Evocative Autoethnography

Writing Lives and Telling Stories

Arthur Bochner, Carolyn Ellis

• Editorial: Routledge
• Año: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781134815944
• Edición: 1
• Categoría: Didattica
• Categoría: Didattica generale

This comprehensive text is the first to introduce evocative autoethnography as a methodology and a way of life in the human sciences. Using numerous examples from their work and others, world-renowned scholars Arthur Bochner and Carolyn Ellis, originators of the method, emphasize how to connect intellectually and emotionally to the lives of readers throughout the challenging process of representing lived experiences. Written as the story of a fictional workshop, based on many similar sessions led by the authors, it incorporates group discussions, common questions, and workshop handouts. The book:

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• describes the history, development, and purposes of evocative storytelling;

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• provides detailed instruction on becoming a story-writer and living a writing life;

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• examines fundamental ethical issues, dilemmas, and responsibilities;
  illustrates ways ethnography intersects with autoethnography;

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• calls attention to how truth and memory figure into the works and lives of evocative autoethnographers.

Part One

Origins and History

Session 1

Coming to Autoethnography

Preparing for the Workshop

“I can’t stop thinking about the workshop,” Carolyn says to Art. They have just settled into their Illini student union hotel room at the University of Illinois in Urbana, where they will give a workshop on ‘Evocative Autoethnography’ at the International Congress of Qualitative Inquiry.

Carolyn lies on the bed daydreaming, while Art sits in a chair near the window reading by the descending sunlight that streams through the window. With one hand, he turns the pages of the Congress program; with the other he jots notes, glancing occasionally at the printout resting on his lap that lists workshop participants. Periodically, he stares out the window, feasting on the beauty of the rhododendron, dogwoods, and peonies that dot the campus.

Suddenly Carolyn stands, picks up her workshop folder from the desk, and says, “Let’s do a quick review of the outline. We haven’t looked at it for several days.”

“We’ve been doing this workshop for a dozen years. We ought to have our act together by now,” replies Art, inserting his fingers between pages in the conference program to mark sessions.

“I know. But this one will demand more from us. Instead of three hours, it’ll continue for three days.”

“That means the pace can be more relaxed. We don’t have to rush through topics, and participants will have more opportunities to raise questions. We can feel more at ease.”

“That may be true,” Carolyn acknowledges. “Though the extended length means we have to be prepared for deeper and more intense discussions of the topics. And we never know who is going to attend the workshop; each group is different.”

“That’s why I’m checking the program,” Art says. Carolyn looks at him inquiringly. “I want to get a feel for the kinds of topics our participants are presenting, which may help us shape our workshop more to their interests.”

“Hey, that’s a good idea. What have you found?”

“More than a third of the participants are giving autoethnographic talks at the Congress. I saw their names listed on sessions on the professional self, memory, ethics, vulnerability, social justice, performance, and collaborative autoethnography. Some are telling personal stories dealing with race and ethnicity, loss and grief, home and homelessness, caregiving, the body, disability, mental illness, adoption, and divorce. In all, I counted about a hundred papers listed as autoethnographies.”

“That’s amazing,” says Carolyn. “What a difference from when we first started giving these workshops. Remember how participants wanted us to help them justify using stories and the ‘I’ in their dissertation projects? Some had just stumbled onto autoethnography and wanted to know more about it. But not anymore.”

“Now they come already engaged in ongoing autoethnographic research and familiar with the literature. I suspect this year’s group will want to discuss how to do autoethnography better,” says Art.

“So we can focus more on the ethical intricacies of their research…” offers Carolyn,

“…and how to become better writers and storytellers,” Art adds.

“But let’s make sure we also speak to those coming to auto-ethnography for the first time, seeking mentors, and asking basic questions.”

Art nods. “Of course. We’ll still get plenty of those. And they will find mentors here and learn from participants with more experience.”

“We’ll also get a glimpse from their projects about where autoethnography is headed,” says Carolyn.

“Yes. The people in that room tomorrow will be the ones teaching other students and leading future workshops.”

“So we better be on point,” says Carolyn. “Now, can we get back to the issue of our outline?”

“Okay.” Art smiles as he puts down his program and Carolyn hands him a copy of the workshop plan. He appreciates how organized Carolyn is; Carolyn appreciates that Art encourages her not to over-prepare, but instead to trust the interactive moment.

“First, we’ll have the participants introduce themselves,” Carolyn begins. “Assuming we have time for that with 40 people enrolled.”

“The introductions are crucial,” Art says. “Part of the value of the workshop is to acquaint autoethnographers with each other. They get to see themselves as a community.”

Carolyn nods. “…and view autoethnography as an academic identity.”

“I know it takes a lot of time upfront, but getting them to introduce themselves is a good way to start that community building process.”

“I agree. Then we’ll introduce autoethnography with our personal stories, first me, then you. After that, we’ll perform the story of how we met and formulated our joint project,” Carolyn continues. “Then you’ll give your history of the rise of autoethnography. Do you have that part together?”

“Sure, I’ve composed a whole story on the origins of autoethnography. I think you’ll like how I tell it.”

“Okay, great,” Carolyn nods. “That gets us through the first afternoon.”

“Then the next morning, I’ll talk about writing and telling evocative stories, with an emphasis on the ‘graphy’ and ‘auto’ parts of autoethnography,” says Art, “similar to what I’ve presented before on storytelling, only expanded and more detailed.”

“That afternoon participants will read ‘Maternal Connections,’ which always evokes strong emotions, stories, and questions about vulnerability, ethics, and literary storytelling,” says Carolyn. “The experiences and insights participants share in the discussion of this story is one of my favorite parts of our workshops. I learn something new each time.

“The next morning is my session on the quandaries in doing evocative autoethnography ethically,” Carolyn continues. “In addition to the usual concerns about our obligations to the other people in our stories, I’ve added new material on institutional review boards, a topic that always comes up. I’ll also talk about how I arrived at the idea of a relational ethics of care and use it in my work with Holocaust survivors. I want participants to think about how to work ethically with research participants.

“In the afternoon, I’ll turn to the ‘ethno’ in evocative autoethnography, ways to integrate ethnographic practices and principles into autoethnographic research, and how to bring autoethnography to ethnographic studies. I’ll let participants direct the conversation. They’ll break into smaller groups to formulate questions about the three areas of producing, analyzing, and telling stories.”

“That sounds a lot like traditional social science—collecting data, analyzing it, and writing it up,” Art ribs.

“Sometimes traditional schemes work,” Carolyn teases back. “Besides they need to know how to use an autoethnographic perspective in conventional forms of analysis as well as creative analytic practices.”

“On the final morning, they’ll discuss my story, ‘Bird on the Wire,’” Art says, following the outline. “I’ll be curious to see how they respond to the conversation I imagine having with my deceased father. I’ll give them an opportunity to talk and argue with each other as they think with my story. Afterward, I plan to talk about issues of memory and truth stimulated by that story. I envision that whole morning as a session on evaluating evocative autoethnography.”

“Then we’ll conclude with our surprise visitors. I can’t wait for that.”

“I’m excited too. We have a lot to cover in one workshop.”

“We do, but it sounds like we’re ready,” Carolyn says, closing her folder. At that moment, a text comes over Carolyn’s and Art’s phones simultaneously. They read the message out loud together. “We’re at Murphy’s Pub. Where are you? We’re all here. xxoo, Tony, Keith, Derek, and Mitch.”

“Ready or not, looks like the Congress is about to begin, the social part anyway,” Carolyn laughs. “Autoethnographers are gathering to socialize, and some of our workshop participants may be there as well. Happy hour at Murphy’s! Let’s go.”

They smile, put on jackets, and rush out into the cool night air.

After staying out late, Carolyn and Art sleep in the next day and then go for lunch at the Illini Union Café. Deep in their thoughts about the workshop, they study their notes while they drink cappuccino and eat sandwiches. Soon they are greeting autoethnographers who have just arrived. Some are offering or taking other workshops during the next few days; others have arrived to hang out and interact socially with like-minded scholars before the Congress begins. After talking a while, Carolyn and Art excuse themselves from the gathering crowd to make sure they have enough time to find their classroom.

The Workshop Begins

Entering Union 314A, Carolyn and Art glance at the bare side walls of the long narrow room and realize they have forgotten to request an easel. They like to keep their workshop low-tech, with an emphasis on relating personally and spontaneously to participants, not be wedded to PowerPoint presentations. Without an easel, they will have to rely on the white board in the front of the narrow room, seemingly miles from the rows of desks. They put their books and papers on the large conference table in front of the desks and move two chairs behind the table. Then they greet participants as they enter the room.

As soon as most of the 40 registered attendees have arrived, Art begins, “Welcome. We are delighted to meet all of you and to be holding our twelfth Congress workshop on autoethnography. We have a large number of participants today, but this is a big room. We’d appreciate you filling the front rows so we can be closer together. Later, we will change the seating arrangements so that you can see and speak directly to each other.”

The attendees slowly follow the directions, then Art continues, “Let’s get started. We’d first like you to introduce yourselves briefly. Tell us about your research interests and concerns, particularly as they relate to autoethnography. This will give us a sense of the diversity of places and disciplines you’re from, and the scope of the work you’re doing. It also will help you get to know each other and identify people with common projects. If you can, relate your project to one that has been described by another participant. We’ll take volunteers.” Art points to the first hand he sees.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Jennifer, originally from Kenya, and now a postdoctoral research fellow at the Free State University in South Africa in a program on ‘Trauma, Forgiveness, and Reconciliation.’ I have done a study in Kenya about the importance of continuing bonds for family cancer caregivers. I’d like to write my results as stories and include my experience. Though I love oral storytelling, I have no clue how to write stories. That’s why I’m here.”

“I, too, am interested in trauma and forgiveness, particularly as they apply to Holocaust survivors,” Carolyn replies. “Blake Paxton (2015), one of my students, recently completed his dissertation on continuous bonds between survivors and the deceased. So we have much in common. Let’s be sure to talk after the session.”

Jennifer nods and says, “My therapist and I also plan to write a story on significant happenings in my life over the last seven years while I’ve been in South Africa.”

“Interesting,” says Art. “I once approached a therapist I was seeing to do the same, but he declined. Do you know the work of the narrative therapist, David Epston?” Jennifer shakes her head. “David lives in New Zealand and, with Michael White, was one of the originators of narrative therapy (White and Epston, 1990). Talk to me after the session and I’ll put you in touch with him. He has written stories with some of his clients.”

“There is also the work of the therapist and novelist Irvin Yalom,” Carolyn says.

“Everyday Gets a Little Closer,” Art continues, “about his work with his patient, Ginny Elkin (Yalom and Elkin, 1991). They separately kept journals of each session.”

And so it continues. Art and Carolyn walk down aisles and across rows to stand close to each speaking participant. One of them tries to respond briefly to each person before moving on, while the other takes notes so they can refer back to attendees’ interests later in the workshop. The enthusiastic participants soon are responding to each other, and it’s clear that most are familiar with autoethnography.

“I’m Toni from Penn State and a graduate student in Sociology. I’m interested in studying conflict in close relationships, particularly in couples who don’t have children. I hope to include my own story with my interviews.”

“I’m Erica, a graduate student from Ohio University, in communication. By the way, Bill Rawlins says hello. He’s my mentor. My research relates to Toni’s and Jennifer’s in that I’m interested in relational conflict, particularly in studying forgiveness in families who don’t accept their children identifying as gay. I’ve been keeping notes and writing stories about my experiences with my parents who are upset about my sexual orientation.”

“Have you read Tony Adams’s (2011) book on narrating the closet?” Carolyn asks. “He wrote about relational aspects of entering, being in, and coming out of the closet.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here. I love that book, especially how he includes his own experiences. I’ve read everything he’s published.”

“Tony’s also working on a project on forgiveness toward family members for some of their reactions to his being gay,” Carolyn says, and Erica’s eyes light up.

“I’m Regina, from Florida State, a graduate student in social work. I’m also interested in relational conflict. I’m writing about the divorce of my parents and my mother’s mental illness. I have huge concerns about some of the ethical conundrums that have popped up, especially getting IRB approval to do this study.”

“Institutional review board approval will be an important topic of conversation in the session tomorrow,” says Carolyn, and nods to the next person with his hand raised.

“My name is Eric. I’m an assistant professor of music education at the University of Toronto. I’m interested in performance autoethnography and how embodied understanding relates to storytelling. Like Jennifer, Toni, Erica, and Regina, I’m intrigued with stories of loss.”

“Impressive that you remembered everyone’s name,” says Art, and points to the woman beside Eric.

“My name is Karen. I live in Australia. I’m also interested in embodied learning. Eric, we need to talk. My area is creative arts, and I want to develop research practices that combine art-based approaches with the artistic process. I think that autoethnography is the perfect mode for doing that, and I hope to use it in my dissertation.” Eric smiles and nods in Karen’s direction.

“I’m also interested in embodied learning. My name is Inkeri, from Finland. I have a spinal cord injury and have been in a wheelchair for five years. I’m doing my dissertation on identity and sexuality for people who are differentially abled. I want to include my experiences as a woman with a disability, a counselor, and a researcher. My committee is not comfortable with the writing I’ve been doing about my own experiences. Still, I can’t see doing this project without including my own experiences as a woman with a spinal cord injury.”

“Certainly it would be richer to include your experiences,” Carolyn says. “You should be the person to decide what you are and are not comfortable with, though you will have to think about your committee members too. I look forward to having this discussion with you.”

“My name is Sadira. I’m a post doc in India. Inkeri, your project raises a lot of important issues about vulnerability. That’s something that interests me too, as I study the meaning of home for my family, who now lives in the United States.”

“Do you know Devika Chawla’s book (2014) on Home, Uprooted?” asks Carolyn. “It’s about what home means to people in India who have been displaced. I think it might be helpful f...