The situation at Winn went downhill from there, as Bauer revealed in a 35,000-word exposé that ran in Mother Jones in the summer of 2016, an article that immediately became one of the most celebrated achievements in that venerable publication’s recent renaissance. “American Prison” reprises that page-turning narrative, and adds not only the fascinating back story of CCA, the nation’s first private prison company, but also an eye-opening examination of the history of corrections as a profit-making enterprise, of which the advent of the private prisons that now house 8 percent of American inmates is only the latest chapter.

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Bauer’s reporting has inevitably sparked comparisons to Ted Conover’s book “Newjack,” for which the renowned journalist spent a year in the late 1990s working at New York’s infamous Sing Sing prison to better understand what it’s like to pursue a career as a professional jailer. But this is not what Bauer is writing about, because a career is not what a company like CCA offers its employees. At Sing Sing, which is staffed by state employees, new hires spend two months at a training academy, enjoy good pay and benefits guaranteed by a strong union, are supervised by seasoned officers and can look forward to a decent retirement. At Winn, Bauer gets four weeks of training — when his instructors show up, that is — and the pay starts at $9 per hour. He soon discovers that all guards earn that rate, no matter how long they have worked at Winn. The only way to earn more is to make rank, but most don’t stay long enough to get promoted. Turnover is so high and staffing so short that Bauer himself is asked to begin training cadets less than seven weeks into his tenure.

The company’s main concern seems to be maintaining parity with the local Walmart, where the pay is comparable, and the conditions presumably less anxiety-inducing. “People say … we’ll hire anybody,” the prison’s head of training tells Bauer and his fellow cadets. “Which is not really true, but if you come here and you breathing and you got a valid driver’s license and you willing to work, then we’re willing to hire you.” (Yes, that is an exact quote — Bauer carried a recording device concealed in a pen.) If you like that line, you’ll love this book; the sheer number of forehead-slapping quotes from Bauer’s superiors and fellow guards alone are worth the price of admission.

Every management decision at Winn, Bauer discovers, is dictated by one imperative: maintaining profitability by squeezing expenses. This begins with the low pay, which leads to staffing shortages dire enough to threaten the safety of both guards and inmates. But the crisis at Winn goes much deeper. During his four-month tenure, Bauer documents a dozen stabbings; scores of “use of force” incidents (far more than at comparable state-run units); cell doors that can be opened by inmates; atrocious medical care; and a seemingly preventable inmate suicide. He records guards shamelessly admitting that they trained bloodhounds by using actual inmates, beat inmates outside the view of cameras and routinely failed to perform the most basic elements of their jobs.

“Ain’t no order here,” a convict says. “Inmates run this bitch, son.” It is less of a boast than a complaint, because the situation is dangerous for everybody involved. If Conover set out to discover what it’s like to be in charge of a prison, Bauer asks a different question: What is it like to work — or serve time — in a prison where nobody is in charge?