Abstract
I finished the final few pages of Being an Early Career Feminist Academic in a deckchair in the garden during a rare British heatwave. It was one of those days where I truly loved working in academia, and I was enjoying myself. As I near the end of my PhD, those days are less common and I cherish such memories for the moments I wonder whether it is all worth it. The privilege of intellectual freedom is often overshadowed by high expectations, increasing workload and frequent moments of self-doubt, and this book explores how these feelings and experiences continue during the early career of many feminist academics.
The narrative of the early career academic ‘precariat’ (p. 4) is well documented and thanks to pioneers on the topic such as Rosalind Gill (2009), more early career academics are coming forward to share their experiences of navigating the treacherous waters of academia. Yet, if we agree with the editors, being a feminist – an identity subversive by definition – makes the experience more challenging still. While feminist politics promote caring, collaboration and collective action, the neoliberal academy espouses meritocratic competition, marketised learning and precarious casualisation.
The notion of identity construction and positioning was immediately apparent as I read the Introduction, where as a PhD student I found myself excluded from the editors’ definition of early career academic. This rather narrow and somewhat outdated definition alienated me before I’d even started. As I progressed through the chapters I noted several contributors tackle this identity crisis head on, and Meadhbh Murray, Crowley and Wånggren’s definition of early career academic gave me hope. They justify the inclusion of postgraduates by recognising the ‘invisible work’ required to ‘climb the greasy pole of professional advancement in academia’ is happening ‘earlier and earlier’, and to overlook this is akin to accepting the established hierarchy between students and staff (pp. 230–231).
Once I had overcome this irksome relegation of my status, I was moved by the powerful accounts I was reading, from the anxiety of a first teaching job described by Helena Goodwyn and Emily Jane Hogg, to Agnes Bosanquet’s account of dealing with her daughter’s diagnosis of epilepsy. The book is a collection of reflective vignettes, where authors indulge their frustration and dismay at a system which still considers their feminist identity a ‘site of resistance’ (p. 14). Where many contributors draw upon auto-biographic or auto-ethnographic stories, the book is collating evidence to support the editors’ argument that feminist early career researchers face a ‘further layer of complexity’ on what is already an ‘uphill battle’ (p. 6).
As well as drawing upon personal experience, some authors introduce their own research on feminist identities within the academy. Part III focuses on two pieces featuring ‘innovative methodologies’ including an inspiring contribution by Jauhola and Särmä, using collage to explore the collective memory of research participants. By allowing creative forms of expression, the authors write about their experiences in a way rarely afforded to them in academic journals or textbooks. Contributors such as Goodwyn and Hogg draw upon their love of feminist literature to weave personal stories and research analysis through a framework inspired by Virginia Woolf. Skilfully evoking the sense of anger and resolve Woolf creates in A Room of One’s Own. Inspired by feminist researchers before them, the editors’ decision to adopt a cross-disciplinary approach is a particular strength of this collection.
The book tends to focus on European Higher Education, but there are some welcome contributions from international scholars who report similar experiences, from Sweden, to Russia, to Japan. This international perspective is important to propel the conversation forward, but it may overshadow differences closer to home. While the editors and authors acknowledge that inequality in the academy is exacerbated by social class, ethnicity and age (among other factors), there is less intersectional discussion than I would expect from a contemporary feminist piece. Yet, perhaps this reflects the privilege of the women whose voices we are hearing – those more able to overcome the barriers and become early career feminist academics in the first place. As feminist research advocates, it is perhaps as important to consider those we do not hear from as well as those we do.
As a feminist, PhD student and early career academic, I am grateful to the editors for persevering with this important topic and showcasing repeated experiences of this often invisible yet pervasive inequality. The collection made for sombre reading and as my co-reviewer comments, at times, it verged on the depressing. This didn’t deter my reading, but did influence my feelings towards my future and has made me question whether I have the energy to pursue this coveted academic career. In the Conclusion, the editors do well to predict and address this reaction, calling for readers to feel empowered rather than disheartened, reminding us that the purpose of the book is to raise the profile of this conversation, create a ‘space for change’ and foster solidarity among diasporic early career feminist academics (p. 288).
As Rosalind Gill (2009) states, writing about one’s own experiences can feel narcissistic and self-indulgent, especially for those who are among the world’s most privileged inhabitants. Yet if we keep these inequalities hidden, the wider academic community remain in the dark about the challenges facing their junior, feminist colleagues. Although the book struggles to articulate any universal solution, there will be many in my position who will benefit from these brave women sharing their stories and baring their souls in the name of early career academic feminism.