In the late nineteen seventies, behind the walls of a California prison, a red light glows. Inside a small, foam-lined booth, a man leans toward a microphone. His voice is a deep, steady baritone—the kind you trust instinctively. Hour after hour, he reads, turning the pages of novels, textbooks, and technical manuals, while the reels of a tape recorder spin silently, capturing every word.
This...
