Abstract
In a Preface unequivocally subtitled ‘Carrying the Torch for Autoethnography’, Carolyn Ellis makes what could be described as a ‘so there, put this in your pipe and smoke it’ type statement when she writes, ‘For those who predicted autoethnography would be a fad – if you’re reading this “You were wrong!” And if you aren’t reading this Handbook, you’re missing out.’ (p. 10). Well if they’re not reading it … but there is certainly no doubt that, in the way that methodological trends and fashions work (Flyvbjerg, 2001), autoethnography has become extremely popular in a relatively short period of time. Ellis, whose name is for many synonymous with autoethnography, recalls typing the word for the first time in 1995 (p. 9), and although there was only one reference to the approach in the first Handbook of Qualitative Research (Denzin and Lincoln, 1994), by the time the second edition came out in 2000, it had its own chapter (Ellis and Bochner, 2000). Since then and particularly in the UK, North America, Australia and New Zealand, more and more work described as autoethnography has been appearing in journals, books and at conferences, and increasing numbers of scholars across the range of disciplines and at all levels are adopting an explicitly autoethnographic approach to their research and writing.
Autoethnography has a sort of Marmite effect on a lot of people. Marmite, a British yeast extract spread with a distinctive taste, was marketed during the 1990s under the slogan ‘love it or hate it’. Autoethnography seems to produce similarly strong feelings. To evoke another culinary metaphor, there are those who think it’s the best thing since sliced bread. Others however, consider it to be atheoretical, uncontextualized, airy-fairy, self-indulgent, narcissistic, onanistic nonsense. For my own part, and in the spirit of the autoethnographic imperative to declare my position, I have used autoethnographic approaches. I have supervised and examined autoethnographic doctorates and I have read hundreds of autoethnographic accounts in the process of editing a four-volume reference work focusing on the approach (Sikes, 2013). As well as seeing many examples confirming my conviction that autoethnography, along with other auto/biographical approaches, has a great deal to offer to those seeking to understand the social world, I have also come across a lot of pieces that have been worse than simply bad. For instance, I have seen work that failed to treat and re-present people appearing in published accounts in ethical and respectful ways, sometimes even depicting identifiable persons in potentially libellous terms. I have come across revenge texts masquerading as social science, and I have seen ill-written pieces which not only do their writers’ authorial reputations no good but also reflect badly on autoethnography as a whole. Of course all methodologies and methods can suffer as a result of bad examples but when, as is the case with autoethnography, there is already a serious struggle on to establish credibility, the impact of poor work tends to be more significant and far reaching.
Handbooks can play an important role in promoting good practice by setting out the various – philosophical, theoretical, practical – implications of adopting a particular approach, describing what using it entails and detailing key issues, trends, topics and dilemmas. Harry Torrance notes that ‘the very act of compiling a Handbook implies an aspiration to attempt to define the field’ (2010: xxv). That this is so bestows significant power on editors who consequently carry responsibility for the shape, nature and orientation of the re-presentation that their editorial direction and decisions lead to. The editors and contributing authors of this Handbook are, for the most part, well known for their autoethnographic publications with some having had considerable, if not foundational, significance in the development, promotion and popularizing of the approach. The majority (37 out of 51) of the contributors work in the USA and many of them have links with the International Institute of Qualitative Inquiry based at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign and ‘make the pilgrimage’ (p. 11) there to meet at the annual International Congress of Qualitative Inquiry. 1 Thus this is a Handbook written by a group of people who see themselves as constituting a distinct community sharing fundamental beliefs and values about autoethnography. Readers coming to the text are, therefore, getting a particular take informed by these community perspectives, perspectives that can have identity consequences for those who decide to adopt the approach as it is described here. Ellis writes in her acknowledgements ‘we autoethnographers have a reputation for being mushy … but to me that’s part of what makes this approach and this community so special. Thus, I hereby reclaim the terms “mushy” and “sentimental” without fear of retribution or critique’ (p. 16). I doubt that all autoethnographers would so enthusiastically embrace these descriptors, nor do they need to as there are other ways of being an autoethnographer. The editorial line taken in this Handbook, however, lays down what can almost be considered to be articles of faith and, furthermore, frames autoethnography as not just a research approach: indeed the subtitle to the Introduction is ‘Coming to Know Autoethnography as More than a Method’. Ellis states that ‘for most of us, autoethnography is not simply a way of knowing about the world, it has become a way of being in the world, one that requires living consciously, emotionally and reflexively’ (p. 10), a position that is reflected through the way in which the text is organized and in most of the chapters. So what does the Handbook look like as a whole?
The volume is organized into four sections with an Introduction and a Conclusion written by the editors. Each section is introduced briefly by a well-known senior autoethnographer and contains five or six chapters addressing the section theme followed by three or four exemplars. The Introduction and the First section, ‘Reflecting and Engaging’, present histories that both chart autoethnography’s genealogies and its trajectory within the development of research approaches throughout the 20th and 21st centuries, and offer personal accounts of how and why individuals have come to use it. In this section and indeed throughout the Handbook the connection between the personal and subjective and the social and cultural, and the potential this offers for transformative action is emphasized, as is the way in which autoethnographers make themselves vulnerable by sharing their sometimes intimate and emotional insider experiences and perceptions in order to invite consideration and criticism of how social worlds work. It is, I think, this sharing or more specifically, the way in which the sharing is sometimes done which underlies many of the criticisms of autoethnography, since it does seem to be the case that evocative and therapeutic autoethnographies elicit more negativity than those taking a more obviously analytic approach.
Section Two, ‘Making and Relating’, deals with how autoethographers craft and style the stories they want to tell and also raises ethical considerations around how people are depicted. If autoethnographies are published under their author’s name, anonymity of other people referred to therein is impossible. In addition issues of ‘truth’, perspective and bias can lead to ethical dilemmas and questions that may only be resolved by deciding not to publish, which is a hard call to make. The Introduction to this section is by the late Bud Goodall, an ethical, elegant and skilful writer and thus an excellent role model. Chapters in Section Three, ‘Representing, Breaking and Remaking’, cover ‘the movement of autoethnographic methods, modes of inquiry and representational practices that range from language- and text-based to geographic, symbolic and embodied’ (p. 39).
Section Four, ‘Moving and Changing’, focuses on autoethnography as a dynamic and transformative approach with potential to provoke social as well as personal critique and change. The subtitle of the concluding chapter is ‘Storying Our Future’. There the editors reiterate their belief in autoethnography as a way of life; look to the continuing take up and development of the approach; and invite autoethnographers to find ways to address critiques, ‘or put the critiques aside if they come from those who would never believe in autoethnography’ (p. 676).
There are some beautifully written pieces in this Handbook that illustrate the genre at its best and which justify the 2013 National Communication Association Ethnography Division Award for Best Edited Collection. I believe the growing popularity of the approach is at least partly down to the persuasive and accomplished writing of leading exponents, such as Ellis, Richardson, Denzin, Gannon and Rambo. At the same time, one of the reasons why some autoethnographies are execrable is that people without talent or the same degree of academic capital try to emulate these craftspersons.
I will be recommending this Handbook to colleagues and students interested in the approach. I shall, however: emphasize that they should read critically; raise awareness that autoethnography takes different forms; and, stress that the approach can be used without committing to a way of life.