Research from scratch

The book I’m writing has emerged over the course of five years. In addition to the introductory and final chapter, it will consist of six empirical chapters. Most of these are based on studies I have already carried out and published. The primary purpose of my book is to collect the different studies and give me room to make four to five significant points. In addition, I want to make my research available to more people through the book format. 

There are a number of advantages associated with this approach of going from journal articles to books. Not least the fact that I can write the actual book relatively quickly. Some chapters only require a slight revision of previous works. The fourth chapter, which I wrote before the summer vacation, was an example of this. This chapter is called “Två kvinnliga pionjärer” (Two Female Pioneers) and focuses on how journalist Barbro Soller and historian Birgitta Odén at the same time – but in different ways – developed a strong environmentalist commitment. This resulted in their lives and careers changing course. Here, my work primarily concerned translating my own text from English into Swedish (Soller) and making a journal article shorter (Odén). 

However, the chapter I’m currently working on, the fifth, has a completely different character. It is, to refer to Martin Ericsson, “research from scratch.” This chapter is based on Hans Palmstierna’s personal archives and is mainly based on letters. In the late fall of 1967, Palmstierna became Sweden’s first truly influential environmentalist – something highly noticeable in the correspondence that has survived. From this time until his death in 1975, a lot of people wrote letters to him. I may thus use these letters to get insights into the chain reaction of activity initiated by the breakthrough of environmental issues in Swedish society. Analyzing this material is incredibly fascinating. 

The material includes letters from students, bankers, high school teachers and priests. It includes communists and conservatives, centrists and liberals. Politically, however, it is dominated by social democrats. Palmstierna was an active party member, and in 1967–1968, he was given increasingly important tasks. For instance, he belonged to the group preparing the Social Democrats’ first environmental policy program. In March 1968, he left the Karolinska Institute to work at the Swedish Environmental Protection Agency. Six months later, he joined the Environmental Advisory Council. 

Even more interesting, however, is to see how he was invited to public television and the various branches of the labor movement. Most important in this context was the fact that in December 1967, the cooperative insurance company Folksam (the largest insurance company in Sweden at the time) decided to launch the first national environmental campaign: “Front mot miljöförstöringen” (Front against Environmental Degradation). Hans Palmstierna prepared the study material, recorded videos and designed the campaign. The basic idea was to get young people involved in environmental issues so that they would then exert pressure on decision-makers. The campaign culminated in the spring of 1969, when school students throughout Sweden organized public hearings with local politicians and business leaders. 

At this time, there was no “environmental movement” in the current sense of the word. There was no Greenpeace, no Friends of the Earth, and the term “Green Wave” had yet to be coined. But people’s involvement in relation to the environment was on the rise and it was channeled – as shown by the Folksam campaign – through established social organizations. The letter material also shows that student associations adopted a prominent role. At the Chalmers University of Technology, a group of architectural students created the exhibition “Än sen då” (So What?). It was launched in the spring of 1968 after which it toured the country. Other students signed up as volunteers in the new popular movement beginning to take shape. None of this existed in the spring of 1967. 

Exactly how this chapter will turn out remains to be seen. I have given myself some 25 pages and outlined a rough structure that is essentially chronological. The latter aspect is important to me since one of my points with this chapter is to highlight chain reactions. In other words, showing how someone’s actions led others to do something, which, in turn, had further consequences. To some extent, I also want to show how the “reaction time” differed between different organizations and groups. 

Nevertheless, there is no doubt that this represents a fun and creative phase of the research and writing process. I here find a sense of productive uncertainty not found in chapters where the bulk of my work was done a long time ago. Obviously, I also find lots of new leads that I’m curious to follow up. What, for example, is hidden in the Folksam archives? How difficult would it be to get in contact with people involved in hearings in the spring of 1969? What is preserved in school basements? Such as at Porthälla in Partille, which in April 1968 organized an environmental week ending with Hans Palmstierna coming to give a presentation. And what can we find out about the hundreds of study circles organized by adult education associations ABF, Vuxenskolan and others? 

There is certainly no shortage of ideas. But if I am to finish this book, further research will have to wait. “Get a plan and stick to it,” as the saying goes. But it’s certainly tempting to turn over just another stone.

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Model texts

Academic writing is not one thing but many. It consists of a plethora of genres and subgenres, from papers and written exams during the early years as a student to writing major program applications and expert opinions. Few, if any, master all these genres. Hence, active writers need to get the tools – and the self-confidence – to repeatedly do what they have not done before. 

My own way of managing this is to look for model texts. In other words, before I start writing in a genre with which I’m unfamiliar, I study what others have done. When reading these texts, however, I don’t focus on the contents. What I’m trying to achieve is to get an idea of how a specific type of text may be structured. What does a functioning skeleton look like? 

My experience is that this approach is more helpful the more specific you are. In other words, I mainly study subgenres. As far as journal articles are concerned, I commonly try to find a text about the same time period that uses a similar source material. The text should also originate from the journal to which I intend to submit my manuscript. This enables me to ensure that my text is not completely out of place in terms of genre and subject matter. 

A concrete example is my first peer-reviewed article “Framtidskunskap i cirkulation” (2015). It concerns how questions related to the environment and the future were discussed in the Swedish press and radio/television in the early 1970s. My model text for this was Marie Cronqvist’s article “Utrymning i folkhemmet” (2008) on Swedish civil defense culture in the early 1960s. What these two articles have in common is that they seek to shed light on a larger theme by looking at a more specific historical example. They concern very short periods of time and are mainly based on press material. 

My study of Marie’s text was carried out at the same time as I collected source material, read research literature and started prewriting. Assisted by the model text, I created a rough synopsis indicating the number of pages for the different parts of the article. This synopsis then guided my continued gathering of material, reading and processing. By having a model text upon which to base my work, I got a better understanding of what was expected of me. I could thus set limits on how much source material and previous research were meaningful for me to go through. This reading was thus a key and integral part of the research and writing process. 

This type of work can be done with both high and low intensity. During this semester, for instance, I have carefully studied successful applications to the Swedish Research Council, blog posts and external examiners’ thesis reviews. But the low-intensity part is just as important. This means that in my continuous reading of various texts, I make sure to remember the ones I find really good. At the time of reading, there is not always time to analyze why I find it so good or how the writer has succeeded in this. But collecting good model texts is always a good idea. They tend to become useful sooner or later.

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The role of writing applications in the research process

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote an application to the Swedish Research Council. I wasn’t the only one doing so. This time of year, there are many PhDs writing applications. Around 10–15 percent of these will be successful. This usually means 3 years of research at 75 percent of a full-time salary. For people at an early stage in their career without a permanent position – such as me – these funds are often crucial with regard to whether or not they have a job. But even for people with a permanent position, receiving funding may be crucial. In fact, senior lecturers without external funding rarely have time to engage in as much research as they would like. 

Against this background, voices are raised every year that the system represents a huge waste of resources. Why should all academics write applications in January, February and March? Wouldn’t it be more beneficial if they instead spent all this time doing research? Imagine the amount of research we could benefit from! 

I understand these thoughts. But I don’t really agree. I consider writing applications an important and rewarding part of the research process. In fact, I consider writing applications as stage three of a total of six stages. My line of thinking goes something like this. 

The first stage of the research process is the curiosity phase. In this phase, you for some reason become interested in something and realize that you want to know more about it. Perhaps even research it. Curiosity may be aroused by experiences, conversations, reading, teaching or just about anything. If it persists for a while, it may be worthwhile moving forward. 

The second phase is the orientation phase. Here, you review what others have written about the phenomenon, locate and visit archives, find possible source materials and discuss your vague ideas with others. The curiosity and orientation phases may last for years before you proceed. My interest in what I’m currently applying for was aroused in 2016. Research takes time. 

The third stage, the application phase, concerns transforming curiosity and orientation into one or more projects. My approach is typically to start by applying for smaller funds to carry out pilot studies and prepare larger applications. Swedish historians are privileged in this regard. There are many Swedish foundations from which you may apply for small and medium-sized funding. This is not at all the case in, for example, Denmark and Norway. 

In Sweden, there are roughly two windows, one at the beginning of the spring semester and one at the beginning of the fall semester. Here, you may apply for amounts that may secure your salary for three or four months. Decisions are usually communicated at the end of the same semester as the application is submitted. For me, these smaller funds have been absolutely crucial. Without these, I would have been out of the system and probably back in school. The thing is that at the Swedish Research Council, the Bank of Sweden Tercentenary Foundation and the other large funding bodies, my applications have yet to be successful. 

But is the application phase really to be seen as research? Yes, I would definitely argue that this is the case. It requires you to get a firmer grip on your thoughts, arguments and to get your research design down on paper. Research questions and objectives need to be formulated and specified. All this requires a closer reading of existing research in your chosen field. In addition, you need to get a firmer grip on the source material you’re planning to use. If you perform this work well, the following phases will be considerably easier. In certain environments other than academia, this is called frontloading. I find it very similar to prewriting. So yes, the application phase consists of substantial, difficult and valuable work. The fact that academics repeatedly need to engage in this does not represent a waste of resources. 

The fourth phase is a more intense research phase. This is characterized by a more focused pursuit of knowledge and actively working with source materials, but also an even closer reading of the research literature. One may also include seminar feedback, conference presentations and organizing workshops in this phase. Personally, I would argue that the fifth phase, the writing phase, is carried out in a symbiotic relationship with the fourth phase. At any rate, I don’t “carry out research” for a year and then write during the next year. Individual months may be devoted to one of the two activities, but the vast majority of time contains both. 

Finally, I would like to point out that there is a sixth phase in the research process that is sometimes forgotten. We may refer to this as the follow-up phase. The premise here is that it’s easier to be published than to be read. Yes, it actually takes a lot of work and quite some luck to get people to become seriously interested in what you have written. Research doesn’t simply circulate because it exists. No, if it really is to be part of a larger scholarly and/or public conversation – rather than a single cry in the desert – you need to put in both time and effort.

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On the importance of a social and intellectual context

The best thing about finding a really good academic text is that reading it is just the beginning. This is because outstanding texts are not written in intellectual isolation – they are part of a larger conversation. Through reference lists and footnotes, windows open up toward new worlds. For those with time, curiosity and access to a good library system, you’re free to follow the tracks and see where you end up.

A recent example for me is Joli Jensen’s Write No Matter What (2017). This is without a doubt a book capable of holding its own. But it also leads to new places. Through Jensen, I discovered the fascinating anthology Working It Out (1977). This originates from the 1970s American women’s movement and consists of 23 personal stories about women’s lives and intellectual work. The contributors are writers, academics and artists in their thirties and forties. Most of them have children. Many find themselves in the shadow of a more successful husband or ex-husband.

This book is a product of its time. Not only in terms of content, but also in purely material terms. The pages in my interlibrary loan copy have turned yellow. There are no highlights or dog ears. When I google the contributors, most of them turn out to be dead. Many of them found great success in the 1980s and 1990s.

But even if the book is more than forty years old, it still feels topical and alive. The stories are straightforward, honest and full of compromises. Between the lines, we find the outlines of men living a different kind of life. Their academic careers, travels, interests and ambitions are not circumvented by obligations. They have time to think. They have time to let the days go by. They have time to worry and feel anxious. There are a lot of things they don’t have to do.

The chapter by Amélie Oksenberg Rorty is particularly interesting in this regard. It revolves around how academic couples develop and what is actually needed to write. She points out that a common pattern is that the man in the relationship receives an offer for a better position. The woman comes along. The joint plan is that she should complete her book or dissertation.

But her writing grinds to a halt. Even though she doesn’t teach. Even though she doesn’t have any administrative responsibilities. She is free. So, why is she unable to write? Doesn’t she have what it takes? The woman and the man begin to doubt her abilities.

Amélie Oksenberg Rorty believes that the obstacle here is losing a social and intellectual context. She points out that many men – once the semester is over or when they have been granted a semester on sabbatical – frequently also become paralyzed. Having time and a door you are willing to shut is not sufficient. Academic work requires social contexts. It requires colleagues, seminars, lunch conversations and coffee breaks.

But the young couple in the story comes to a different conclusion. Well, perhaps the woman is not as promising as the man after all. And isn’t it about time to start a family? This is followed by the real frustration. Because when the children arrive, there is neither time nor social context. The intellectual ambitions – which have yet to be given a chance to blossom – face increasingly steeper obstacles. Simultaneously, the man’s career is taking off…

Amélie Oksenberg Rorty’s chapter was originally written in 1969 as a lecture. It was published in The Yale Review in 1971. At the time, she was married to philosopher Richard Rorty. They got divorced in 1972.

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