Exotic dancing as a profession is something rarely spoken about, even though it is a large industry and ubiquitous presence in even the smallest of towns.

“Bare,” by Elisabeth Eaves, provides a much-needed glimpse into the lives of female strippers, as well as an exploration of the issues that surround the profession.

Eaves takes the reader through her experiences as a professional dancer, most of which were spent at a peep show venue called the “Lusty Lady” in Seattle.

While working at the Lusty Lady, she befriends many of her co-workers, and “Bare” tells the story of Maya, Cassandra, Satire and Delilah, their tales interwoven with Eaves’ own.

Exploring her impetus to be a stripper from beginning to end, Eaves starts the book with her conceptions of her body, sexuality and nudity as a child, and recounts her initial exposure to the fact that being female and good-looking qualified her to be a sex object, even as a young girl.

Eaves has a typical teenage experience, spending her time out with friends and boyfriends, experimenting with fashion and on occasion drugs and alcohol, and rebelling against her parents.

She begins her job as a stripper simply to make money and get herself out of debt — which she had racked up by buying a house with her boyfriend — and into graduate school.

After overcoming her initial fears and nervousness, Eaves, who took the stage name Leila, finds a large amount of freedom and power as the sexual center of attention.

The rest of the novel questions why this power exists, and its implications in her personal life.

The story of her co-workers also plays heavily into her own, and she juxtaposes her experiences with the varying experiences of many of her friends.

Eaves ends up with quite a different set of beliefs about stripping than she had when her tale began.

I can’t say enough about this eye-opening book. Eaves is self-effacing, articulate and downright forceful without browbeating the reader into accepting her beliefs.

The mysterious lure of the subject matter stirred in with Eaves’ lucid and intelligent writing makes “Bare” a provocative tale of intrigue that bares all about stripping and the people who make it their career.

Every one of the 295 pages is crammed with questions about how society regards strippers and women in general, nudity, sexuality, relationship boundaries and a host of others too numerous to mention.

Breadth does not lead Eaves away from examining issues deeply and with profundity; the curiosity she has about everything surrounding stripping is rather infectious.

Eaves’ background in reporting is apparent in the way she meticulously describes every scene, even those containing graphic sexuality, with taste, balance and objectivity; never does the book jump the tracks and become steamy porn.

“Bare” is not only an intellectual journey, but an emotional one. Eaves questions her friends’ motives and her own, providing the reader with insight into complex feelings on her decisions in her personal and professional life.

From the very first page, Eaves develops a captivating relationship with the reader. Reading “Bare” is not like reading a journal, nor is it like reading an academic sociology book, but rather an amalgamation of both: It has elements of the personal narrative perfectly entwined with those of the objective insights into societal norms.

The only qualm I had with the book, albeit a minor one, was how jumpy the story seemed at times; I occasionally had trouble placing events in chronological order.

This balance is not limited to Eaves’ own story, however. When she relates the lives of her friends involved in the business of stripping, she is simultaneously compassionate and coldly questioning.

“Bare” has made it onto my shelf as something I will read again in the future, and I recommend that everyone give this book a try.