One hundred photographs, one hundred photographers, one question: what does photojournalism look like when the person behind the camera is not a man? *Women Photograph: What We See*, published by White Lion Publishing in 2023, is the organization’s first book, and it answers by example rather than by argument.

The structure is deliberately plain. Each of the hundred pictures is followed by roughly two hundred words from the photographer who made it — the situation, the people in the frame, the reason for pressing the shutter. The images reach across five decades and across subjects: major news events, among them the aftermath of 11 September, sit beside communities that mainstream reporting has tended to overlook or misrepresent. Lynsey Addario, Susan Meiselas, Cristina de Middel, Ami Vitale, Carol Guzy and Lola Flash are among the contributors; the full roster runs to one hundred names, drawn from many countries and many ways of working, from conflict reporting to portrait and long-form documentary.

Women Photograph, the organization behind the book, frames the project around a figure its editors cite repeatedly: that some 85 percent of photojournalists are men, and that the world therefore sees through a narrow position. The response here is not to add a few names to an existing record but to show the range of what these photographers notice, in their own words. Read in sequence, the book resembles a set of individual accounts more than an overview of a genre.

Daniella Zalcman and Sara Ickow organized the volume; Kat Chow wrote the foreword. It is a 224-page hardcover, 170 by 230 mm, and it received a Foreword INDIES award in 2023. For a collector, the argument for it is not scarcity but completeness: a full hundred-name roster preserved alongside the photographers’ own commentary makes it a useful reference point for a period when institutions were re-examining who gets to look, and for the work of women and nonbinary photojournalists in particular.

Its plainness is the point. The pairing of image and authorial voice, rather than a gallery of anonymous pictures, gives the book a documentary value beyond its individual frames.