On what I knew my book would include—and what I didn’t.
At the time of my
dissertation/first book, I was deeply invested in strategies of inductive
argumentation. I believed so strongly that a work’s main ideas and arguments
should develop out of the research and reading and writing process that I didn’t
even have a central argument yet when I submitted the final copies of my
dissertation ahead of my defense—it was only in conversations before and at
that defense that I finally pulled together that thesis! There were definite
disadvantages to that approach (when I sent out job cover letters, for example,
I wasn’t yet able to articulate my main argument, which I’m sure didn’t help my
chances), but also many advantages, including this one: it allowed me to
discover numerous
texts and focal points as I worked, many of which became
crucial to the project.
For my second
and (current) third books, however, I have shifted gears dramatically: starting
each project with pretty clear main ideas and arguments. Partly that’s due to
an even more dramatic life change: since parenting is now my #1 priority, I
have far less time at the moment to wander the stacks of Harvard’s Widener
Library, discovering focal texts as I go. And partly it’s due to my shift
toward public scholarship, which (I believe) requires clearer and more defined
main arguments in order to connect to and make its case for broad audiences. With this current book, for example, I don’t
believe it would be sufficient to argue, “We need to remember the Chinese Exclusion
Act, and in this project I’ll explore those memories and see what they produce”;
I had from the outset a much more defined sense of what lessons I wanted to
highlight, and they remain the focal points of my book’s three chapters.
Yet such clear and defined main ideas shouldn’t preclude unexpected
discoveries, of course, and each of my chapters likewise includes significant
and (I hope) interesting such finds. To highlight only three: I knew next to nothing
of New York’s Castle Garden Immigration
Station until I began researching the process of arrival for 19th
century immigrants; I first learned of Louisiana’s 18th
century Filipino community while researching foundational American
diversity; and I had never heard of one of America’s most inspiring
individuals, Chang
Hon Yen, until I looked into the individual lives of Chinese Educational
Mission students. Such discoveries are far from secondary to projects like this
one—if the main arguments can highlight the contemporary and ongoing stakes of
doing public scholarly work, the forgotten moments and communities and figures
can provide the compelling histories and stories that help us all connect to
our national past.
Next reflections tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What have you discovered that you’d want to share?
Other thoughts on these questions?
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