Pimp: The Story of My Life

This is one brutal book, and a damn good one. Slim writes with a fire that you rarely see even from great authors at their best. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything, nor does he lace his narrative with apologies to reassure delicate readers. He simply gives a straightforward account of a cruel world in which the cruelest rise to the top… at least for a while. The book takes place mostly on the south side of Chicago between the late 1930s and the late 1950s. Slim, then going by the name Young Blood, arrives from Milwaukee with about one week of experience pimping his girlfriend, Phyllis. He finds a hotel on a street where rich white tricks cruise for black whores, turns his girl out on the street, and then goes looking for more to recruit. On his first night in Chicago, in the spring of 1938, he sees a man beat an unconscious woman almost to death in front of a huge crowd of onlookers. The man then lifts the woman onto his shoulder, throws her into his car and drives off. Slim turns to another man in the crowd: <blockquote> I said, “That stud would have gotten busted sure as hell if the heat had made the scene.” He stepped back and looked at me like I was fresh in town from a monastery in Tibet. He said, “You must be that square, Rip Van Winkle, I heard about. He’s heat. He’s vice heat. They call him Poison. He’s got nine whores. He’s a pimp. The broad is one of them. She got drunk with a trick.” </blockquote> This is part of Slim’s initiation into the cutthroat underworld of a notoriously corrupt city. He calls his neighborhood Hell, and describes a nighttime walk after shooting cocaine: <blockquote> I walked toward a rainbow bouquet of neon maybe ten blocks away. My senses screamed on the razor-edge of cocaine. It was like walking through a battlefield. The streaking headlights of the cars arcing through the night were giant tracer bullets. The rattling, crashing street cars were army tanks. The frightened, hopeless black faces of the passengers peered through the grimy windows. They were battle-shocked soldiers doomed forever to the front trenches. I passed beneath an El-train bridge. A terrified, glowing face loomed toward me in the tunnel’s gloom. It was an elderly white man trapped behind enemy lines. A train furled by overhead. It bombed and strafed the street. The shrapnel fell in gritty clouds. </blockquote> Slim knows he doesn’t yet have the toughness or experience to make it as a pimp in this rough town, so he goes looking for a mentor. <blockquote> I was still black in a white man’s world. My hope to be important and admired could be realized even behind this black stockade. It was simple, just pimp my ass off and get a ton of scratch. Everybody in both worlds kissed your ass black and blue if you had flash and front. </blockquote> Slim soon finds his mentor in the city’s top pimp, Sweet Jones. Sweet, who is close to fifty when they meet, had come to Chicago from Georgia as a teen and made a fortune. He had a stable of ten whores, and was universally feared and respected. Sweet, whose parents had likely been slaves, tells Iceberg that the best pimps, the ones who wrote the book, were freed slaves who had come to Chicago from the South. They saw a world composed of masters and slaves, and they knew which side of that relationship they wanted to be on. Sweet teaches Slim to maintain absolute physical and psychological control over his women through physical brutality and psychological manipulation. The treatment he prescribes is essentially the same playbook that plantation owners practiced on slaves: beat them, gaslight them, remind them at every turn that they are worthless and powerless, wring all you can out of them until they’re physically and psychologically ruined. Then go find new ones to recruit. If you want to be a master, you have to find someone beneath you to enslave, someone even more down and out than yourself. Sweet says, “‘Berg, ain’t but one real Heaven for a pimp. He’s in it when there’s a big pool of raggedy, hungry young bitches.” By that measure, the ghetto in Chicago during the depression, full of desperate souls with no escape, was a pimp’s Heaven. (Though Slim always describes the ghetto as Hell with a capital H.) Both Sweet and Iceberg learned hardness and hatred from the traumas of their youth. As Bessel Van Der Kolk said in his book on trauma, <i>The Body Keeps the Score</i>, “Hurt people hurt other people.” <i>Pimp</i> does have some funny points, like when Iceberg thinks he’s conning someone else, but is actually the one getting conned. The story of how he got his nickname is also a good one, while his sporadic encounters with his parents are painfully poignant. This book would probably be unpublishable today. It would never make it past the sensitivity readers because the author doesn’t ask for sympathy or forgiveness, nor does he engage in the kind of moral hand-holding readers today seem to demand. He does not condemn each atrocity in the same breath as he reports it. He trusts his readers to be adult enough to recognize the horrors of the world he describes. His conscience does begin to creep in over time, but for the most part, he simply chronicles world as it was, and the things he and others did to survive. That may be too much for some readers. I don’t know why Iceberg Slim and Donald Goines are not taught in university literature programs. I went through two degrees without ever hearing of either author. Maybe it’s because the professors interested in “literary diversity” only like the kind of diversity that doesn’t offend their sensibilities. Maybe they insist their authors be squarely on the “right” side of every issue, lamenting wrongs instead of portraying them in a way the reader actually feels. Or maybe the professors think writers like Slim and Goines are too lowbrow, too sensational. The fact is, virtually all of the West’s “classic” literature was popular literature in its day, and it was popular precisely because audiences could connect with it on a visceral level. Shakespeare himself wrote partly to appeal to the illiterate groundlings, while Charles Dickens published his revered novels as serials in bi-weekly penny papers targeted at the uneducated masses. If today’s academics had been there at the time, they may have considered both Shakespeare and Dickens as popular entertainments unworthy of serious study, pointing students instead toward Latin. The works of Slim and Goines have been in print consistently for fifty years, which is an extraordinarily long time in today’s publishing world. They persist because they’re good, because however sensational they may be, they portray something real that people across generations can connect with. I don’t think any rational, sane human being would want to live in the worlds that Slim and Goines portray, but many of them have no choice, and someone has to tell their story.

Well, buckle up, folks, because Iceberg Slim's 'Pimp: The Story of My Life' is not your average self-help book, but let me tell you, it sure broadened my horizons. Forget about those feel-good, sunshine-and-rainbows reads; Iceberg Slim took me on a wild ride through the underbelly of a world I never knew existed – and I kind of loved it. This book is like the Rosetta Stone for decoding the language of the streets. Suddenly, I find myself peppering my conversations with phrases like "turning tricks" and "making that paper," much to the confusion of my grandma during Sunday dinner. Iceberg Slim's storytelling is so vivid and compelling that I feel like I've earned an honorary degree in the School of Street Smarts. Move over, Shakespeare; Slim's prose is the real poetry, describing the mean streets with a poetic flair that's almost enough to make you forget that you're reading about a world of pimps and hustlers. And let's not forget the fashion tips – who knew that a wardrobe consisting entirely of glittering fur coats could be so aspirational? I've started a trend in my suburban neighborhood, and now the local grocery store feels like a runway for my newfound pimp-inspired fashion sense. Iceberg Slim didn't just broaden my horizons; he turned me into a trendsetter. But in all seriousness, 'Pimp' is more than just a glimpse into a gritty underworld. It's a raw, unfiltered memoir that forces you to confront the harsh realities of life. Iceberg Slim's journey from the streets to the pages of his own life story is a testament to resilience, redemption, and the power of storytelling. So, if you're looking for a book that broadens your horizons and gives you a crash course in street slang and fur coat appreciation, 'Pimp' is the unexpected guidebook you never knew you needed. Just be prepared to explain to your friends why you suddenly have a penchant for rhinestone-studded canes and a newfound swagger in your step.

This is an amazing read and exposes a rarely seen side to America from a pure genius in terms of writing and story telling and bringing the reader along for the experience few will ever see or necessarily want to, except through this format. Extreme violence is continually paired with what creates it; systemic injustice. It is as much an expose on the horrid realities of African American Life, due to systemic racism and a lack of accountability for the unspoken truths about implicit racism that reinforce it, as it is about the horrors of being guilty of being both in poverty and a woman, treated like a horse in a stable. The choices left black men and women in poverty during the Jim Crow and Civil Rights Eras (and today) are fully on the table for all to see and experience from a voice that cares not for how the message is received as much as what it explains. Iceberg Slim is neither the protagonist, nor the antagonist. He is neither defending nor condemning his behavior; only sharing it. One need only contrast the culture in a neighboring "wealthy, whites only" neighborhood in the book to see the dichotomy of judgment inherent in our culture, and how the biggest, baddest pimp might earn the right to live in it. The manipulation of attitudes and defeated positions of the sex trade leaves little to the imagination, human sex trafficking and drug dealing being central subjects that are fleshed out in the book in the most stark terms and in a language the reader must learn to understand. The reader is left to acknowledge how the system in America allows whites to find safety, security, and success without major hurdles, while their black brothers and sisters in America do not receive the same benefits and have to hurdle walls others never had to (or want to) see only to be pushed back down if successful. In short, the book shows what white privilege truly is by demonstrating what white privilege never sees nor still wants to see. We all have choices to make and everyone is accountable for their own choices, but when the choices provided to one do not mirror that of another in society (equity and justice), the system itself must change or take full responsibility for the scenario it has created. We all share that responsibility.

Pimp is a unique look into a dark world that not many people get to see and much less relate to. Robert Beck takes the reader on a journey to witness his captivating transgression from an abused and emotionally scarred child into a misogynistic money hungry beast. Poverty, prison, a missing role model, and the general feeling of hopelessness commonplace in the ghetto made Beck a product of his environment. One which surrounded him by nefarious individuals who also contributed in molding this young man into the now infamous, Iceberg Slim. These factors result into a sad and disturbing premise for Beck's story. Although I must say that once you read it for yourself, you will no longer be surprised that he ended up the way he did. What will surprise you was the way he somehow managed to muster the strength to rise above this squalid lifestyle. Beck has a knack for graphic detail and uses ample doses of it throughout. He is apparently a brutally honest person who was no objections telling you about the pimp game from his uncensored perspective. Not necessarily to glamorize this sort of life; he just refuses to pull punches. And personally, I can appreciate this sort of 'realness.' The dialogue and descriptions are peppered with pimp slang that sometimes is confusing and gives the impression that he is writing in a different language. Thankfully, Beck includes a glossary (which is quite amusing in itself) for some of these more obscure terms. But this did very little to detract from the message Beck was conveying. Overall I enjoyed this book thoroughly and would recommend it to nearly anybody.

Fascinating autobiographical sketch by a pimp from the 30-40s. The subtle and not-so subtle (to me anyway) psychology between the pimp and his whores and between pimps was exposed marvellously. His life of con artistry, dope shooting (he was most "Icey" when banging coke), pimping high-life, doing time and living large was quite amazing. He was blessed with an extraordinarily high IQ, and is a powerful writer, even in the colloquialisms of his day (fortunately, the editor highlighted the slang so dumb white folks like me could look up the words in the index). My alltime favorite passage was his buddy "Party Time" recounting how it was necessary to drive his "number one whore" insane afgter a while. The "number one whore" was the whore in a stable who would recruit, organize and sexually abuse the lower level whores. Apparently they would gradually, after a few years of service, learn to passionately hate the pimp, and plot to ruin his life and career. This is apparently an inevitable occurrence when a number one whore felt her charms fading. To avoid this occupational hazard, a pimp must get rid of her somehow, when she has outlived her usefulness. Murder, fear, abandonment (iceberg's preferred, and rather ineffective method), palming them off on pimps you don't like were all used. "Party Time" had his own unique "drive them nuts" solution. He would get them addicted to junk. Occasionally slip them a knock out drop into their injection, and have them wake up in a bunch of pigs blood. His (and my) favorite example was hanging an unconcious whore out the window by her feet, then rudely waking her up with a cocaine shot. She apparently screamed until the men in white came to take her away. Perhaps I am a bad person for finding this outrageously funny, as we're apparently talking about real people, but, well, color me bad. It amazes me that this wonderful cultural object survived because of a literate, intelligent man who lived the life.

Couldn’t put it down. Robert Beck (Iceberg Slim) lived a life many of us could never fathom & he wrote about it with stellar flair. A true knack for writing & dare I say a poet at heart, Robert’s unflinching gift at storytelling will have your undivided attention & make you ponder everything when it comes to this game we call life.

Under $10.

True or fiction? You the reader will need to decide. I got sucked into the book after watching the Dave Chappelle Netflix comedy show. I really like the comedian and figured if he “dug” the book, it had to be good. Now, I love to read. It’s like a thurst. Spending all idle time reading. I read anything. What I expect out of a book is exactly what it advertises. If I read a king book. I know I’m getting some kind of dark, deep thinking, horror, fiction. When I bought this book. I thought I purchased a true account of the life of a pimp in the 40’s. The book could very well be all true. I don’t know. What I do know. Is, I find myself reading out loud, in order to make sure my ears hear what my eyes are reading. Some of the claims are beyond outlandish. Or at the very least beyond my ability to comprehend the utter ridiculous accounts. For example: the writer has just picked up a prospect (woman) suddenly put on hard times. This all happens out of “happen stance.” The writer seems lucky that way. Anyway, he hands her money and tells her to exit his car before he goes soft and “let you be my whore.” The women know 100 percent of their take go to the pimp. So how could they possibly see the glamour in it. Plus, the writer in his mind, believes all the women want him. Now, I’m not saying it’s not an interesting read. The content of the book doesn’t bother me. I understood it was a book about pimping. I understood there would be crime, brutality, the double cross. I understood there was a glossary in the back to help, because of the slang. I believed or rather wanted to believe I was going to read a true grit account. I actually think this book is more fiction. Which disappoints. For me, the only real parts are when the writer admits he was a scared eighteen year old kid on the streets trying to survive. I don’t believe women were that easy to “cop” into the game” nor do I believe one can achieve greatness or “God” status in a matter of a few years playing “the game.” I think if I had approached the book as more of a fictional account. I would have been satisfied. This is truly a brutal book. It could be difficult to read for some. I don’t advise for those that are easily disgusted by violence against women in particular. Slim (in my opinion) has a pretty deep seeded hate for women. In closing. Don’t get me wrong. I liked the book. I found some of the outlandish (for lack of a better word) accounts comical. And other parts brutally horrifying. It’s actually a good read. Probably half true half fiction. You decide.

A level of literacy that leaves everybody other than Jane Austen and George Orwell flummoxed, Pimp overflows with original and colourful prose and an amazing view of American life and management in general. a great guide to anyone wanting to lead and achieve success.

Great book.

Fabulous gripping well told story. Confronting truth about street workers and their handlers. Why do they do it remains a mystery.

good book with a somewhat different but pleasant style of writing, makes time fly when you read, gives you a deep insight into the dark life of pimping and prostitution and how a chain of events will change someones moral compass ans thus how they live their life. can't complain.

If you think this book tells about the life of a cassanova, it also comes with a warning about such life, and eventually where it leads to. Mentioned by Cyprian (Vin) Armani while speaking about Andrew Tate and that he himself read it.