President Hugo Chávez of Venezuela continues to receive bad press from Western journalists, yet gradually he has begun to receive a measure of grudging approval from academics. Venezuela has joined that small bunch of countries – Cuba, Chile, Nicaragua – that have enjoyed considerable scholarly attention in the past half-century because of their mould-breaking ambitions rather than their intrinsic interest, or their importance derived from size, economic potential or historical significance. Barry Cannon's useful book is an excellent example of a serious study that follows in this tradition, looking positively at the Chávez experiment and detailing some of its achievements while seeking to place it in a theoretical and comparative framework.

At the start of what can now be seen as the Chávez era, the Venezuelan government received hostile comments in Foreign Affairs from Kurt Weyland at the University of Texas. Weyland wrote in 2001 that the Bolivarian ideology of Chávez was ‘an odd mixture of nationalist, militaristic, autocratic, plebicitarian, and leftist ideas’ (p. 168). That was perhaps about right for 2001, and is still the view subscribed to by most of the media. Yet, as Cannon is at pains to point out, it is now possible after nearly a decade of chavista practice to give a much clearer picture of what Chávez is up to. ‘Leftist ideas’ now predominate in the mix, and they have been developed in several areas: state ownership of strategic industries and services is a central part of the chavista programme, as are experiments with different kinds of worker management. What Cannon describes as ‘ideological clarification’ since 2005 has led to the promotion of what Chávez has labelled ‘twenty-first century socialism’, as well as further experiments with popular participation in government.

Yet ‘all these policies and measures go far beyond being simply “leftist ideas”’, writes Cannon. They point to ‘a process of practical experimentation, grounded in socialist thought and past experience, as well as on more recent ‘anti-globalisation’ thought, which aims to seek viable alternatives, in the economic, social and political spheres'. These are clearly ‘more responsive to local contexts and conditions than the one-size-fits-all model of market-oriented liberal democracy prevalent today’ (pp. 168–9).

Cannon establishes Chávez as a recognisable leftist, but is then obliged to deal with the fact that he is often simply dismissed as a populist and an authoritarian, with the insinuation that these are familiar Latin American characteristics that need no further elucidation. Cannon, as his book's subtitle suggests, meets these criticisms head-on. First he embarks on a profitable review of the existing literature on Latin American populism to enquire exactly where chavismo fits in; he then he goes on to examine what happens when democratic reforms are attempted within a deeply inegalitarian and illegitimate democratic polity. In his wide-ranging discussion about populism from Habermas to Laclau, which students will find enlightening, Cannon identifies three varieties: classic traditional populism, associated with the name of Juan Perón and with state intervention in the economy and distributive policies towards the poor; neopopulism within a neoliberal framework, of the kind more recently espoused by Alberto Fujimori of Peru; and what perhaps might be termed the ‘post-populism’ of Chávez (my formulation, not Cannon's), which, Cannon writes, is ‘deeply rooted in a radical, eclectic, socialist and Latin Americanist ideology’ (p. 207).

What makes the Chávez model so different from Fujimori's is its extreme hostility to neoliberal globalisation, and herein lies the originality of the Chávez project. Cannon is happy to state clearly that the Venezuelan leader, like Perón, is ‘undeniably populist’, but he goes on to argue that the ideological orientation of the Chávez government ‘necessitates a high degree of popular mobilisation and participation in order to further its implantation as the hegemonic ideological vision of a new Venezuela’ (p. 207). Chávez's enthusiasm for democracy (and he has had more elections than anyone can count) is not designed to impress his external critics – it is part and parcel of his radical populism.

The same goes for his hostility to neoliberalism. The neoliberal world order, Cannon argues, has reinforced inequality and delegitimised traditional liberal democratic governments. Radical populism, paradoxically perhaps, is what democracy is all about. Maybe it should be imitated elsewhere.

Although writing about Chávez in a positive way, Cannon is by no means uncritical. He joins a long list of chavista sympathisers within and outside Venezuela who look forward to a strengthening of the radical democratic elements in society; to the eradication of the embryonic patronage and clientelism that can be observed within the new participatory structures; and to the growth of structures that will ensure the autonomy of the Bolivarian movement from its leadership. ‘Venezuela must move on to the stage’, he dreams optimistically, ‘where it can have chavismo without Chávez’ (p. 5). Maybe this is Chávez's dream too, but in the meantime he knows that he is indispensable.