It is now officially two months since I started my PhD, and I’m happy to say I’m still enjoying (and getting frustrated by) the messy process of figuring out where my research project is going, what I need to know, and what I don’t know that I need to know. That last one is a real pickle.

This week was autumn break in the lead-up to Halloween, so I had a completely free schedule to fill as I pleased. I spent it working from home, tackling the ever-growing pile of books on my desk. And I actually got through it, along with a few extra articles.

The book that has probably made the biggest impact on my thinking is Researching with Care: Applying Feminist Care Ethics to Research Practice by Tula Brannelly and Marian Barnes. As the title suggests, it asks how to approach research with care, starting from the premise that people research what they care about. Otherwise, why bother? Among other things, Brannelly and Barnes discuss voice (who gets to speak), the relationship between researcher and researched, accountability, responsibility, and “the necessity of connecting the personal and the professional.” In summary, they emphasise the following:

…a critical understanding of the role of care in the world means that we need to not only research the place and meaning of care in diverse contexts and situations, but that we also need to practice research with care. We research the things we care about as moral beings: it is a practice that is personal, political and intellectual (Brannelly & Barnes 2022: 140).

I can’t help wondering what would happen if every piece of research grounded itself in feminist care ethics. How would it change our practices across disciplines? What would it mean for research involving non-humans, who have no say in the matter? And what research should perhaps be abandoned as incompatible with caring? There’s plenty of scope for interesting discussion.

In a similar vein, and cited in Brannelly and Barnes’s book, I also read Carol Gilligan’s In a Different Voice. I first read it during my master’s in gender studies, and I still get just as frustrated with myself when I reach this line in the preface:

Choices not to speak are often well-intentioned and psychologically protective, motivated by concerns for people’s feelings and by an awareness of the realities of one’s own and others’ lives (Gilligan 1993: xi).

I am guilty of this time and again. I can name at least three occasions in the past couple of weeks when I chose not to voice my opinion because I didn’t want to offend someone, even though I disagreed with what they were saying or doing. I want to be “nice.” But what if what the other person is saying isn’t particularly nice, or is even offensive? Speaking up might lead to an interesting discussion, or help someone see something from another perspective. I might even learn more about their thinking and come to understand their worldview better. Or they might never speak to me again, which is the outcome I inevitably default to fearing. Still, I wonder if I can learn something from Gilligan and speak up a little more. But nicely. 😀

There were other books too, but those two stood out. I also loved finally getting to finish Harry Wolcott’s The Man in the Principal’s Office, half of which I read in a café, which made the experience even better.

The café visit was followed by two lectures at an art museum in town, by chemist George Attard and philosopher of science Helena Cleeve, on sketching in science. It was the first time I had seen in-situ drawing used in ethnography. Very inspiring, though I’m not sure my stick figures would cut it.

I don’t yet know how any of this will shape my project, but it’s all pushing me to pay closer attention to who and what I might otherwise overlook.

Next week, it’s back to lectures, workshops and seminars, plus even more reading. Yep, the pile continues to grow. I’m already looking forward to the next time I can spend a full week buried in books. And let’s hope some of what I learned actually sticks 🙂