Topic: Reading
The thought that was stuck in my head earlier came from Sex, Sexuality and the Anthropologist, which my supervisor recommended as a way to get me thinking about the larger issues related to work and sex that I'll be addressing in my thesis. At least, that I'll be addressing in my thesis in its current incarnation. Ro pointed out to me earlier in the week that my topic has undergone a constant series of revisions since I was forced to commit something to writing back in November.
But my thesis topic is neither here nor there where this post is concerned. Sex, Sexuality and the Anthropologist is an edited collection by a group of anthropologists discussing how their own sex and sexuality and that of the people they were interviewing and observing complicated and enriched their field work in unexpected ways. When the book was published in 1999, the sexuality of anthropologists was not discussed. The ideal anthropologist was a desexed, depersonalized, impartial observer of cultures. The sexuality of those under observation might be discussed, but the anthropologist was meant to have no reaction to it, beyond perhaps a clinical curiosity. If an anthropologist wrote about personal experiences with sexuality, they were strongly encouraged to do so anonymously, for the sake of their careers. It wasn't until the late '90s that scholarly collections that dealt with the topic began to appear.
I'm not entirely sure what bearing this book will have on my thesis, but I enjoyed reading it. For the most part the authors have engaging writing styles and keep technical jargon to a minimum. The chapter that sticks with me the most clearly was written by a woman who did her fieldwork in the Caribbean. She recounts the various attempts the women in the community made to situate her within their social system according to their understanding of sexual and social relationships, essentially disregarding the anthropologist's attempts to create a desexed research persona. This complicated her personal life, but helped lead her to a more complete picture of how social and power relationships worked in the community. I thought it was a good illustration of the both the risks and rewards involved in attempting to open one's self to an unfamiliar culture, and a good reminder that one is never entirely in control of how one is perceived by others.
There was a common theme among the chapters of the observer's inability to remain uninvolved with the subjects of her or his observation. Some authors discussed how they made a conscious decision in the course of their research to reject the facade of objectivity and the pretense involved in desexualizing themselves, and involve themselves in relationships with local people, figuring that it led to richer and less exploitative relationships within the communities they were studying. Whether they chose this particular route or not, all the authors' stories confronted and questioned the traditional image of the anthropologist as impartial observer and the power over the observed that it implies. This, at least, I find relevant to development, where there is a tendency to want to reduce people and their experiences to numbers, implying that somehow, the 'experts' in development agencies know what is most important in the lives of local people, and can chart the progress, or lack of it, in local communities.
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The other book I finished recently is just a little light reading. Shadows in Bronze, by Lindsey Davis, is the second in a series of novels that the Good Doctors introduced me to. I read the first, The Silver Pigs back in December, before I had even really thought about attempting the 50 Book Challenge, so I guess I may have a stab at a double review here.
The series is about the life and misadventures of Marcus Didius Falco, an 'informer' in the Imperial Rome of 70 A.D. What Falco is, in Davis's hands, is an homage to the hard-boiled-but-soft-at-heart 1940s private eye. Falco has a quick tongue, a nose for trouble, an eye for the ladies, and an utterly unmanageable personal life. Davis has a deft touch with characterization and banter, an eye for detail, and an ability to work a surprising amount of historical information into the text without disrupting the narrative.
As the series opens, Nero has finished wreaking havoc on the city and empire, and the new Emperor Vespasian has a precarious hold on power. Falco stumbles, as he is wont to do, on a plot to overthrow the Emperor. His investigation drags him from Rome to the gods-forsaken wilds of Britain, back to Rome again. He becomes involved with a family of senatorial rank, an uncomfortable position for a lower-class citizen of republican leanings, and learns far more about corruption and intrigue in the upper ranks of Roman society than he ever wanted to.
Shadows in Bronze picks up almost immediately where The Silver Pigs left off, with Falco involved in tidying up the loose ends left at the end of his investigation. It's thankless, underpaid work, and worse, it sends him off on a chase around Italy, trying to stay a step ahead of a murderer. As if that wasn't enough excitement, Falco is in love with an entirely inappropriate woman, he's traveling with a friend's family, and he's saddled with a nephew with growing pains. He finds himself juggling his professional role with that of pseudo-paterfamilias, frustrated lover, and infuriating (but loyal) friend, while trying to protect everyone from the man he's chasing.
Since Davis's books are littered with historical detail about everything from politics to daily life, I like to tell myself they're not totally guilty pleasures, but I read them like they are - in snatches throughout the day that usually turn out to be less brief than I intend them to be. The main appeal isn't in her research, it's Falco. Davis keeps him at the center of the books, not allowing either the pace of the narrative or the historical detail to overwhelm the development of his character. She subverts the high tone associated with Roman history by filtering it through the conventions of a 1940s private detective story, but subverts that convention as well by endowing Falco with relationships that give his character more depth than the hard-edged loners of noir legend. I couldn't be happier that there are plenty more Falco books waiting to be read - after all, I'm already almost done with the third one.