Citation:

Journet, Debra. “Narrative Turns in Writing Studies Research.” Writing Studies Research in Practice: Methods and Methodologies. Edited by Lee Nickoson and Mary P. Sheridan. Southern Illinois University Press, 2012, pp. 13-24

Summary:

In “Narrative Turns in Writing Studies Research” Debra Journet exposes what she views as assumptions made within the composition field concerning narratives. Her two primary arguments consist of pointing out that the narratives are in many ways constructed according to conventions that define the genre and that narratives are not inherently libratory by nature just because they are positioned in opposition to more traditional research genres. Throughout the chapter Journet asks a variety of thought-provoking questions that serve as the primary engine of her argument as well as making a series of comparison between composition narrative and other disciplinary narratives.

The chapter begins with Journet using scientific research narratives to juxtapose against composition research narratives referring to “tropes of authenticity” that are the foundations of a believable composition narrative (14). She posits that the reason personal narratives are applauded within composition is due to the fact that we feel they allow us to escape the “restrictions of other academic genres” rather than any inherent libratory elements (14).

Journet goes on to do some historicizing, citing two major shifts in composition studies in the 1980s and ‘90s that brought the narrative genre to the forefront. The first being the “social turn” of the 1980s which brought focus to the “social contexts and personal histories” that influence all writing. The second shift in the 1990s she references focuses more on the nature of narratives as a construction, examining the characteristics that defined the narrative genre.

The first major question Journet poses asks “what is at stake in the almost inevitable conflation of ‘narrative’ with ‘personal’ in composition research[?]” (16). In response to this question she makes three points: First, that the narrative genre is not inherently personal; second, that narratives are a product of “genre commitments”; third, that personal narratives are no more authentic than any other method of research.

The chapter then shifts its focus to show how narratives across disciplines are constructed from the extinction of the dinosaurs to Darwin’s On the Orgin of Species so as to appear scientific but are in fact a product of assumptions shared between the researcher and reader that are made to appear objective or as Robert Richards calls it an “index of reality” (18). In the next section of the chapter, Journet attempts to find a dividing line between personal narratives that are to be valued as truth and worthy of study and those that are not by asking questions at the beginning and end of the section that poke holes in preconceived notions of who is an expert and who is not.

Journet concludes by reminding us that narratives are “complex, mediated, and rhetorical” and are by no means inherently libratory (20)a. That does not mean they do not carry immense potential to incite change only that they are products of their place and time and as such are “only operative within the shared agreements of groups” (21). The chapter ends with a series of questions with Journet asserting that we need to more thoughtfully judge when the agreements that make up the glue of narratives are utilized properly and when they are not if we are to deem the narrative genre as being research worthy.

Quotes:

“[T]he history of composition research is, in part, the history of coming to terms with narrative” (13).

“My argument is that the conflation of narrative and the personal is a product of how narrative research genres have been constructed and employed in the discipline. Though claims are often made that narratives of personal experience are inherently more authentic accounts, I argue instead that such narratives are, at least in part, conventionalized ways of representing disciplinary knowledge. As a research genre, they thus demonstrate tacit and explicit agreements—built communally and negotiated over time—about what constitutes a persuasive story” (13).

“[D]espite this growing awareness of narrative as a genre—as a way of constructing experience or discourse—composition still frequently defines narrative in contradistinction to the more ‘objective’ or ‘rational’ methods characteristic of those disciplines that produce ‘scientific’ (often quantitative) knowledge” (15).

“Instead, scientists rely on what is sometimes called ‘consilience,’ a process of assembling converging data that is akin to triangulation. However, despite the fact that the persuasive power of scientific narratives can be constantly renegotiated, scientists nevertheless want to write true stories about things that really happened in the world” (18).

“Are personal narratives knowledge just because they’re personal? Or are there differences in the kinds of personal narratives we value as disciplinary knowledge? And if there are differences, by what criteria do we evaluate personal narratives in order to determine how ‘truthful’ or ‘correct’ they are?” (19).

“But what aside from representational preferences convinces us of the emotional or experiential authenticity of the account? And a more difficult question: How do we decide if this account is worth building on, worth incorporating within what counts as disciplinary knowledge? These questions remain to be explored by composition researchers” (20).

“What kinds of stories have we learned to tell? How are stories shaped by disciplinary preferences as well as cultural or theoretical commitments? How do the positions from which we write—particularly those of researcher or teacher—affect the kinds of stories we tell? What ethical obligations do we have to the people whose lives we narrate and the readers whom we are addressing? What qualities of observation, analysis, or representation should we expect if we are to accept any particular narrative as ‘research’?” (21).

Analysis:

I do not know that this chapter taught me anything new about personal narratives as I have been sufficiently jaded about them since I first learned about documentaries not being the vehicles of truth I once thought them to be. Everyone has rhetorical goals and to pretend otherwise is fantasy. The one illuminating part of the chapter was when Journet spoke to scientific history as I had never considered it to be constructed in a similar way to a personal narrative but it makes sense that all narratives are dependent to one extend or another on an “index of reality” that both writer and reader alike must subscribe to for the writing to be considered believable.

I really do enjoy the personal narrative as a genre as it allows me to—as much as is humanly possible—get inside someone else’s head. This chapter though, does taint that idea a little bit though as Journet makes it very clear that in a narrative we are only being allowed to see what the author wants us to see and even if what we are seeing may be entirely accurate the author may be—deliberately or not—excluding important contextual information that would alter our understanding of the story. Fortunately though, the perspective that Journet emphasizes of a healthy level of skepticism I think only makes narratives more interesting as we are able to not only examine the narrative itself but also all the external circumstances that may have played into its production.