Mark Arax tells stories about the people who personify the myth of California and put the lie to it. Somewhere "west of the West," we get the real California -- not Hollywood, not San Francisco, but places like Arcata and Fresno. Whether they are raw-milk fanatics, pomegranate magnates, migrant farm workers or the last Okie of Lamont, Arax treats his subjects with dignity and connects their lives to prominent themes in California's social history -- immigration, agriculture and exploitation. "West of the West: Dreamers, Believers, Builders and Killers in the Golden State" is a book by a writer "bound to this place" even as that place changes every day. It is immediate in the best ways, sometimes intemperate, but always interesting.

The guiding spirit of the book is Arax's grandfather, a "consummate Californian," who emigrated to the United States after surviving the Armenian genocide. Mentioned only a few times throughout, he nonetheless looms large in Arax's musings on personal history, embracing the myth and confronting the reality of his new home. The struggles of contemporary immigrants carry the same mix of hope and tragedy. One of the most powerful aspects of "West of the West" is Arax's ability to put a human face to political and policy issues. A Oaxacan family, indebted to human traffickers (coyotes), loses its patriarch to a terrible accident. The death multiplies the family's woes as its members adjust to the loss of a wage earner. As it becomes clear another generation will be forced into migrant labor and poverty, the true price of cheap produce is made clear. Likewise, the effects of the War on Terror are brought into sharp focus in the portrait of a decorated FBI agent attempting to stop the prosecution of two Pakistani men accused of terrorism.

One of the highlights of the book is the chapter on the cleavages in the marijuana-growing industry. Small pot farmers, staying within the state limits of acceptable ownership, are getting pushed out by the factory growers, the hydroponic "diesel pot" farmers. That illicit agriculture faces the same issues as its legal counterpart is a neat and amusing irony. And the nostalgic penultimate chapter about Arax's own experiences distilling raki with friends and family is lovely.

In "West of the West," Arax is more concerned with story than analysis, and at times it seems anecdotal and unstructured. This lack of structure is both maddening and appropriate. Without an external framework, the transition between individual chapters can seem abrupt and random. At first these stories seem to be distinct but they are interconnected -- the diesel pot farmer, the migrant grape picker and the Armenian writer who still wrestles with the tragic death of his father -- sharing the physical and spiritual geography of California.

Martin Schmutterer is a manager at Common Good Books and a freelance writer. He lives in St. Paul.