There’s so much of the star today that a “Rihanna” book becomes, ultimately, a glamorous photo dump. The acts of singing-as-Rihanna, partying-as-Rihanna, texting-on-a-yacht-as-Rihanna are all parts of her performance. As the chapters move along, it seems as if this is a book meant to show us her life — the magnitude of it, the busyness of it — rather than share it. Only a few pages are devoted to studio shots; the only man to make a significant appearance here is her grandfather, and even he’s partying. She’s more often flanked by women: her mother and her best friends. The most interesting surprises come in inserts: storyboards for the “Bitch Better Have My Money” music video, a reveal showing her smoking a joint in Dior at Dior, and handwritten notes from fashion designers that turn hilariously from glowing to groveling.