“THE ATMOSPHERE CRASHES IN, a singular vibe refined by generations, part carnival midway and part hypermodern clinic, with a splash of a foreign bar from a fragment of a dream, all wrapped in a fragrant mélange of soap, solvents, and pheromones. It’s Saturday and the stereo blares an opera from the Met. A creepy German woman is going on about something, God knows what, but she’s clearly insane and has found her perfect venue at long last. Every square inch of the walls is covered in a dense riot of bright, twisting images. Everything is buzzing, the atmosphere charged to explode, like a claymore mine packed with acorns of magic.

In front of me this beautiful canvas sighs, indicating her willingness to proceed. There is a dimple in the swell of her hip. A lone freckle rides high on her side. These features will be my frame for the next few hours.”

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– John Irving, author of Last Night in Twisted River, Until I Find You, The Fourth Hand, A Widow for One Year, Trying to Save Peggy Sneed, A Son of the Circus, A Prayer for Owen Meany, The Cider House Rules, The World According to Garp, The 158-Pound Marriage, The Water-Method Man, Setting Free the Bears

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The topic is prickly, but Tattoo Machine is a charmer. Jeff Johnson is a sharp-eyed master tattoo artist, and an extraordinary writer. His own remarkable story of up-from-under redemption weaves through this engaging, gritty, and meticulous examination of the shadowed art of personal symbolism. As co-owner and manager of the famed Sea Tramp Tattoo shop in Portland, Oregon, Johnson has 18 years of hard-won insider knowledge. He presents that expertise with lyrical prose, savage humor, and enormous compassion. In the process he documents a seismic shift in cultural attitudes.

Thirty years ago, when I first started looking at tattoos in a serious way, skin art was commonly associated with criminals and drunken sailors. Cops assumed any woman with a tattoo was a prostitute. There were artists and mystics who flaunted the outlaw aura of their tattoos. But there was also a secret world in which engineers, business tycoons and surgeons hid elaborate tattoos beneath their suits and scrubs. A prim, strict trauma nurse of my acquaintance took years to complete the storm of Japanese plum blossoms that whirled around her torso. Only her closest friends knew what she considered her true identity.

Now, that secret world has exploded into the light. More than half the working adults in the United States casually sport at least one tattoo. Johnson gives us not just the why but the how of this transfiguration. He provides an entertaining dictionary of tattoo lingo, and a primer on what to look for and what to avoid in shopping for a tattoo. He explains what’s going on in the needle, the mind of the artist, the skin of the tattooed, and the back room, basement and latrines of the tattoo shop. He tracks the rapid evolution of the art and the fierce rivalry of different schools of design and technique. And he does all this with vivid characters, mesmerizing human tales-within-tales, and plenty of scabrous shenanigans. Tattoo Machine is informative, intelligent, and beautifully written. Marked or un-marked, the reader comes away with wiser, more generous eyes.—Katherine Dunn

Katherine Dunn is the author of three novels, Attic, Truck, and Geek Love, which was a finalist for the National Book Award.

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Mr. Johnson writes, “Every tattoo has a story. Every cover up has two.” What is an artist to do if he or she, heaven forbid, misspells a word or, worse, a name? It happens more than you’d think, apparently. Even Mr. Johnson has done it, as he tells us in one particularly funny but scarifying account.

Ever wonder exactly who — other than a vast number of young people these days — gets tattooed? Buy and read “Tattoo Machine,” and you’ll learn that Mr. Johnson has inked the skin of “professional athletes, nervous coeds, age-defying moms, newlyweds and sociopaths.” And you thought it was just you.

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There’s the homesick Lone Star State G.I. who drew a copy of his state’s flag from memory for the artist to create and then returned later shouting, “This ain’t the flag of Texas, and I ain’t no f – - – in’ Portugese!”

Musing on dozens of cases of surprise tattoos gone wrong, Johnson notes, “It’s amazing how many people can’t spell their spouse’s name.”

Woven throughout Johnson’s funny, outlandish and sometimes disturbing anecdotes about drug-addled tattooists who fall asleep while blotching the arms of customers, scam artists who promise sex for services rendered, and the still-at-large serial killer who embazoned his victims’ names on his body, is an intricately rendered history of a once-marginal service industry.

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The Sea Tramp Tattoo Co. is the oldest tattoo parlor in Portland, but it’s not the Shop That Time Forgot. Sure, there are some old military recruiting posters high on the south wall, and some of the flash — the drawings by tattoo artists that show their skills — that covers the walls dates back to when Uncle Sam was looking for Doughboys, but this is a clean, well-lighted place where the artists step outside to smoke and co-owner Jeff Johnson says he’s only called the cops once in almost 20 years.

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