I'm doing right here. -from Jeff Johnson's Tattoo Machine