No relation to funnyman Caspar, Dutch journalist and former musician Fred de Vries is a familiar name to all regular readers of The Weekender: his specialty is the interview, and this book is a collection of nearly two years of his best work.

But while his name might be familiar, it does not necessarily follow that his writing is, because – with several notable exceptions – de Vries ignored the big names, choosing instead to focus on the sometimes obscure individuals who really interested him.

Many readers ignore interviews with people they have not heard of, especially if the interviewees are unknown [although cutting edge] writers and musicians.

Former Weekender editor Tim Cohen sums it up in his excellent introduction: “I was always pressing him to try and interview more famous people. The axis on which newspapers work is that fame develops its own newsworthiness. Happily, Fred just ignored me and continued submitting interviews of his motley array of weird artists and singers many of which I had never heard of but in a strange way got to like, even though I had never met them.”

Fred de Vries has the gift unique to only the best interviewers of bringing his subjects to life, of making the reader interested in complete strangers, and of giving us a different view of the occasional big names he tackles.

The book is a multi-stranded necklace of gems, each with a slightly different nuance: he had divided the work into five sections, with headings that speak for themselves. The Strings; The Office; The Brush and The Pamphlets. These gems are not alluvial stones, washed to shore and collected effortlessly by a sharp-eyed passer-by, but wrested from the rock only after a lot of sweat and toil.

De Vries’ profiles are precious stones because of the amount of work he puts into an in-depth interview. “You must try to identify with your subject as much as you can; part of you must become him… as an interviewer it’s your job to find ‘the secret’ – everyone has something to hide, everybody has unknown flaws and virtues. You must unmask and demystify your subject. It’s your duty to make him or her human.”

The book gets off to a spectacular start with the Abdullah Ibrahim interview – which should be standard reading for all journalism students – because it demonstrates that no matter how well-prepared or well-disposed the interviewers is, some subjects are simply impossible.

Former journalist and committed Christian Helen Zille made for a lively although non-controversial read; Rian Malan endeared himself to me for the first time by revealing his admiration for the Lenard Cohen song ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’, and Steve Hofmeyr’s jealousy of Bok van Blerk makes him somehow more human.

Just as compelling are characters like the Yeoville writer Kleinboer, the young neo-punk rock trio ‘Japan and I’, suburban white girls who don’t want their fans to know they smoke.

Nikiwe Bikitsha, interviewed shortly before she and John Perlman left SAfm; the mischievous Afrikaans poetess Ronelda Kamfer; dynamic business mogul Eric Mafona, DJ Kenzhero, Elinor Sisulu, the devastatingly sexy Adam Levin and, of course, Fokofpolisiekar.

Insightful views, interesting perspectives, great writing, superb command of English, and the unusual ability to make us care about strangers, even for a few minutes; this is a book that succeeds on every level [except perhaps the ugly cover] and could be used as a benchmark for all good interviews. ( )