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In recent decades there has been a substantial turn towards narrative and life history study. The
embrace of narrative and life history work has accompanied the move to postmodernism and
post-structuralism across a wide range of disciplines: sociological studies, gender studies, cultural
studies, social history; literary theory; and, most recently, psychology.
Written by leading international scholars from the main contributing perspectives and disciplines,
The Routledge International Handbook on Narrative and Life History seeks to capture the range and scope
as well as the considerable complexity of the field of narrative study and life history work by situating
these fields of study within the historical and contemporary context. Topics covered include:
With chapters from expert contributors, this volume will prove a comprehensive and author-
itative resource to students, researchers and educators interested in narrative theory, analysis and
interpretation.
Ivor Goodson is Professor of Learning Theory at the University of Brighton, UK and Inter-
national Research Professor at the University of Tallinn, Estonia. He has worked in a range of
countries and was previously Accord Research Professor at the University of Western Ontario,
Canada, and Frederica Warner Professor at the University of Rochester, USA.
Pat Sikes is Professor of Qualitative Inquiry in the School of Education at the University of
Sheffield, UK. Pat’s interests lie primarily in using auto/biographical approaches with a view to
informing practice and policy.
Molly Andrews is Professor of Political Psychology, and Co-director of the Centre for Nar-
rative Research at the University of East London, UK. Her research interests include political
narratives, psychology of activist commitment and political identity.
THE ROUTLEDGE
INTERNATIONAL HANDBOOK
ON NARRATIVE AND LIFE
HISTORY
PART I
Life histories and narratives 1
v
Contents
PART II
Methodological and sociological approaches 129
vi
Contents
PART III
Political narratives and the study of lives 271
21 Narrative power, sexual stories and the politics of story telling 280
Ken Plummer
vii
Contents
PART IV
Ethical approaches 403
viii
Contents
ix
PART I
The Handbook seeks to provide a set of explanatory, exemplary and at times exhortatory texts
around the theme of life histories and narratives. The Handbook comprises four parts. The first
parts look at some of the general points about these approaches: their origins, the distinctive and
discursive nature of life narratives and life histories, the contextual parameters and finally the
multiple relationships to identity and personality.
To provide a broader gaze than is possible from a solitary editorial standpoint, I wanted to
involve some of the most thoughtful and engaged scholars in developing parts which covered
the manifold methodological and ethical questions that arise in these fields of study. Ari Anti-
kainen and Pat Sikes are friends I have known over several decades with whom I have collaborated
and co-written. Their intelligence and integrity is the key feature of their work and praxis, but
they have always provided detailed methodological and ethical guidance to the field, and their
parts therefore focus on these twin concerns.
Likewise with Molly Andrews, whom I first encountered in her seminal text Lifetimes of
Commitment (Andrews, 1991). The idea for her part was to provide substantive focus on political
lives, which illustrated and explored not only context and content but also highlighted the meth-
odological and ethical questions which emerge in these kinds of studies.
All four parts are therefore well-integrated in their concerns and ongoing focus. Each Part
Editor provides their own introduction to themselves and their parts. My intention in this intro-
duction is to foreshadow some salient themes and provide an overview of the themes that are
showcased in Chapters 1–9.
The juxtapositioning of life history and narrative celebrates the mutually constitutive nature
of these research modalities and ways of knowing. Both celebrate the culmination of a rep-
resentational crisis that moves our focus firmly and with conviction from the positivist pursuit of
objectivity to the exploration and elaboration of subjectivity. Life histories and narratives inhabit
the heartland of subjectivity and explore the multiple ways in which our subjective perceptions
and representations relate to our understandings and our actions. With the huge potential in
developing our studies, there are perils and pitfalls in the ‘narrative turn’ to subjectivity. This
handbook seeks to explore both the promise and perils of the turn to subjectivity.
The interrelatedness of life histories and narratives is close and complementary. In the most
sophisticated and complex versions of both there is close convergence from the outset – though
3
Ivor Goodson
it is important to establish the distinctive aspects of the two approaches. Narrative work focusses
primarily on the story as told by the narrative teller. This often compromises the ultimate form
of research studies employing this modality. The messianic vision of narrative work is to ‘sponsor
the voice’ of the narrative teller, unsullied by research interpretation and colonisation. In extremis
this approach foregoes any interpretation – but also any active research collaboration. The pursuit
of primary authenticity can then lead to an abdication on the part of the researcher. This is a
paradox that sits at the heart of some of the more messianic narrative work.
From the outset we must insist that the dangers of abdication are not a feature of all narrative
work, as this volume evidences – for we have deliberately chosen elaborated notions of narrative
work in this handbook. Many studies that designate themselves as ‘narrative studies’ explore the
complexity of context and the multi-faced feature of human agency in ways not dissimilar from
the approach of the full life history studies. Some then, fulfil the aspiration I have long promoted,
following Stenhouse, of developing ‘a story of action within a theory of context’. The develop-
ment of contextual understandings is vital if narratives are to be fully presented and developed.
This emphasis of contextual background is both an intellectual but also a political issue. For
whilst rich in ‘authenticity’ and resonance, narratives are also eminently capable of misdirection
and manipulation. Christian Salmon has written eloquently of the possible misuses of narratives,
especially those that are individualised and devoid of historical context. In his wonderful book
Storytelling: Bewitching the Modern Mind, he points to enormous dangers which reside in a decon-
textualized or under-contextualised narrative:
The art of narrative – which, ever since it emerged, has recounted humanity’s experi-
ence by shedding light on it – has become, like story-telling, an instrument that allows
the state to lie and to control public opinion. Behind the brands and the TV series,
and in the shadows of victorious election campaigns from Bush to Sarkozy, as well as
in those of military campaigns in Iraq and elsewhere, there are dedicated storytelling
technicians. The empire has confiscated narrative. This book tells the incredible story
of how it has hijacked the imaginary.
(Salmon, 2010)
One issue that needs to be addressed by those of us employing narratives is the increasing rupture
between dominant narratives and contested but nevertheless apprehensible social reality. Post-
modernism has of course eroded the belief in objective truth, and it is correct that all ‘truth’ may
be subjectively experienced and partial. But there are truths: the sun rises in the morning and the
economic crisis was caused clearly and incontrovertibly by the behaviour of the banks.
Take the latter truth, which can be empirically verified. There has been a rupture between
this and the dominant narrative. Truth and narrative has ceased to co-exist. Whilst it was the
banks’ behaviour that caused the crisis, the narrative that has emerged blames over-spending on
the public services for the deficit caused by the banks’ behaviour. Since dominant interest groups
control the narratives that are constructed; they can reposition narratives and ‘truth’ and thereby
disassociate what people believe from empirical, validated reality and historical context.
These potential dangers in the misuse of narrative data are exacerbated by the uncoupling of
narratives from their social location and historical context. Let’s take an example of the collection
of narratives and stories presented without reference to social and historical transitions. In our study
of teachers’ lives funded by the Spencer Foundation in the USA we studied teachers’ stories across the
40-year period (Goodson, 2003). In the 1960s and 1970s teachers recounted stories of professional
autonomy and vocational pride. Their teaching was integral to their ‘life and work’. It expressed
these deepest ideals about social organisation and social progress. For many, teaching was their life.
4
Life histories and narratives
After 2000 the more common story was ‘it’s just a job; I’ll do what I’m told’. It became a story of
technicians carrying out the instructions of others and has led to a set of stories of how teachers
sought fulfilment of their ideals and life missions by leaving teaching for more meaningful work.
Now, without historical context, these are just different stories of teachers’ work laid side by
side with equal claims to our attention and with limited potential for understanding history and
politics: life histories should seek to elucidate why during historical periods teacher narratives
change and how the restructuring of schools and society impinge on the narrative storylines that
are available and accessible for individual elaboration. Narratives then are best when fully ‘located’
in their time and place – stories of action within theories of context. It is when conducted in
this way that life histories reach the parts that other methods fail to reach. For these reasons many
scholars see life history as a more fully fledged method and a way of learning. For instance, in revis-
iting narrative and life history methods, Hitchcock and Hughes suggest the life history approach
is ‘superior’ because of its retrospective quality which ‘enable[s] one to explore social processes
over time and add historical depth to subsequent analyses’ (Hitchcock & Hughes, 1995, p. 187).
As we saw in the example above of teacher stories, this adds a quite crucial dimension to our anal-
ysis: without the contextual dimension, our narrative analysis is fatally disabled in providing social and
political purchase in our accounts. Given the danger that this disabling vortex will be occupied by oth-
ers wishing to ‘spin’ and misrepresent social reality, this is a fatal omission in methodology and ways of
knowing. Our view in this handbook is that there is no intrinsic or inherent superiority in the use of life
histories over narratives. It all depends on the contextual richness provided alongside the narrative study.
Narrative and life history research often takes a qualitative approach to data collection using
in-depth interviews. The process is collaborative and requires establishing trust and close rela-
tionships. In the first instance, the researcher often encourages a ‘flow’ in the interview, with
limited interrogation, to let the participants control the ordering and sequencing of their stories
and reduce, but not obscure or suspend, the issue of researcher power.
Building on the initial interview(s), further dialogues or follow-up interchange(s) can be
developed. When the researcher and the participant move the ‘inter-view’ towards a ‘grounded
conversation’ and away from the somewhat singular narrative of the initial life story, it can signal
the move from life story to life history. This means approaching the question of why stories are
told in particular ways at particular historical moments. The life history, together with other
sources of data, ‘triangulates’ the life story to locate its wider meaning (see Figure P1.1). In this
Life Story
Documentary Other
Resources Testimonies
5
Ivor Goodson
manner the life story is fully contextualised in time and place and is less malleable and manipu-
lable. This is what is meant by a ‘story of action within a theory of context’.
Introducing part I
In this introductory part we focus on the implications of living in an ‘age of narratives’ and
point to the particular nature of the narratives of our time – often small-scale life narratives.
As we know, storytelling has always been a distinctive feature of humankind, so the recounting
of narratives itself is nothing new but an immemorial practice. Rather the question becomes
what sort of narratives are predominantly current and how are narratives being constructed and
deployed in contemporary life. Christopher Booker has explored the theme of ‘why we tell
stories’. He argues that:
At any given moment, all over the world, hundreds of millions of people will be engaged
in what is one of the most familiar of all forms of human activity. In one way or another
they will have their attention focussed on one of those strange sequences of mental
images which we call a story.
We spend a phenomenal amount of our lives following stories: telling them; listening
to them; reading them; watching them being acted out on the television screen or in
films or on the stage. They are far and away one of the most important features of an
everyday existence.
(Booker, 2004)
In the chapter ‘The rise of the life narrative’, I focus on how life stories are taking ‘front stage’ in
our contemporary culture, but I warn that the story
provides a starting point for developing further understandings of the social construc-
tion of subjectivity; if the stories stay at the level of the personal and practical, we forego
that opportunity.
So the confinement of narratives to small scale individual personal scripts constrains our capacity
to develop links to the contextual background. I argue that the personal life story is an individual-
ising device if divorced from context. Moreover it is a profound mistake to believe that a personal
life story is entirely personally crafted for other forces also speak through the personal voice that
is adopted – ‘they also speak who are not speaking’. Hence I argue we should locate our scrutiny
of stories to show that the general forms, skeletons and ideologies we employ in structuring the
way we tell our individual tales come from a wider culture.
Without this cultural and historical analysis, a life story study can be a decontextualizing device,
or at the very least an under-contextualising device. In this chapter we develop our notions and
understandings of historical time into broad historical time, generational time, cyclical time (the
stages of the life cycle), and personal time. These historical contexts of time and period have
to be addressed as we develop our understandings of life stories and move towards life history
approaches.
The life history method has a long scholarly history that is briefly traced in Chapter 2. First
conducted by anthropologists at the beginning of the twentieth century, it was pioneered by
sociologists Thomas and Znaniecki in the 1920s, notably in their study, The Polish Peasant in
Europe and America (Thomas & Znaniecki, 1918–1920). This work established life history as a
6
Life histories and narratives
bonafide research device, which was further consolidated by the traditions of life history work
in sociology, stimulated at the University of Chicago in the 1920s and 1930s by Robert Park.
Howard Becker argues that the study of The Jack Roller, Stanley (Shaw, 1930), is typical of the
virtues of life history studies. He says:
by putting ourselves in Stanley’s skin, we can feel and become aware of the deep biases
about such people that ordinarily permeate our thinking and shape the kinds of prob-
lems we investigate. By truly entering into Stanley’s life, we can begin to see what we
take for granted (and ought not to) in designing our research – what kinds of assump-
tions about delinquents, slums and Poles are embedded in the way we set the questions
we study.
(Becker, 1970, p. 71)
Conducted successfully, the life history then forces a confrontation with not only other people’s
subjective perceptions, but our own also. This confrontation can be avoided, and so often is
avoided, in many other social scientific methods: one only has to think of the common rush to
the quantitative indicator or theoretical construct, to the statistical table or the ideal type. This
sidesteps the messy confrontation with human subjectivity, whether it be that of the person being
studied or the person doing the studying.
This confrontation sits at the heart and is the central aspiration of life history work. In the
contemporary world, Munro argues:
The current focus on acknowledging the subjective, multiple and partial nature of
human experience has resulted in a revival of life history methodology. What were pre-
viously criticisms of life history, its lack of representativeness and its subjective nature,
are now its greatest strength.
(Munro, 1998, p. 8)
Dan McAdams’ work on human storytelling is of great importance to the emerging work in
narrative and life history. In his chapter he looks at the interface between stories and personality
and begins with the fruitful assertion that personal narrative identity is ‘the internalized and
evolving story the person constructs to explain how he or she came to be the person he or she
is becoming’. The shifting of tenses in this sentence points to the emergent sense of self through
story that he works with in this chapter.
Narrative and life history work has come quite late to the psychological inquiry when we
compare to its early origins in anthropology and sociology. McAdams (this volume, p. 34) notes
that it has ‘only been within the last couple of decades that psychological scientists and practi-
tioners have found credible ways of translating that insight into systematic inquiry.’ He asserts
that ‘a growing number of psychologists today conceive of narrative identity as a key feature of
a person’s basic psychological makeup’ (this volume, p. 34). In short he believes it is a key to
understanding human personality.
One of the most attractive elements of McAdams’ work is the suggestive and generative claims
he makes herein; for instance, he builds a set of claims following Joan Didion’s statement that we
‘tell ourselves stories in order to live.’ He says:
the stories we tell ourselves in order to live bring together diverse elements into an
integrated whole, organising the multiple and conflicting facets of our lives within a
7
Ivor Goodson
narrative framework which connects past, present, and an anticipated future and confers
upon our lives a sense of inner sameness and social continuity – indeed an identity. As
the story evolves and our identity takes form, we come to live the story as we write it.
(this volume, p. 37)
McAdams works with a finely detailed and differentiated analysis of life stories. For instance, he
notes that perhaps not surprisingly ‘people who adopt an especially nuanced and differentiated
perspective to understand themselves and the world tend to construct more complex life stories,
compared to narrators whose perspectives are more constrained and parochial’ (this volume,
p. 39). Working with a more sociological focus, I have been exploring the differentiation of life
stories covering a spectrum from what I call ‘scripted describers’ through to ‘focussed elabora-
tors’. This work on the differentiating bases of life narratives is part of a new wave of studies of
differentiation in life narratives (Goodson, 2013), and McAdams moves this innovative work into
the field of psychology and personality studies.
David Stephens’ work is well-known for its articulation of narrative construction set within
a broad contextual location. In his chapter he distinguishes three distinct epistemological and
theoretical levels at which narratives operate: the meta level of ‘grand’ narratives in which fields or
traditions are defined and legitimized, then the meso level in which national and regional narra-
tives are espoused and legitimated, and finally the micro or personal level in which individuals set
about providing a narrative account of their lives. This work is particularly helpful in exploring
how Western grand narratives drive out or marginalise other narratives and become, in his terms,
‘the only story in town’. Narratives of ‘development’ provide an example of this process at work.
The next two chapters emerge from an earlier book that Pat Sikes and I wrote, Life History
in Educational Settings (Goodson & Sikes, 2001). We were concerned to develop an introductory
guide to the methodology and ethics of life history work. Having said this, we were at pains to
stress that you cannot ‘proceduralise’ life history work. This is because of the intensely ‘idiosyn-
cratic personal dynamics’ of the method. We say ‘there is not a predestined way of proceeding in
life history interviews or analyses’ – they are serendipitous, emergent and even opportunistic. Inev-
itably life history work is as variable as life histories themselves and the capacity to respond vari-
ously and intuitively is the key to best practice. The chapter reviews strategies for developing one’s
research focus and reviews the crucial question of negotiating access and participation. A major
part then summarises some of the main strategies employed in the collection of life history data.
In ‘What have you got when you’ve got a life story?’ Pat and I reflect on the essential nature
of life story data. We face the issue that ‘traditionally, the goal of research has been to acquire
knowledge that leads to understanding and the truth about whatever is being investigated’ (this
volume, p. 61). But this is problematical for life history scholars because ‘their primary aim is
to explore how individuals or groups who share specific characteristics subjectively experience,
make sense of, and account for the things that happened to them’ (this volume, p. 61).
We argue that life stories are crafted in particular ways:
They tell their story in a particular way for a particular purpose, guided by their under-
standing of the particular situation they are talking about, the self/identity/impression/
image they want to present, and their assessment of how hearers will respond.
(this volume, p. 62)
The life history interview is a very specific opportunity to present and refine identity. In the book
Narrative Pedagogy (Goodson & Gill, 2011) we have further reflected on the life history interview as a
learning opportunity and a pedagogic possibility. In the life history interview it is therefore possible
8
Life histories and narratives
to learn and teach ‘on the job.’ Many life history tellers reflect afterwards on how much they have
learnt in the telling and in the collaboration of moving between life story and life history modalities.
Life history research provides then a milieu for telling, one with possibilities but also param-
eters: ‘People have particular notions of what it means to be involved in research. These notions
influence what they tell and how they tell it, and their ideas about the information that they
consider they should make available to the researcher’ (this volume, pp. 63–64). The life history
interview is a joint creation; however, conducted, it is an act of collaboration.
This, of course, does not mean that the life history interview acts as a kind of carte blanche for
so much ‘preactive’ work has already been done. Moreover ‘we tell our stories using the narra-
tive forms available to us within our cultures’ (this volume, p. 64). In ‘The story so far: Personal
knowledge and the political’, I investigate some of the cultural patterns of storytelling and narrative
activity. Writing originally in 1995 I argue that ‘a good deal of evidence points to an increasingly
aggrandising centre or state acting to sponsor “voices” at the level of interest groups, localities and
peripheries. From the perspective of these groups this may look like empowerment . . . but . . .
specific empowerment can go hand in hand with overall social control’ (this volume, p. 89).
Hence I warn ‘Economic restructuring is being closely allied to cultural redefinition – a reduction
of contextual discourses . . . and an overall sponsorship of personal and practical forms of discourse
and cultural production’ (this volume, pp. 89–90). This health warning returns us again I think to
the importance of linking our work on narratives and life stories to a systematic investigation of
changing historical contexts for these contexts re-work and re-position our life narratives.
Narratives and life history studies represent ways of knowing which do privilege and
re-prioritise in sometimes progressive and at other times regressive ways. I would suggest it is
worth looking at these methods not just as alternative ‘ways of knowing’ but as different routes
in the process of ‘coming to know’. For this reason above all in the last two chapters in the intro-
duction two scholars from different schools of thought explore this process of ‘coming to know’.
Mike Hayler’s chapter is a splendidly reflective piece. He employs the work of Tony Adams,
and as he says: ‘I come to understand my own experience in a new, if somewhat uncomfortable,
way’ (this volume, p. 110). He states: ‘I respond to Adams, who draws attention to the complex-
ities of taken-for-granted assumptions, by considering the complexities of taken-for-granted
assumptions in my own life’ (this volume, p. 110). This has great similarities to the claims Howard
Becker makes about Shaw’s study of The Jack Roller (Shaw, 1930).
Hayler shows how ‘considering Adams’s story and my own brings me to reflect in a new way
upon connected cultural phenomena’ (this volume, p. 110). He means in particular the direction
of government education policy in England since 2010. He sees how ‘education is a critical site
of imposed, implemented ideology where taken-for-granted assumptions need to be examined,
questioned and challenged’ (this volume, p. 110) and he finds himself ‘positioned uncomfortably
as the institution I work for pursues strategies that bring much of this policy into practice’ (this
volume, p. 110). A later part illustrates how he develops a narrative pedagogy that encourages
‘an environment that places reflexivity at the centre’ for his students (this volume, p. 113). His
work shows how our developing self-narratives, when linked to a developing ‘cognitive map’ of
context, feed through into our ‘courses of action’ in our working lives.
The link between ‘our narrative construction and our contextual understanding is central to
understanding the process of “coming to know”’ (Goodson, 2013). But the further link between
‘coming to know’ and developing ‘courses of action’ is of enormous importance. In the book
Developing Narrative Theory (Goodson, 2013) I have been examining this process and scrutinising
how different kinds of narratives have different ‘action potential’. This area of work is vitally
important in the future of work in narratives and life history and some of the contributors to
this volume are playing key roles in these explorations.
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Ivor Goodson
In the final chapter of this first part, Keith Turvey looks at the process of ‘coming to
narrative’ and the wider process of ‘coming to know’. He asserts that his process of ‘coming
to know and becoming is effortful, on-going and capricious, but significantly rooted in the here
and now’ (this volume, p. 116). He therefore judges that ‘although narrative is both a significant
and optimal medium for personal, social, cultural and political renewal, it is not without risk
from parochialism and dislocation’ (this volume, p. 116). By exploring issues of temporality and
concepts of ‘threshold experiences’ which cover transitions and transformations, he sets out to
make sure ‘questions about the past or future must not become dislocated from the present’ (this
volume, p. 126). He argues similarly that life stories must not become dislocated from these wider
life histories. He concludes that it is through periodisation and conceptualising narratives within
an ecology that we can gain insight into the wider socio-cultural and political movements of our
time. Such insights build narrative capital and provide an important culture of resistance against
individual dislocation and parochialism.’
This introductory part therefore highlights some of the main themes appertaining to narra-
tive and life history work. The methodological turn to subjectivity has once again prioritised this
method and led to a widespread rehabilitation of life history studies. But, as we have argued, the turn
to subjectivity comes both with promises and perils. The perils focus on the misuse and manipula-
tion of storytelling. This was recognised early on by Edward Bernays in his 1924 study Propaganda
(Bernays, 1924). He saw how stories could be developed that would shape our desires and our
patterns of consumption. The manipulation and promotion of stories has been further refined in
the Neoliberal age, and digitalisation aids that process greatly. As the Internet provides access to
our storied reality, the possibility for infinite fine-tuning of manipulative storytelling is opened up.
We have seen how providing cognitive maps of historical and social context can ‘act back’
against the promotion of unsensitised narrative construction. In the future our work should
develop further our theories of context. In developing these cognitive maps of context, so we
develop what I have called ‘narrative capital’ (Goodson, 2013). This will explore the action poten-
tial, the learning potential and the pedagogic potential of narrative and life history work. It should
enable the process of ‘coming to tell’ to also be a process of ‘coming to know’.
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10
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