The good prison officer By A. Brierley (Ed.), Abingdon: Routledge. 2023. pp. 139. £120.00 (hbk); £34.99 (pbk). ISBN: 9781032394398; 9781032394404

The existence of this book is itself something of a triumph. The overlapping fields of ‘lived ‘participation’, ‘co-production’ and ‘lived experience’ have been around long enough for its premise – the question of what is a ‘good prison officer’ – not to be a novel idea, and yet – as claimed in the foreword – it is the first time that such a collection has been written and edited by a team of people with experience of imprisonment. The book comprises nine chapters, from seven contributors, who each consider the question of what makes a good prison officer, based to a large extent on their own personal experiences over time. It thus positions knowledge derived from personal interactions at the front and centre of its epistemology.

There is lots to like about the book. The title might seem oxymoronic to people who have experienced the tension and mutually hostile relationship dynamics that exist between officers and prisoners in institutions designed to contain and punish. It contains an implicit nod to Liebling's appreciative inquiry (Liebling, Price & Elliot, 1999). In seeking out ‘the good’, one is hopeful, and yet inevitably also encounters examples of ‘the bad’ to help illustrate counter-examples.

The humanity of the book shines through, and the work quickly dismisses simplistic narratives about people in prison. Too often, the worlds of academia, criminal justice practice, and people living through the consequences of system decisions are far apart. The logics that underpin them tend to have us working separately and isolated, encouraging misunderstandings and professional jealousies. Each author reminds us that prison is a hostile environment fostering hypervigilance and ‘tense courtesy’ where trust is a rare commodity and any whiff of kindness needs analysing with curiosity and suspicion. Any new arrival has the potential to threaten periods of hard-won equilibrium. Kierra Myles's chapter (Chapter 5, p.68) emphasises the considerable value of developing a skill for quickly reading a room for threats.

There is a recurring theme of people discovering for themselves – often with the support of others – what has happened to them and how that experience fits, and how they personally fit, into a ‘bigger picture’. Each author recounts a growing awareness of the forces involved in their detention, some of which they have a degree of ‘control’ over, but an accompanying realisation that accrued effects of early life experiences impede their ability to exercise this control meaningfully. I enjoyed the growing sense of epistemic justice as the authors develop it. Their narratives make it clear that the knowledge the authors accrued over time emerges from an amalgam of human interaction, sensory experience and the emotions that such experiences evoke, entwined with, and underpinned by, early life trauma and addictive behaviours that develop partly as a consequence of those experiences. Such analysis has not traditionally been a strength of academic research, which has tended to deny the roles of the emotional and the sensory in knowledge production in favour of colder, harder, ‘objective’ quantitative – and more distant – forms of data. There have been pockets of resistance, and changes over time, and yet researchers working with qualitative data are still painfully familiar with institutionalised accusations that their research is insufficiently robust or valid, replicable or (grits teeth) representative.

Perhaps paradoxically then, the writing tends to be strengthened in the passages when authors reach out for connections with research knowledge. It is these bridges that can fruitfully form the basis for further dialogue and research enquiry, provoking further questions. To an academic reader, these bridges might feel a little weak, unfinished, or crying out for further reinforcement. This may also be the case owing to deficits in the research base. Knowledge produced by research needs insights underpinned by practical experiences in order to progress.

The authors have survived and thrived largely despite the system, not because of it. Kevin Neary's chapter summarises 30 long years in and out of the prison system, experiencing a ‘turbulent ocean of addiction’ (p.42) following a childhood affected by poverty, regular heavy drinking by parents and associated domestic abuse and violence. He calls for greater professional curiosity among officers. A simple, yet significant, shift in their questions focusing not on what was wrong with him but instead exploring ‘what happened to me’ (p.43) would have helped him sooner.

Daniel Whyte's chapter outlines challenges for prison officers to ‘do good’ in their working context. Recognising how his own attitudes and behaviour initially limited the ways in which officers could interact with him, he recounts a poignant exchange with an officer seeking to help him do his sentence in a healthier way. However, this good work can easily be undermined by the behaviour of other officers. He recalls finding himself subject to unfair practices and injustice when an officer tried to cover up an initial oversight. This type of minor dispute can be magnified in the prison context, especially when another officer is drawn in to support a colleague. Daniel reflects that studying to improve his lot through education also served to provoke some staff resentment. This might be shocking to an outsider, yet also unsurprising. It provokes a question in me about whether this resentment might have been lessened if greater value were placed on the education and training of prison staff. I write this following the European Prison Education Association (EPEA) conference, held in Norway. There we heard that all Norwegian officers have a two-year higher education qualification, with the option to undertake a third (Eide & Westrheim, 2020). There are also plans in place for a relevant Masters qualification. If there is a better way to indicate the importance of a profession than by investing in its education, training and support, I would like to hear about it. By contrast, a recent HMPPS job advertisement informs potential applicants: ‘You don't need qualifications to become a prison officer’ (HM Prison and Probation Service, First time prison officer recruitment scheme – male prisons. Available at: https://www.civilservicejobs.service.gov.uk/csr/jobs [Accessed 10 October 2023].

Interestingly, the book makes little mention of education in prison (p.77), whether for staff or prisoners. Perhaps one can be a good prison officer without a good education, but the lack of recognition for the professional skills associated with work in prisons, with minimal training and education requirements, noted in Shadd Maruna's foreword, communicates something dangerous both within and beyond the prison boundary. Kierra Myles's observation that ‘it is more than just the prison officers; it is the leaders’ (p.73) resonates. The leaders are largely absent here and this reflects a wider issue in a sector that has seen frequent changes in prison governors, and unprecedented turnover in justice secretaries over the previous decade.

Devon Ferns's chapter describes examples of staff trying to provide safety and comfort in an inherently ‘… challenging and uncomfortable carceral space’ (p.95). These people succeeded in stepping slightly out of their protective role to give something of their real selves (p.96). The book would have benefitted from a chapter by a (good) prison officer. This might reasonably be the focus of a separate book, but there remains a gap for a project that brings together perspectives of officers and prisoners together in one volume. Professional experiences are very relevant here, partly because good work can be undermined by actions that erode trust and good relationships. It also leads to the question of whether a large proportion of officers exhibit both good and bad behaviours. If so, what are the conditions that facilitate or promote good officer behaviour? Are there particular spaces conducive to trustworthy, empathetic behaviour? I do not recall an example of an officer openly challenging or counteracting the bad behaviour of another. If such behaviour occurs, it is possible that it takes place away from the gaze of people in prison. This is one example where staff insight would be valuable. The interactions recounted are often one-to-one; some hidden kindness here, a timely favour there. What does it mean then to be a good prison officer across different spaces, or contexts? Max Dennehy's chapter reflects briefly on how the use of space, and the interactions allowed therein, played ‘a significant role in providing brief respite from the intensity' (p.55). His conclusion suggests a need for ‘the repurposing of space’ (p.61) to render it more flexible, more open to dialogic exchange and negotiation. I would be interested to learn more about this in future.

Chapter authors discuss relatively socially acceptable crimes that happened a fairly long time ago; there is a suitable degree of distance, which is understandable. It is noteworthy there is not a chapter from someone convicted of sexual offences. As James Docherty explicitly notes, even as a child he ‘… knew what happened to sex offenders in these places’ (p.109). I am not suggesting a tick box approach to authors representative of different offence types, but it is unlikely that a person in such circumstances would be displaying their real name or prison ID. They may have a particular perspective on what makes a good prison officer for someone in their position with a label that frequently puts them at the bottom of the prison social hierarchy, rendered vulnerable to attacks.

The book serves to remind us of the importance of relationships and the power of hope. All contributors are consistent in their view that relationships are the agents of change. James Docherty's chapter argues for appreciating experience of prison as part of the ‘… multi-faceted solution to the issues and barriers people face in overcoming life-long adversities’ (p.113). Brierley suggests that the production of the book itself ‘constitutes a symbolic action of progress’ (p.6). Everyone involved in the book has made an important contribution to understanding about prisons, and the significance of interactions between prisoners and staff in the spaces they share. As a pedantic reader, it was slightly disappointing to notice quite a few minor grammatical and typographical errors or omissions. It is surely the job of ‘the good publisher’ to match these efforts with sufficient resources made available for proofreading.

At its best, the book could be a catalyst for further dialogue that emerges from these unique chapters. The final chapter, ‘Time for change’ suggests that policymakers are an intended audience, but the recommendations feel quite broad, a little rushed and would benefit from greater precision and coherence. As someone with experience of developing prison-university partnerships, facilitating prison classroom spaces with university students and prison learners, I see the value of a potential session, or course, exploring the question: ‘What makes a good prison officer?’, drawing on insights from the book to promote discussion of ideas and practice. It raises the bar and must surely have prompted the publisher to consider a related criminal justice series: The good … probation officer … magistrate … police officer … prosecutor?

Such an approach is welcome because it returns focus to the professional values and skills central to helping the system work as humanely as possible. The book elevates the discussion beyond minimum standards, rules and guidelines to help understand the humanity of staff and prisoners sharing living and working conditions in institutions designed for punishment. Here staff struggle to provide the relational resources (Brierley, Introduction, p.18) that enable people to interact in a more meaningful, trustworthy manner and allow people the chance to move on from sentences with dignity. Credit to everyone involved for their courage and thoughtfulness in provoking a much-needed conversation.