...........

Guidelines for
Writing a PhD Thesis within
ASCA

Mieke Bal

Contents
Introduction
1. Practical matters
Reporting back to your supervisor
Making an appointment
Handing in written work
Supervisory meetings
Location of meetings
2. Potential problems
Time management
Daily schedule
Working style
Interdisciplinarity
Problems with advisors
Phasing and spacing your work
3. How to set up a thesis
The question
Examples of unsuitable questions
Examples of suitable questions
4. Content: some pitfalls
Coherence
Realism
Polemics, ripping-off and name-dropping
5. Writing
Outline
Making the text readable
Argumentation
Paragraphs
Sentences
Style
Exclusive language and essentialis
Metaphors
Technical terms
Emphasis
Format of quotations
Lay-out
6. Sources
Concepts
Quotations
Footnotes
7 Bibliography
8. Finishing

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Introduction
This brochure was written for PhD candidates in cultural analysis. It
addresses these candidates directly, hence the "you" form in which it is
written. It provides mostly practical information and suggestions
meant to help you - its addressee - to successfully complete the long
and sometimes lonely process of writing a thesis in the area, broadly
defined, of cultural analysis. Culture, here, encompasses "any
production and organization of words and gestures, images and
sounds, none of which can stand on its own and none of which claim
any ontological, epistemological or axiological primacy per se". This
formulation, proposed by Hent de Vries in the first ASCA Yearbook
(1996: 4), is complemented, on the next page, with the statement of
principle on which ASCA research is based:
... it can be maintained that every single word or gesture,
image or sound, should be considered, neither as an atom or
monad nor as a microcosm and mirror of the world, but as a
world of possible associations and interpretations, of semantic
effects and of unexpected appropriations. In that sense, and
in contradistinction to the view held by the ancients, there can
only be the study [ ... ] of the singular. Put otherwise: the
singular is the true universal. And vice versa. (1996: 5;
emphasis in text)
The attention to the detail of the object of analysis, whose necessity
this brief stipulates, is situated, de Vries continues, in the "present" of
analysis. And that present provides the theoretical frameworks and the
lived cultural position from which any analysis takes place.
This brochure contains detailed guidelines and examples of
potential problems you may encounter. We recommend you read it not
only at the beginning of your intellectual journey, but also at moments
of hesitation and difficulty. While the suggestions made are obviously
derived from just one advisor's practice of PhD advising, and thus
limited, they can easily be transposed to other situations. To keep this
brochure up-to-date and increase its usefulness, we invite all its users
to make candid remarks on its contents at any time. These can be sent
by email to [email protected].

1. Practical matters
To write a PhD thesis1 requires discipline. It is a project you will be
busy with for four long years. Without some detailed suggestions on
how to structure your work, it may be difficult to get started on such a
major undertaking. It is therefore useful for all parties concerned to
agree on a few rules from the outset. These rules are not meant to be
patronizing, but to support you, help your thesis along, and,
ultimately, assist in the realization of the goal of all concerned: the
completion of your PhD.
Most ASCA advisors supervise a large number of PhD
candidates. While they do so with great pleasure, this supervision also
involves considerable time and effort. They would like nothing better
than to give each PhD candidate the feeling that they are their sole
and only charge, but this feeling can only be generated if everyone
concerned adheres to the rules set out in this brochure.
Reporting back to your supervisor
When your advisor doesn't hear from you for a long time, s/he is likely
to begin worrying. To avoid this, make sure you report to him or her
on the progress of your work (preferably, but not necessarily, in
writing) once every six weeks. If you have arranged with your
supervisor that a written text will be submitted on a specific date, that
piece of writing can take the place of a progress report. Meeting or
reporting at six-week intervals will give your work a certain rhythm
and help you structure your time.
Making an appointment
When you have submitted a text or feel the need for a tutorial, e-mail
or call your advisor for an appointment. At the beginning of the
process, you will agree with your advisor on the best way to contact
her or him (e.g. e-mail, the best time or number to cal l). When you
make contact, don't expect an appointment earlier than within a
fortnight. If your advisor has to read a new text you have drafted, you
may have to wait even longer. It is useful to arrange this time period
clearly so that both parties feel bound to it. Make good use of the time
between your call and the appointment. For example, do some reading
that you may not yet have found time for, set up your next chapter or
' Regarding the terminology "thesis" and "dissertation", t he followi ng distinction should be
made. "Dissertation" is the term most often used for the PhD paper in the USA, and for the
Master's paper In Britain. ''Thesis" can be used in all cases, but must be qualified. For example,
"PhD thesis", "Master's thesis", "fi nal thesis" (Source: Nederlandse Hoger Onderwijs Term en In
het Engels. Nuffic: The Hague 1994: 118). In accord ance with my choice t o use British spelling
and punctua:ion throughout this document, I have used the term "PhD thesis.

prepare for the appointment by reflecting on the questions you wish to

pose.

Handing in written work

Your advisor will want to have your written text well in advance of the
meeting . This is extremely important. Deadlines are difficult to keep,
but they must adhered to faithfully. In the first place, deadlines should
be an iron rule for yourself. They will help keep you in control of your
work and progress at all times. Your advisor, on the other hand, may
receive four or five fat envelopes in the mail on one day, all of which
have to be read within a week, at a time when other urgent business is
also scheduled. This can create impossible situations for both parties.
Such situations can be avoided by adhering to your deadlines.
Adhering to deadlines is also something you owe your fellow PhD
candidates.
Supervisory meetings
The duration of the scheduled meeting is determined in advance. This
time frame implies a need for a certain discipline during the meeting
itself. Precious time is wasted, for example, when a PhD candidate
tends to defend him- or herself rather than listening to criticism, or
when s/he explains "what happened" instead of responding to a
comment. Contingent upon the approach of the individual supervisor, a
meeting may last between thirty minutes and a full hour, or one and
two hours. If the meeting is longer, the concentration of all parties will
fade. Punctuality is also of the utmost importance; if you arrive late,
you will lose the time allotted to you.
Location of meetings
Meetings will normally be scheduled at the supervisor's office. This
gives a formal frame and status to the occasion as well as aids
concentration. However, another meeting place may be suggested at
the supervisor's discretion. You, too, may suggest a more formal or
public setting. It is important to make a clear distinction between an
advisor/candidate meeting and a friendly encounter.

2. Potential problems
Writing a thesis is a difficult undertaking. Remember that your advisors
are there to help you, and that your success is also important to them.
Problems must be tackled immediately. If you don't know how to go
about it, call your advisor. "No news is good news" does not apply in
the case of PhD candidates. When your advisor hears nothing for a
long time, s/he may assume something is seriously wrong, but feel
reluctant to call you for fear of appearing patronizing. It is up to you to
make contact, and to agree from the start to do so at regular intervals.
This will protect you from your own reluctance to call when things
aren't going well.
Time management
Four years may seem a long time, but in fact it is barely enough. Keep
every appointment. Do exactly as you and your advisor have agreed. If
something happens to prevent you from adhering to your plan, try to
identify the reason right away and revise your plan accordingly. Inform
your advisor immediately, but continue trying to solve the problem
yourself.
There are many things that can keep you from getting on with
your work, e.g. too many other activities, personal problems, writing
blocks, the fear of writing when you feel you haven't read enough. All
of these problems are common and can be solved. But they must not
be left to go away on their own. They won't!
PhD candidates often commit themselves to too many
activities (such as writing articles and giving lectures) for fear that
their career may falter after their defence. Nothing, however, is more
fatal to your career than ending four years of research without having
completed your thesis.
Make sure not to over-commit yourself. If you are an "aio" or
PhD fellow appointed for 32 hours, don't even think of scheduling 10
hours-worth of seminars. Seminars and other meetings take up much
more time than you realize. Note the time you spend on your various
activities and you will be surprised. Whatever you do, don't panic; just
schedule your time differently.

Daily schedule
Writing a thesis is a lonely job. No one forces you to get up early each
morning and begin writing. It is therefore highly advisable that you
follow a daily schedule. Make sure to include periods of rest and
relaxation in your plan. Don't be overly ambitious. It is unrealistic to
schedule more than 30 hours of actual research and writing time in a
single week. But do try to keep to this schedule.

Don't run errands during work time, but do allow time for
running errands in your schedule. If you work at home, you are still at
work . Tell family members and friends when you are (not) available for
drop-ins, coffee breaks and telephone calls. Switch your answering
machine on during working hours. The point is to make it absolutely
clear, to yourself and others, when you are unavailable. Do your e-mail
at the end of the day, not first thing in the morning . It eats productive
work time, fills your head when you need to clear it and diverts your
attention.
Working style
It is not advisable to spend too long on preparatory reading. Avoid
reading for general information before you start writing. Read selected
texts related to a specific, small part of your work. Read no more and
no less than you really need for the task at hand. And read no more
thoroughly than is absolutely necessary for your goal. Don't worry if
you feel your theoretical grounding is flawed. It is not likely to be
present at the start of your project; it will evolve as the writing process
unfolds. You will only really find out what you need as you go along .
The Insecurity you feel is normal; it is part and parcel of the
process. If you get stuck in your writing, skip a paragraph, take a
different angle or alter your approach slightly . Perhaps you have taken
on too much, or perhaps your claims are too difficult to prove.
Whatever you do, don't mull over a problem for days on end.
And if you really get stuck? Here is a solution that has worked
for many. Try explaining to a friend what it is you want to say. Invite
her/him to ask questions. If s/he doesn't understand your answers,
something is wrong. Keep explaining, until your friend does
understand. This is the best method for solving a problem or shaping a
vague intuition into an incisive argument. If you really want to be
thorough, tape the conversation. You might be surprised by some of
the things you hear yourself say: very useful thoughts can result from
such dialogue situations. Try it; it works!
Interdlscl pllnarity
Much of the research carried out within a framework like ASCA's is
located at the crossroads between various disciplines. PhD candidates
may have the impression that they first need to learn the methodology
of several different disciplines. This would, of course, entail a great
deal of time. Although rampant eclecticism and naive amateurism are
to be avoided, interdisciplinarity is not the accumulation of the
complete set of skills, procedures and competences of another
discipline. Rather, it is the borrowing of a question, a methodological
perspective, an object or a particular field of study, from another
discipline, and the integrating of this into your own work or subject
area .

It is possible, for example, to apply questions of rhetoric or

methods of textual analysis to photographs. To do this effectively and
responsibly, you need to know what happens in a photograph, a nonverbal text. You need to know how it differs from verbal texts but also
from painting, drawing or film. You also need to know basic principles
of image analysis. But what you don't need is to follow a course In,
say, "the history of photography" .
Another example : if you are a Westerner and you want to
make a statement about the cultural functions of Chinese narratives,
you need to consult cultural anthropology in order to formulate the
right framework for your question, and also to check your formulation
with someone well placed to know. You need to acquire knowledge of
and insight into Chinese narrative theory, and to read a good number
of Chinese stories. But what you don't need is to become a Sinologist
or ethnographer of Chinese culture.
Similarly, if you are interested in the narrative structure of
philosophical argumentation and you are a philosopher, you need to
become acquainted with basic principles of narratology. But what you
don't need is to study the history of literature. On the other hand, if
you are a literary scholar trained in narratology and pursuing this same
question, you need to understand the philosophical writer whose work
you are studying, something of his background and predecessors, and
how philosophers ask and formulate their questions. But what you
don't need is to study the entire history of philosophy.
With interdisciplinary subjects, you don't become an art
historian, anthropologist or philosopher. Your aim is to be an
interdisciplinary cultural analyst, or semiotician. It is for this goal that
you need the extra knowledge and expertise.
These are examples only. Depending on your background,
your home discipline and your overall objective, the scope and
direction of your interdisciplinary work will vary, as will the procedures
you use to extend your reflection across disciplines. It is also possible
- in fact, this is frequently the case - that you will remain within your
primary discipline and become, to use a somewhat paradoxical phrase,
an interdisciplinary art historian, film scholar or philosopher. This
means you will select your objects of analysis from within the object
domain of a single or mono-disci pline, but that your approach, based
on the broad definition of culture quoted in the Introduction to these
Guidelines, will treat these objects not as, say, films only, but as
objects embedded in the cultural frameworks within which they
function, taking into account their social effects and tracing the way
they constitute cultural interpretations.

Problems with advisors

Yes, this happens, and it shouldn't be taboo to talk about it. Even if we
all hope such problems don't arise, we still need to be open to the
possibility that they sometimes do.
Depending on your project, you will work with one or more
advisors . Problems may occur when different advisors take different
approaches. It is thus crucial to establish a clear division of tasks from
the outset, preferably during the first meeting with your advisors and
the manager of ASCA. For example, if one of your advisors comes from
the social sciences, say anthropology, and works with an entirely
different approach to that of your first advisor, a philosopher, a clear
division of the work of advising will be needed.
If one of the advisors expresses discontent with the way you
move between the two disciplines and approaches, you should
immediately ring the alarm bell. You could, for example, arrange a
meeting between yourself and the two advisors from whom you are
getting conflicting messages, to establish where the problem lies and
who is primarily responsible for which part or aspect of the work. The
more explicit the discussion, the clearer the situation will be, and,
hence, the better the result. If an advisor is dissatisfied, s/he may
rightly point out that you make claims on her field of expertise that
your analysis does not substantiate. Ukewise, the advisor may wrongly
assume that your entire project must satisfy the requirements of a
mono-disciplinary work within her discipline. Advisors, too, need to
learn how interdisciplinarity works.
Some problems pertain to the different approaches of the
advisors. One advisor may have a strictly empirical approach that does
not automatically mesh with the semiotic-analytical approach of the
other advisor. But, then, nor should the latter approach do battle with
empirical facts (although, when are facts ever 100% proven?). Often,
the problem is not the facts themselves, but their (relative) relevance.
When such opposing views arise, problems are bound to occur. They
are solvable, but they don't go away by themselves.
Conflicts of this kind can be resolved by clearly assigning
responsibilities . For example, the first advisor may direct the research
by giving regular "assignments", while the other advisor may act as a
second reader, ensuring accuracy and "quality control" within his/her
areas of expertise, whether these be prominent or secondary in your
work. In cases where extra expertise is required for a particular
aspect, however, a second reader may act as a first advisor with
regard to that specific area of research. It is essential to ensure there
are clear agreements known to, and accepted by, all the advisors
involved.
A relatively simple example will help to clarify how it can
work. Imagine that your object of analysis is the biblical imagination in
seventeenth-century reformed churches in Amsterdam : sermons,
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paintings, illustrated Bibles, as well as engravings and paintings

circulating in lay society but possibly related to churches. You have
chosen an art specialist as your primary advisor, but the images
examined cannot be understood without a thorough knowledge of the
biblical texts to which they respond. Hence, for an analysis of these
texts, you need a specialist in biblical exegesis. After you have written
your analyses, you will submit them to a specialist in this area for
approval. But her advising does not stop there, and she remains a
second reader for the remainder of the thesis.
Later, however, when you are in the midst of analysing the
actual paintings and sculptures, you - or your primary advisor - may
realize you need more insight into the situation of the reformed church
at the time, into its relationship to politics and its attitudes to biblical
interpretation, allegory and preaching. At this point, you need a
theologian specialized in the history of Christianity. This person is
brought in only where his specific expertise is needed. As you near the
end of your thesis, you will want to ensure that all three experts can
approve it as a whole, and more specifically, that they can approve the
way you have reasoned the links between the three domains and the
conclusions you have drawn concerning your primary question .
This should be easy. You just ask all three to read the thesis,
each with special attention for their own field of expertise. But what if,
say, the art historian does not accept your ideological analysis of a
painting's function in a particular church because it ignores the
explicitly stated conditions of the patron? You claim that the patron's
stipulations must be bracketed because their relevance is limited and,
moreover, because they are overruled by the actual use of the image
as documented by the texts for the sermons. Here, the advisor may
well be wrong , and the theologian and yourself may well be right. This
can and must be discussed openly. The manager of ASCA can mediate
if necessary. You don't have to solve such problems without help.

Phasing and spacing your work

It is normal to achieve far less in your first year than in all subsequent
years. It makes sense, however, to start writing short pieces
immediately, and to read relevant works as you write. In accordance
with ASCA requirements, PhD candidates write a chapter outline and
draft chapter in the first year. These two pieces together form a "pilot
study", which has important diagnostic value. It shows your strengths
and weaknesses and makes it easier to improve your skills and
knowledge where needed. Most PhD candidates produce consider ably
more text in their second year. Candidates who support themselves
independently are not required to produce such a pilot study but
should try to do so anyway.
If you have written nothing after your first year, you are
probably avoiding writing, or spending too much time on other
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activities . You may be delaying the painful process of starting by using

the self-deceptive argument that you need to read more. This means
you are caught in the vicious circle of "the more you read, the more
you need to read" . Take heed of this warn ing: the problem must be
solved with in 18 months! If it isn't, by that t ime, all your reading will
start to lose its once-apparent relevance because the arguments will
no longer be fresh In your mind, and you will have to re-read
everything .
Although often done, it is not a good idea to assume you can
do research for three years, then write your thesis in one year. It may
be possible in other disciplines, where, for example, experiments
constitute the bulk of the research, or where collecting and analysing
data is the main part of the study. But it is not feasible in studies
requiring theoretical reflexivity or detailed analysis, or based on
semiotic and/or philosophical analysis. Cultural analysis does not lend
itself to such postponement. Here, the process of writing is part and
parcel of the inquiry.

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3. How to set up a thesis

Every thesis must have a central problem or question. This is what
gave you the idea for your topic in the first place, and made you turn it
into a project. Your desire to find answers to that central question is
what continually motivates you to accomplish what you originally set
out to do. Even if, as in most cases, the central problem appears clear
at the beginning, it may shift or look different after you begin work.
More often than not, the question is too broad, and will later be
reduced to one of its sub-questions.
Each chapter will have its own central problem. Thinking
about the relationship between the central problem and those of the
individual chapters will help you keep the general thread of the entire
project in mind. Don't consider it wrong - and certainly don't panic - if
changes or adjustments occur. But nor should you let them just
happen. By drafting, then adjusting, an outline, both (equally
unproductive) reactions can be avoided .

The question
It is paradoxical to need a central question as you begin your thesis
while, at the same time, that central question can only become fully
clear as you nearly finish it. One helpful way of dealing with this
problem is to work with an outline. Between rigidity and messiness,
you must remain flexible in using the outline, and be willing to adjust it
critically at any time.
The central question is also the starting point for your
methodology. Question and method must be tightly linked. If they
become disconnected, your work becomes either mechanical (when the
method overrules the question), or circular, messy, rhetorical or even
irrational (when the question overrules the method). Hence the
importance, from the beginning, not to fixate on the method, but to
have a good sense of both it and the link between your question and
method. Only then will you be able to adapt your writing accordingly.
Where method is concerned, I recommend an even more
radical approach. Contrary to what is commonly thought, it is not
efficient to determine your methodology in great detail at the
beginning of your project. It is far more useful to start with a detailed
and thorough analysis of a single text (or image), framed by a fairly
general question, and to identify the questions that arise from that
analysis. This is the whole purpose of the pilot study: to show in
concrete detail how to analyse an object, the kind of answers certain
questions ca n generate and how best to do justice to that object.
While working, you should always keep in mind the dialectical
relationship between detailed analyses and general, theoretical and

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historical questions. Inventiveness and the bold stroke, which give

expression to both your point of view and your imagination, are every
bit as important as being careful, constructing arguments and working
according to a method. Ridding yourself of preconceived notions at the
right moment is as useful and productive as clinging to assumptions
when all evidence seems to point in a different direction. But this only
works as long as you do both in full awareness, and as long as you
assess the consequences and remain willing to reconsider your earlier
decisions and choices. In this respect, there will be a large gap
between what you are doing now and what you will finally set down on
paper (on this last point, see also the chapter on "Writing").
In cultural analysis, it is crucial to combine theoretical
questions and perspectives with detailed analysis. This will allow your
reader to discover the main idea of your entire text. Without detailed
analysis, your theoretical questions will remain vague. They may even
sound banal. Without theoretical questions, your analyses may sound
flat or merely descriptive, superficial and predictable. While orienting
the way you look at the objects, the central problem can only be fully
and specifically defined once the answers themselves begin to emerge,
that is, towards the end. It is difficult to live with such uncertainties,
but it is also important to not be too rigid while outlining, planning and
applying your working method. Otherwise, you run the danger of
discovering what you already knew, and of projecting this knowledge
onto your research material, thus preventing yourself from gaining new
insights. The key to avoiding all this is what I call, below, an openness
to allowing the object to "speak back".

While organizing your thesis into chapters, remember that

chapters need to be manageable, for both you and your readers. It is
easier to manage short chapters on single aspects of a work than long,
complex ones. So why not write many short chapters rather than a few
bulky ones? Include one "case" in each - this may be one text, one
passage or one set of texts or images. The question asked of the
object(s) and the procedure for answering it should be as simple as
possible. Only simple questions yield complex answers. Complex
questions tend to produce muddy answers or block any answering at
all.
To give you a more concrete idea of suitable and unsuitable
questions, i.e. of questions that are "workable", answerable, relevant
and productive, as opposed to questions that lead nowhere or yield
only banalities, contradictions or sweeping statements, a few examples
are given below. Remember that these examples, based on only one
person's practice of PhD advising over a period of ten years, have been
selected for their structure, not their specific content, and because
they typify the kind of PhD projects ASCA specializes in.

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Examples of unsuitable questions, and ideas on how to revise

them
- Questions of collecting data
How many books of poetry were written/translated/published
by women during a given period?
Such a question might be included as a side Issue in cultural analysis,
but it is generally more suitable within the social sciences. As a main
question for a PhD thesis in cultural analysis, however, It commands a
different approach from what ASCA advisors consider their specialties.
So, instead of putting such a quantitative, empirical question at the
centre, you can do one of two things. Either you can examine a body of
texts that has already been collected, or you can analyse samples of
w hat you assume to be a meaningful corpus. In the former case,
someone has already done the collecting, probably on the basis of
hypotheses you want to critically examine in order to keep an open
mind to the corpus presented. In the latter case, you deploy your
detailed analyses so as to formulate hypotheses that can help others,
e.g. social scientists, to collect a fuller corpus on the basis of (a critical
revision of) your hypotheses. You can examine what such texts have in
common or how they differ despite their common features, or you can
carry out a few exemplary analyses of a few texts from the larger
corpus.
Analysis of an extant collection of data is a meaningful and
feasible activity. For example, what image of the black urban
population in New York is represented in political documentaries from
the beginning of this century? The question that can meaningfully
orient such a project can be derived from a combination of questions:
for instance, what kind of issues can political material document? What
is the lifestyle of the urban population? What views of public health are
inscribed in such documents? How can images (photographs) represent
such views? How does such visual m aterial relate to accompanying
captions or texts? What kinds of viewers are addressed in such pictures
and are destined to function directly within politics, both at the time
the pictures were made and today? What ideological preconceptions
are inscribed in photographic forms? These questions may yield a
general question. For example, is it possible to use such documents as
the basis for historical inquiry, and if so, what is the best way to
proceed to frame one's conclusions? And, to what extent and in which
context are these results reliable? In this case, the analysis of a
specific body of images is integrated within a larger question of
methodology. The collecting of data is not the general question.
By decomposing a main question into its sub-questions in t his
way, it will become clear whether the main question is too allencompassing for a single PhD project. Moreover, as is the case here,
one may discover that some of the sub-questions have already been

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examined by others. But looking only for sources with similar themes black urban populations - will not be helpful because this theme will
have been addressed primarily by social scientists or historians, not by
cultural analysts. Instead, you will have to look in completely different
directions, e.g. at other work on the question of photography and
documentary.
Fortunately for this imaginary candidate, one of ASCA's past
PhDs offers a solution. Ellen Tops graduated in 2001 on a topic
thematically far removed but methodologically very close to the
hypothetical question posed here. Her thesis, Foto's met gezag. Een
semlotlsch perspectief op priesterbeelden 1930-1990, consists of a
carefu l, detailed examination of the way photographs - through
content and form, context and combination, publication and
conservation - are a source of information for the cultural historian.
Since the bulk of her thesis is devoted to the analysis of photographs
in dialogue with questions of method, it belongs to the domain of
cultural analysis, even if it deserves a prominent place in the arsenal of
methodological concerns of cultural history.
For our hypothetical PhD candidate with an interest in black
urban populations at a specific time in history, Tops' thesis provides all
manner of useful insights, among which examples of how to analyse
photographs and suggestions for ways of deducting historical
information from such analyses. Depending on the way our
hypothetical project develops, it could result in a thesis that fits the
profile of cu ltural analysis or, alternatively, cultural history. The limits
between the two fields, although recognizable in practice, are and must
remain permeable.
- Broad historical-survey questions
How did the novel develop during the eighteenth century?
Such a question pertains more directly to cultural history, but it may
also shape the background for a more specific project comprising a
smaller body of texts that you wish to place historically, in a work of
cultu ral analysis. Historical awareness is indispensable for all research
in the Humanities. Clearly, every text is historically specific and must
therefore be framed and situated, not so much in relation to wars and
changes of political regimes as in terms of social and cu ltural change.
But it is also indispensable to your analysis that you position yourself your position as analyst - historically. This latter aspect (the starting
point in, and return to, the present) is a characteristic feature of
cultural analysis.
Positioning yourself historically implies that you cannot
consider yourself an objective observer capable of providing neutral
descriptions. Analysis and description are subject to a selection of
elements, aspects and points of view, and such selections are
motivated by criteria in turn framed by your historical position. You

15

pay more attention to some aspects than to others as a result of your

background, interests, even passions. But not being aware of or paying
attention to such motivations makes your work less, not more,
"objective", in the sense of reliable and academically tenable.
As the primary question of a project, formulated a bit
simplistically here for didactic purposes, this question regarding the
development of the novel in a particular period is more culturalhistorical than semiotic/text-analytical. An analytical, and perhaps
semiotic, perspective will help to complicate it. Such a question is not
answered by giving a survey of published novels and an analysis of the
genre. Rather, it is answered through the analysis of a small but
significant number of novels and the way they functioned (this number
must be relatively small if one wishes to gain complex and subtle
insights).
As a cultural analyst, you would not accept earlier lists of
what are considered significant novels, because you would need to
know on what basis such lists were compiled. In the present context,
the question of the so-called "canon" cannot be avoided. You may wish
to examine canonical novels in order to understand how canons work,
e.g. on what basis they absorb or exclude works. Alternatively, in an
altogether different project, you may compose your own list of noncanonized novels. In this case, how do you go about finding these?
To stay with the case of black urban populations, you might,
for example, search the archives for novels that were hotly debated in
the press at the time but that later disappeared from sight. The
question "why did they disappear?" is linked to other questions such as
"why were they so hotly debated at first?" and "what social issues
made them unwelcome in the mainstream canon?". These questions
require both archival research (cultural history) and empirical research
(social sciences), but they remain support questions for the primary
question, which is derived from but not identical to the cultural-history
question of the broad, historical survey. From the history of the novel,
you will have moved to the analysis of its non- or para-history.
- Questions of cause or origin
What caused the naturalistic novel to flourish during the
second half of the nineteenth century?
Such a question presupposes a deterministic view of literature. But
since literature is not a mechanically produced object, this question
cannot be answered. What can be done is to sketch a framework within
which it becomes conceivable that such a blossoming might occur.
On the one hand, causal relations are important to
understanding change, even to making change happen. On the other
hand, causal relations in the area of culture are ungraspably complex.
A well thought-through "dialectical" approach is a minimal condition.
But a reorientation of the question is even more advisable. In addition

16

to being unanswerable by definition, the question of origin suffers from

another frequent problem : over-ambition. A PhD candidate does not
have the accumulated intellectual background to approach such broad
questions, even speculatively. Moreover, speculation, though
indispensable, is far from being the most promising method in cultural
analysis.
One version of the causality question - in fact, the most
"naturalized" one - is the question of "author intention". Much research
in literary and art history is an attempt to reconstruct the "origin" of
the artwork in terms of what the artist "really intended". This question
is fraught with difficulties. There are at least three reasons why it
cannot be answered.
First, documentation is often scarce, or altogether lacking,
especially where historical material is concerned. Second, even if the
author were alive and willing to write out what she or he meant, we
know since Freud that "man is not master in his own house". 2 Third,
even in the case of a totally extrovert and limpid author, the reception
of the artwork, which happens in history, is not in his/her control (for
more on this, see Bal 2002: ch. 7).
Many students of artworks are reluctant to let go of the
author. If nothing else, they are often understandably eager to ensure
they at least don't blatantly contradict what the author "meant". It
therefore makes sense to consider the author as his/her own first
reader, that is, to take the author's statements as a (perhaps
privileged) document of reception. But this is very different from
considering the author's statements as "the truth" about his work.
There is another way of working with the impossibility of
accounting for authorship yet the desire to do just that. This is to make
the theme of "the author" itself the object of analysis. ASCA-member
Thomas Elsaesser provides a wonderful example of this in his book
New German Cinema: A History (1989). In chapter three, devoted to
the author and given the programmatic title "The Author in the Film:
Self-Expression as Self-Representation", Elsaesser raises the question
of the author by way of the film texts. This strategy not only liberates
the analysis from the authority of the author over the text given over
to the public. It also helps us understand why there is such a strong
cultural investment in authorship. The question is thus shifted from the
individualist question of the romantic artist-as-genius to three slightly
troubling questions : why it is, in our post-romantic times, that we still
appear to be so hung-up with that image of the artist, how do artworks
feed that image and what might the implications of that image be?

This Is Freud's metaphor for the Insight that the subject is split and cannot be aware of that
part of the mind called, for good reason, the unconscious.

17

- Ideological-political questions
How can we end racism in philosophy?
To suggest you avoid such a question is not to demean its importance.
But such a question cannot serve as a guideline for academic inquiry.
If it matters to you, keep in it mind, but resist the temptation of an
easy answer based on activism. Instead, remain convinced that
understanding the issue of racism in culture will, eventually, help to
change the situation. Examine racist and antiracist strategies in, for
example, texts or images, on the level of rhetoric, narration,
representation, argumentation or language. A question pertaining to
the critique of ideology is altogether different from one that projects an
Ideological position. This difference will become increasingly clear in
the course of your investigation. The former makes the text more
complex and provides new insights; the latter leads to simplification,
and confirmation of what you already know.
If you are, for example, constantly irritated by the absence, in
accounts of subjectivity, of the possibly specific subjectivities of black
migrant women, you undeniably have a point. But when the question is
phrased in this way, any philosopher can send you packing . S/he will
simply say the accounts are structural, universal and/ or theoretical,
and that they neither privilege nor exclude particular subjects. You
know, or feel, this cannot be true, but given the argumentations and
phrasings in philosophical texts, it is difficult to counter the argument.
How, then, can you turn that irritation into a workable PhD
project? Let me say first that it is possible. There are several entrances
into this knot of political and philosophical issues. First, you can
investigate the alleged universal claims of accounts of subjectivity.
Probe the examples and formulations to see if the universality can be
upheld. You can also confront such claims with accounts that don't
claim universality. Then you can clear the way for a different kind of
theory of subjectivity. This can be found , for example, in more
narrative, less static analyses (e.g. Paul Ricoeur, a philosopher and
literary scholar with credentials in both fields) . Since narrative is both a
concept with universalist claims (all cultures and all people tell stories)
and necessarily - and logically - anchored in specific cultural situations
(stories are told by someone to someone), you have a reasonable,
academically acknowledged ground for complaint.
Instead of repeating your complaint, however, you can now
work towards a solution. Even when your starting point is negative (a
complaint), it is much more satisfying to have a positive question to
work on, as would now be the case. As a cultural analyst, it is in your
best interest to collect a small, representative corpus of narratives
pertaining to the articulation of conceptions of subjectivity or selfarticulation. I owe the more positive, workable articulation to the
project Joy Smith launched in 2002. Whether or not your conclusions
from the analysis will help you to rearticulate a philosophically relevant

18

new concept of subjectivity, or whether, on a more modest scale, you

can make your initial case for the exclusionist nature of universalizing
philosophy stick, remains to be seen. But at least you now have a
workable, recognizable project in cultural analysis.
Incidentally, this is a project that lends itself to collaboration.
The conclusions will be strengthened if they can be corroborated by
another PhD, in which a similar corpus collected in a different
community is analysed. Many PhD projects that are too broad at the
beginning can thus be subdivided into more, and probably subsequent,
projects.
- Essentialist questions
Which properties characterize writings by women?
This group of problematic questions is related to the previous one. It,
too, makes presuppositions. In this case, it is assumed all women have
something in common (which they may or may not) and that what
they have in common determines how they write (which is highly
unlikely). Not only is writing an individual activity; it is also often
practiced on the basis of a desire to probe one's individuality.
Moreover, writing is framed by much more than just one feature. And,
last but not least, women are not only defined by their biological
features; even social femininity is not all there is to a person who is
female. All these objections are subject to debate, of course, and
theses will be (and have been) written on the question of women's
specific ways of writing. What I am trying to allege here is how this
question is wrongly headed for cultural analysis. Something as complex
and controversial as the question of femininity and its influence on
cultural products made by women cannot be taken as a starting point
or basis for analysis.
Similar problems apply to projects based on homosexuality,
masculinity and ethnic identity. Although all these cultural issues are
immensely important and no PhD candidate should be prevented from
taking them on, the best way to approach them is to take the
potentially essentialist question not as an a priori, but as part of the
main question.
The danger of such essentialist questions is that they
generate a certain blindness to difference, social context, historical
change and your own projections in the interpretations. They thus fall
into exactly the same traps that have led to the current relative
scarcity of research in these areas of culture.
A degree of "strategic essentialism", however, is a different
matter altogether. Such a strategy makes you study what it is that
texts by women, gays or ethnic minorities, dating from a particular
period, have in common. After identifying these aspects, you can
proceed to compare them with the features of texts by (straight,
white) men, and to identify the differences. In other words, such a

19

strategic decision is always provisiona l and partial, and will always be

critically assessed in retrospect. Essentialism blinds, and again induces
you to find what you already knew, or thought you knew.
- Negative questions
What is wrong with theories of narrative in visual art, or
music, philosophy or argumentation for that matter?
A critical perspective on the scholarly tradition in which you work is
indispensable, but the so-called "trashing" of others' work can easily
become no more than a futile exercise in trying to demonstrate your
own superiority. Unless it helps you to articulate proposals for
improvement, it is only minimally relevant. When pondering how much
energy to spend on criticizing others, keep this in mind: only
something with a certain value is worth the effort of criticism. After all,
serious criticism is also a form of valuation. Limit your criticism to the
framework you cannot do without. Be sure to seek a good, productive
balance between criticism and the construction of alternatives. And
foreground why you bother with this opponent in the first place, i.e.
what remains valuable in her contribution.

Examples of suitable questions, also subject to change

Ideally, a promising project has a good balance between detailed
analyses carried out from a theoretical perspective (which constantly
changes under the influence of the analytical process), and a
theoretical and historical framework. The balance between theory and
analysis may vary. The following are a few examples, taken from the
practice of ASCA advising (mainly my own, I must confess), of how a
general question was developed. The first three examples are all
anchored in narratology (the theory of narrative), but each practices
this (mono-?)discipline in a radically different way.
- A theoretical question of narratology
What is a character and how can one analyse it?
(Marjet Berendsen, Reading Character in Jane Austen's
Emma, Assen: Van Gorcum 1991)
This thesis was firmly situated within literary studies, a single discipline
within which narratology is a supporting theory. The initial, potentially
essentialist, question, "What is a character?", quickly became a
semiotic question, "Which textual elements produce a 'charactereffect'?" This theoretica l question subsumed a number of sub-questions
such as "In which sense is reading character based on specific codes,
and what are those codes?", "What is the relation between characters
and problems of representation?", "Which time-bound conventions
underlie the representation of characters?", "To what extent are

20

characters devices pertaining to realism?", and "What is the relation

between a character and the tabula in which it acts?" These more
detailed questions were themselves specified further. The latter, for
example, yielded questions such as "What kind of acts does a
character perform?", "How does each kind of act relate to gender
roles?", "Does a character embody an affirmation of, or challenge to,
the established order? in its own time, or now?", "How does a
character speak? I s there a tension between its idiom and
idiosyncrasies and those of others? of the narrator?"
Here, the theoretical question was elaborated through the
analysis of one particular character, in a case study, in which the
interpretations of the PhD candidate alternated with interpretations
from extant scholarship on the novel. This type of question does not
yield a singular argumentative line or "thesis" in which each premise
leads to a conclusion which then produces the next premise. It thus
produces a continuous process of specification, and the end-result
takes on the shape of an overview of aspects. So, while this thesis was
based on a single case study, its findings can serve as a guide for the
analysis of other novels.
- A theoretical question with narratology
What is the contribution of narrative to argumentation?
(Frans-Willem Karsten, The Wisdom Brokers: Narrative's
Interaction with Arguments in Cultural Critical Texts.
Amsterdam : ASCA Press 1998)
In this case, the mono-disciplinary field of narratology was brought to
bear on another field, the (inter-)discipline of argumentation theory.
The title of the thesis says it all: narrative was brought into interaction
with arguments. The first problem tackled was the delimitation of the
strands of narrative within the primarily argumentative texts. The final
part of the title delimits the corpus, hence, the claims. Korsten found
popular texts critica l of culture (between armchair philosophy and
serious analysis by public intellectuals) worthy of critical attention.
These texts ca rry a lot of authority but are not accountable to
academic standards. Their authors have cultural credit whether the
texts they publish deserve it or not. Hence, a critical examination of
how these texts argue is an excellent topic for a project in
argumentation theory, especially within the paradigm of "pragmadialectical" analysis, which is an integration of normative and
descriptive argumentation theory (Van Eemeren, et al., 2002).
But Kersten's own background in literary studies had
predisposed him to being primarily interested in the narrative side of
things. In the texts in question, he discovered a pattern that his
familiarity with narratological issues helped him identify. I n these
texts, he writes in the summary (221), on an apparently basic level, a
narrative reconstruct ion was given of a particular situation, and an
21

argumentation proposed for why that situation was desirable or

undesirable. Karsten found that the complex way in which the
narratives and the arguments were interwoven belied the apparent
simplicity and transparency of their interrelationship. This discrepancy
between apparent simplicity (these texts were, after all, written for a
general public) and the actual complexity of the layered texts left
space for a variety of relations, some of which facilitated manipulation
and contradiction .
The distinction Karsten made between the two different
language games opened the texts of the corpus for critical analysis. In
order to perform such an analysis, he needed to develop a
methodology that combined - without confusing - the two theoretical
frameworks involved. Narratology and pragma-dialectic theory became
partners, not substitutes for each other. The chapters of the thesis
explored not only different texts, a variety needed to substantiate his
claims; they also probed those texts from different theoretical vantage
points. The use of narrative to position the speaking subject, the
projection of large-scale argumentative structures by means of
narrative extrapolations and the apparent versus the effective
hierarchy of narrative and argumentative elements of a text are just a
few examples of these different vantage points. In this project, the
collaboration between the two disciplines became increasingly
complex. Fortunately, it was covered by advisors from the two
disciplines.
- Narratology "applied" to a cinematic corpus
Which conceptions of the subject underlie recent blockbuster
films?
(Sasha Vojkovic, Fathers, Sons, and Other Ghost: Subjectivity
in the New Hollywood Cinema. Amsterdam: ASCA Press 2001)
Here, the corpus pertained to one discipline, and the methodology, at
least initially, to another. The purpose was to re-theorize cinematic
constructions of subjectivity with the help of a hitherto under-explored
narratological theory. The motivation, somewhat similar to Karsten's,
came from the insight that blockbuster films reach a large public and
contribute to specific constructions of subjectivity that have a
significant cultural impact. Narratology was chosen because these films
owe their success to being narratively gripping.
After performing an extremely detailed analysis of one film,
Vojkovic realized that the specific issues that motivated her had to do
with particular subject positions, such as parental and child roles . This
specialized interest ca lled for study in both psychoanalytic theory and
philosophy. These issues, in tum, are so tightly bound with gender that
one of the case studies was oriented in that direction. At this point, it
became clear that the neat division between corpus and method was
untenable. Cinema, Vojkovic knew, was not merely another medium

22

for representation, but has its own arsenal of strategies that make
those representations convincing and hence, rhetorically effective.
This thesis, in the end, is grounded in an almost seamless
blend of cinema theory, narratology, philosophy and psychoanalysis.
But the four disciplines were not simply mixed. Whereas narratology
structured the way Vojkovic theorized subjectivity as visualized in film ,
film theory helped her make these analyses visually convincing. The
philosophical reflections on visuality, starting from the indispensable
reflections on Plato's allegory of the cave, supplemented and specified
the psychoanalytically-bent reflections on parent/child relationships
and gender.
paradox inherent to
This
project demonstrates a
interdisciplinarity. In her continued openness toward s her initially
chosen method, the candidate went back and forth between
narratology and cinema theory, with the latter becoming increasingly
important. But, rather than leading to a rejection of narratology,
Vojkovic's return to cinema theory allowed her to argue the
shortcomings of those theories within cinema theory that are
narratively oriented yet that neglect the structural elements of
(formerly) literary narratology and limit themselves to cognitive
aspects, at the expense of the affective aspects of cinema clearly so
important in popular film.
- A question of cultural history
How are the notions of child, childishness, childhood,
culturally constructed?
(George Dimock, Constructions of Childhood, University of
Rochester, unpublished, 1993)
Initially, this PhD candidate departed from a clear and strong
commitment, even from anger, about the abuse of so-called "childish
innocence" . He was outraged by the exploitation of children as a labour
force and by their sexual abuse and battering, all pra ctices apparently
excused by the idealization that accompanies, as its other side, the
objectification of children. The topic was too vast, and the candidate
was initially almost hampered by his own commitment. He focused
more on the practices than on the constructions of images, whereas
the latter in fact constituted his academic subject. The solution that
imposed itself was to divide the topic into case studies. Cases were
constructed on the basis of social and cultural historical areas, not on
the basis of a body of works. By making representation central, the
candidate was able to focus on semiotics.
The first chapter analysed Lewis Carroll's photographs of small
girls, of which Dimock - himself a photographer - was able to
demonstrate the erotically exploitative nature. A chapter on child
labour followed. Here, he analysed photographs made from the
vantage point of a socially committed photographer, but based on

23

factual distortion and condescendant patronizing visions. An analysis of

Freud's case histories of Dora and The Wolfman subsequently
established connections between specific metaphoric networks
(archaeology, contagion, seduction). The representations of children in
language thus demonstrated conflicts within the influential "seduction
theory". Another chapter was devoted to the arguments of the "prolife" (anti-abortion) movement, connecting these arguments with
century-old traditions of anatomical drawings, in line with Aristotle's
attempts to deny women's role in procreation. Finally, a chapter was
devoted to the fantasy of the "wild child" in the tradition of Rousseau's
Emile and Kaspar Hauser.
The case studies enabled Dimock to discover many more
aspects and complexities of the initial question than had seemed
possible at first. Each chapter has a sharply delineated yet complex
focus: an ideology concerning children is explored through
representations that work to conceal that ideology; connections with
older traditions become clear, as do the ways these connections
contribute to "naturalizing" the ideology; contradictions are
demonstrated .
The initial commitment that motivated Dimock's choice of
topic never diminished, but the integration of his keen attention to
specific representations and to larger theoretical and historical
arguments enriched his vision immensely, nuanced it , and thus made it
more effective. It is this transformation of a straightforward culturalhistory project into the probing of aspects of the problematic through
case studies that changed the project into a work of cultural analysis.
- A "situated" question
(Piers Michael Smith, Colonial Obscene: Reading Cultural Texts
on Borneo, Ex-centrically. Amsterdam: unpublished, 1997)
This project is very unorthodox, yet it came off extremely successfully
and was awarded a cum laude. Smith did not have an a priori object.
He wished to break away from any disciplinary allegiance and construct
his object on a completely different basis. He chose a geographical
location, then selected a number of cultural documents whose only
common feature was that they were set in, and were about, the
Indonesian island of Borneo.
This situated, but not otherwise coherent, selection of objects
needed, of course, to be justified. How else could Smith select a
method of analysis, raise questions and reach valid conclusions? His
corpus consisted of a literary short story, a piece of travel writing, a
documentary film, geographical maps, a book on primatology (apes)
and an anthropological study. Together they spanned some one
hundred years within and after the colonial era. Here, as can be
expected, lay the ground for his question.

24

The central question concerned representation in and through

the history of colonization and de-colonization. The main task was a
detailed reading of the objects, within the framework of their
respective place in history as well as of their cultural disciplines. The
sub-questions were related to the various objects. A map, for example,
cannot be read as if it were a series of photographs, or a piece of
fiction. Hence, each chapter or case study needed a different method.
But these methods still had to be interconnected for the conclusions to
work. The common element of methodology was "ec-centricity" - the
determined effort to swerve towards the marginal, to be alert to
contradictions, strange metaphors or repressed silences. In one object,
the colour yellow (the yellow umbrella that showed up at specific
moments in the documentary film) became the sign of ec-centricity. In
another, it was the metaphoric network connecting subject positions,
travel and animal life. In yet another, it was preoccupations with
illness. In the end, these variegated signs joined together in their
movement away from the overt preoccupation of the work.
Owing to the initial lack of method, the candidate had to force
himself to be methodologically busy at all t imes. As a result, his thesis
became the model of an inventive yet responsible, and innovative yet
solid, methodology of cultural analysis.
- A bi-disciplinary project
How to arrange an encounter around an object on which the
two "discussants" have never met?
(Marie-Aude Baronian, Image, Memoire et Transmission. Sur
Ia (non-) representation et /'heritage du genocide armenien.
Amsterdam: in progress. This project is being written in
French.)
The starting point of this project was a so-called "empirical object",
namely the denial of the Armenian genocide (1915-1922). Even though
the question of genocide ca n be discussed and analysed from different
angles (e.g. the historical, psychoanalytical or juridical), this research
investigates It especially from two specific perspectives and their
resulting discourses: the philosophical and the cinematic. During the
twentieth century, disciplines such as philosophy and film studies have
constantly been confronted with urgent (conceptual, aesthetic) issues
linked to tragic events, particularly propos of the Holocaust.
A significant problem in th is project is the persistent denial of
the Armenian genocide. How does one study a silence? Faced with this
denial, Baronian's proj ect tries to create a space in which the legacy of
this event can be thought through and represented, as well as included
in the various philosophical reflections on, among other things, denial,
memory, testimony and representation . Further, the research
concentrates on the concept of image and how it can become a
"prosthesis" for memory; to this end, the cinematographic work of

25

filmmakers and visual artists of the Armenian diaspora is being

studied.
The study will propose a re-questioning and re-definition of
concepts that are not only polysemic as such, but that are increasingly
included in all kinds of disciplines for all kinds of purposes. The aim of
this conceptual analysis is to propose "other" understandings of these
recurrent concepts, which are applicable not only to the Armenian
catastrophe but also to other comparable questions. This reflexive part
of the thesis is anchored in philosophy but goes beyond that discipline,
and, moreover, will be integrated with a close reading of filmic, visual
objects. The goal is to give a precise insight into the main terms, as
well as to create a useful balance between what Deleuze calls
"concepts" (philosophy) and "affects" (art forms).
The hi-disciplinary nature of the project is reflected in the
choice of two main figures, or interlocutors, each inhabiting one of the
discourses at stake: the philosopher Emmanuel Levinas and the
filmmaker Atom Egoyan. Even though this combination can, at first
sight, appear absurd because the two figures seem to have nothing at
all in common, a major thrust of the dissertation is to argue that both
have engaged extensively with similar issues. Even if Levinas has
never touched on the Armenian question or explicitly addressed the
question of memory and representation, his work still seems to be a
meaningful, relevant "tool" to "think" the event properly and to stress
the different difficulties (ethical and aesthetic) it implies. Egoyan's
work, which, in contrast, does address the genocide directly or
(mostly) indirectly, offers a reflexive and reflective portrait of the
multiple aspects of the inherited genocide and the (im)possibility of
representing them. Hence, each discipline remains recognizably distinct
but mutually supports the other's discourse.
- A discipline reconsidered
(Maaike Bleeker, The Locus of Looking: Dissecting Visuality in
the Theatre. Amsterdam: 2002)
warned earlier against over-ambitious projects. This caution is not
meant to discourage ambition . It is just a way of cautioning you not to
bite off more than you can chew. The example of Maaike Bleeker
justifies the opposite recommendation : don't be afraid of ambitious
projects - but make sure you can manage them.
Bleeker's discipline was, is, and always wi ll be, theatre, an art
form for which she has a passion that she acts out both in practice (as
a dramaturge) and theory (as a cultural analyst). By taking theatre as
an intermedial art form, which it obviously is, Bleeker integrates such
diverse areas as philosophy of science, art history, philosophy and
literary theory, to develop a conception of how one element common
to all theatrical productions - visuality - sits in that multimedia
performance. "Integrate" is the operative term here. She never just
26

"applies" theories to theatre that are basically alien to it. She really
works through the "other" theories and analyses where it is helpful,
examining how these theories operate in relation to theatre, and,
conversely, how the practice of t heatre re-orients or re-focuses the
other theories.
Bleeker had the advantage of not having a training in, say, art
history. As a result of this "lack", she did not take for granted what
most art historians do, regarding the significance of Michael Fried's
theory of theatricality for visual art. It may be because - rather than in
spite - of her initial unfamiliarity with visual theory, but I have never
seen an art historia n engage Michael Fried 's concept of theatrica lity so
deeply, constructively and yet critically as Bleeker does - and I am
talking about the most quoted, "applied", followed and used living art
historian today.
The Albertian paradigm, according to which art is a window on
the world, is another of the cliche topics in contemporary art history
and cultural studies. It is difficult to present this problematic view
without simply trashing it. But Bleeker manages to in a refreshingly
new way and with due modesty, discussing it for its relevance to
theatre.
Her thesis is also a profoundly disciplinary study. This may
sound paradoxical, but it isn't . The candidate never abandons her
chosen field and topic. Her deployments of other disciplines are always
focused and geared towards illuminating that object. I am not as
familiar with theatre studies as I would like to be, but I do know it is a
somewhat problematic area due to the ongoing tension between t he
written text and the actual performance. The former is both key and
red undant, the latter elusive. It is m y intuition that Bleeker's study
offers a genuine and significant contribution to a field that needs it, a
contribution that stands firmly on a par with work of much more
advanced scholars. I attribute this to her willingness to engage th e
discipline with the object - the set of analysed performances - and to
reframe both from an interdisciplinary perspective. Hers is an example
of an interd isciplinary work that is nevertheless disciplinary.
- Finally, an even more drastic move, from a very modest and
traditional genre to a pioneering topic, in an example of the
move from monograph to cultural analysis
(Sonja Neef, Kal/igramme. Zur Media/Wit einer Schrift, anhand
von Paul van Ostaijens De feesten va n angst en pijn .
Amsterdam: ASCA Press 2000)
The initial idea here was to write a study of a book of poetry. The book
had strong visual features, their clea rest manifestations found in the
handwriting, use of colour and page layout. But in the poems as
linguistic units, the stories evoked and t he m etaphors deployed also

27

appealed to media other than language, such as film and music, as

well as to diverse sensorial experiences such as sex, noise and pain.
Neef's search for the proper methodology turned her, like
Smith, into a methodologist. Not content with the application of the
right method in the right place (musicology for music, cinema theory
for filmic aspects, art theory for colours), Neef wanted to go beyond
the usual reflections on and transformations of the available methods
grouped under the heading of semiotics. The primary object quickly
became less the poem and its various aspects, and more the
transitions and transformations between the media.
The true object, then, became lntermediality. But, in loyalty to
the object, the focus of this analysis of intermediality remained
literature. How can literature be multimedia? And hence, why and how
must literary study Itself be interdisciplinary? These were the questions
that became the theoretical framework and focus of the analysis. This
framework, then, facilitated an analysis that could do justice to the
selected stack of sheets of coloured and scribbled words. The sheets
became the mediators between language and silence, silent film and
cubist painting, and cynicism and mysticism, all elements that
characterized the chosen work historically as part of the avant-garde,
but only to the extent that their paradoxes and sometimes violent
contradictions were done justice to.
This handful of examples taken from a great number of theses
demonstrates how a clear problematic becomes visible only when the
contours of an answer begin to emerge - towards the end. Living with
such uncertainties is difficult, but it is very important not to rigidify
your plans. If you do, you will only find confirmation of what you
already know, and project apparent problems on material not reducible
to them. The slogan, then, is: allow the material to "speak back" . What
that phrase means will become clear below.

28

4. Content: some pitfalls

The content of your thesis is, of course, not known at the outset of
your project. Little can be said therefore about content in general.
There are, however, a few hints that may help you to avoid the most
common problems. I only raise those problems that are usually
overlooked.
Coherence
The greatest phobia for beginning PhD candidates is also one of the
greatest methodological cliches: the taboo of contradiction.
Confronting contradiction can often be unbearable. The appearance of
a contradiction raises great anxiety, but it shouldn 't. On the one hand,
plain contradiction is, of course, unacceptable. It is always possible
that you are simply wrong, and that a later insight contradicts an
earlier hypothesis. In that case, you should revise or abandon the
hypothesis.
But there is a fine line between contradiction and apparent
contradiction, tensions in logic that are commonly called "paradoxes".
What seems to be a contradiction may, in fact, help you be very
productive. It can be tremendously useful, for example, in helping you
to face, rather than reason away, what strikes you as contradictory.
Some contradictions only seem so; in reality, they can direct your
attention towards a problem you had previously overlooked, and that
will continue to go unnoticed if you step over it too quickly.
Contradictions may simply be differences. Don't try to force
your material into coherence just for the sake of it. Let differences
stand as they are, study them carefully and work with them. By trying
to make your work coherent, you may exclude good ideas just because
they don't fit into your outline. It is dangerous to apply a set of norms
to a text because chances are you will only see what you want to see.
This is a case of "you against your object"; Instead of illuminating your
object for a better understanding of it, you may subordinate it, thus
making its complexities invisible. Between you and the object, letting
the object "win" means that you win - in terms of the quality of your
thesis.
Any text you analyse within cultural analysis is, by definition,
diverse, paradoxical and full of conflicting messages. The text's
conflict, however, is not necessarily a conflict for your argument.
Barbara Johnson calls this internal tension within a text "the difference
within". These are often the most interesting parts of the text. Such
conclusions as "this character has an Oedipus complex" or "this Image
appealed to the working class's. false consciousness" are not very
interesting. Both statements reduce the text to document- or

29

propaganda-status and thus blur their differences from other texts. It

would be more useful to show that, thanks to the oedipal structure, the
character in question is torn between an obsession with one or the
other parent or parental figure, or that the image both idealizes and
belittles the worker. These ambivalences might at first strike you as
incoherent. The watchword, then, is to look again before repressing
your insight or refuting a text.
An interpretation is only cultural analysis, however, when you
look at "signs" as "effect", when you investigate how this effect is
achieved and if there are other effects that also play a role. For a
cultural analyst, these effects are not purely individual. They are,
precisely, cultural - where "culture" is the meeting ground of a variety
of people.
Realism
Text and image are not a direct copy of reality. They are
representations. But they are also more than that. They are
"arguments", affectively potent agencies and sensorial performances.
Their status as representation means they always contain an element
of fiction, a vision and complexity, even if the image is just a
newspaper photograph . And , while most PhD candidates already know
this, the temptation of realism - the so-called "realistic fallacy" remains strong.
The moment you find yourself talking about the unconscious
feelings of a character, you are falling into the trap of the realistic
fallacy. Always remember that your research material has a particular
shape to it and that this shape has an impact on its content. Never
forget that both text and image contain rhetorical strategies, narrative
procedures, visual language, intertextual relations with other texts and
iconographic borrowings.
This is not to deny a relation between text and social reality;
this obviously exists. But avoiding easy realism is a way to reach a
more pertinent connection between text and image on the one hand,
and between the reality of which they are always not only a
representation but also a part on the other. This connection may be
polemical, responsive, accepting, condoning or militant. But it will also
always be, in one way or another, dialogical. That dialogue, whether
friendly or polemical, a negotiation of sorts, is part of the text's way of
being in culture, and hence, of being cultural.
Polemics, ripping-off and name-dropping
There are three (potential) serious pitfalls in your relationship to other
scholarship in your field. First, don't waste your time doing battle with
so-called "enemies". They may not be worth the effort, and they will
distract you from the contribution you seek to make. Feminists, for
example, often have problems with Freud, frequently well-founded

30

ones. But you have to ask yourself whether maintaining this enemyimage is really productive. If you subscribe to a psychoanalytical
approach because it helps you articulate and understand things, then it
won't do to fight the inventor of this theory. In such cases, where your
sources are ambivalent, the best attitude to take is to ask yourself
what you can use for your own work, and to leave the ideas you
cannot accept aside. You don't have to emphasize yet again that penis
envy is a projection, unless, of course, it makes logical sense within
your argument. Always remind yourself that you argue persuasively
only when you can tackle your opponent at his own game, when you
can match his/her level of argumentation. This often takes more
energy than it is worth. (For more on this issue, see Bal 1992.)
Second, and this is the other side (and sometimes, the same
side!) of excessive or pointless polemicizing: don't submit to authority.
Remember: you are not rewriting your great predecessor's project.
Don't regurgitate someone else's ideas page after page. Just be sure to
credit
his/her inspiration,
general
methodology or specific
interpretations, i.e. to take what you find useful and add it to your own
ideas. But always keep in mind how what you are doing is different
from what has already been done. Be sure to cite an authority you
agree with properly, but you may also want to add a supplementary
argument of your own, or a particularly apt example that underlines
and strengthens the general point you wish to emphasize. On the one
hand, then, it won't do to simply imitate or paraphrase what someone
else has already written; nothing new will come of it. On the other
hand, a quotation from an authority in your field, even if you don't
agree with him/her, may well lead you to develop your own productive
line of argument. Don't try to be an orthodox Freudian or Marxian, or
anything else for that matter, but do position yourself clearly.
Third, avoid the activity commonly known as "ripping off". It
is a mild and often unintended form of plagiarism. Obviously you
wouldn't simply copy someone else's prose; you would quote it and
cite the source. But if you don't make a habit of noting where you read
an interesting idea, you may absorb it without even being aware of it.
After a while, you honestly think it was your own idea. This happens
more frequently than it should (even between advisors and students!)
and the only remedy is to keep meticulous records about where you
find your thoughts. There is nothing shameful about acknowledging
where you found an idea; on the contrary. Proper acknowledgement
gives your text a relevant context.
A balanced and nuanced policy of quotation and citation is
your way of building your intellectual network. It is one of the many
benefits a good thesis has to offer its readers. The list of names quoted
can give a clear idea of where you stand, or it can make you look like
an obedient disciple of a great (or dubious) master. If you cite Marx on
every page, you may appear as intellectually weak as those who avoid

31

his name even where it is clearly relevant. If you only cite Derrida and
Lacan but none of the many other studies written in their wake, you
may appear to be authority-driven. If you cite big names all the time
without doing much with the ideas, you might be accused of namedropping and snobbism.

32

5. Writing
Writing can be excruciatingly difficult, and it can be a joy. For most
people it is both. Psychoanalyst Christopher Ballas once formulated a
reason why these two affects alternate in the process of writing. In his
book The Shadow of the Other, he wrote: "I often find that although I
am working on an idea without knowing exactly what it is I think, I am
engaged in thinking an idea struggling to have me think it" (1987: 10).
Ballas is speaking here of thought. Later on the same page, he refers
to such struggling thoughts as "the unthought known", a phrase he
used in the subtitle of his book (Psychoanalysis of the Unthought
Known). He might just as well have been speaking about writing.
In my experience, writing is the struggle with ideas eager to
have you think them, but not yet quite thought-out. It is this struggle
that makes your work lively, dynamic and full of surprises. The
unthought known in your mind pertains to the question, "When do you
start writing?". Again, contrary to popular opinion, writing does not
take place in the last phase of the project, when all points and
arguments have been carefully thought out. Writing and thinking are
closely connected. Only when you write something down do you
actually realize what you were thinking when you were trying to think
something through. The process of writing helps you to order, deepen
and round off your thoughts, even to "get" them.
This implies that you should begin writing immediately.
Personally, I recommend the following. Write a coherent piece of prose
(take an existing article as your example), in which you analyse a
short text, an argument, a film or a picture. Take about one month to
complete this. Don't expect to finish it in less time, or you may end up
discouraged or frustrated. One month allows you the time to identify
very clearly what problems might exist - but only if you don't expect
perfection. Just do what you can within that time-frame.
This first text will serve as the starting point for your first
discussion with your advisor. It will be the subject of mutual
"diagnosis". Your advisor will identify and discuss both your strengths
and weaknesses. Strengths .must be acknowledged, but not at the
expense of ignoring weaknesses. This experience of early writing and
discussion with your advisor will also help you to shed any fear of
criticism that you may have. It should be a positive, even exhilarating,
process: you will learn that you are capable of a lot, and that, in turn,
will make you eager to continue. You and your advisor will proceed
along these lines, working from task to task, until, one day, your thesis
is finished.

33

You learn writing by doing it. With time, you will become
better, faster and more efficient, and your pleasure will increase. But
this will only happen if there is a certain continuity in your approach.
Write something every working day, even if it is only half a page.
Writing has two dimensions : it helps you to overcome your limitations,
develop your thoughts further, order your work and discover what
cannot be captured in words. But it is also another way of
commun icating. It is therefore important to note the following aspects.
Outline
It is essential to plan your project and to work on the basis of that
plan. Spend a few days reading and rereading the text-to-be-analysed.
Note all your ideas. Then try to order them in a plan, written up in the
form of an outline. An analysis of 15 to 20 pages usually requires a
one- to two-page outline. Such an outline forces you to order your
ideas logically. For example, there is a beginning (the question, the
steps to be followed and the anticipated answers), a middle (the
development of the announced steps) and an end (a systematic
referral back to the beginning). To refer back is not to reiterate. Even if
no definitive conclusions can yet be drawn, your temporary conclusions
open the door to a new inquiry. What answers did you find to the
questions posed? Did you do everything you set out t o do? Which
questions were unanswerable? Did any new questions arise? How does
the result relate to your overall central problem? All this must be part
of your outline, even if you constantly adjust it to suit the evolving
situation. Not everything has to be solved, but everything must be
present in the outline.
Let me sketch an ideal procedure (French scholars are better
trained in this than their Dutch or American counterparts). You start
developing your outline by writing one line for each section, then you
flesh out each section. In the end, your outline will have a line for each
paragraph. The outline thus grows along with your text. It is there to
help you start writing, to keep you writing, to remind you of all the
different angles you want to cover and to ensure you check whether
you have covered them. It is not imperative to adhere blindly to your
initial plan: most likely you won't. But it does serve to pinpoint where
your approach changed, and allow you to adjust your outline
accordingly.
If you want to learn from your own experience, it makes
sense to keep the first and last versions of your outline; comparing
these versions will give you a good idea of how you work, and help you
draw up a more realistic and detailed plan the next time around.
Sometimes your outline is so ambitious that it reveals a problem: e.g.
your chapter is becoming too long. In that case, just divide it into a
few shorter chapters, then continue. Make sure your outline doesn't
become a straightjacket: constructing an outline and letting go of it are

34

equally important procedures. The point is to know what you set out to
do, and to keep track of what you actually accomplish. This will help
you ensure that your writing does not run off with your line of
argument, and become messy, repetitive, vague or even banal .

Making the text readable

Your text will be offered to readers; be kind to them. Thi nk of it in
these terms: it is a privilege to be allowed to write and claim a lot of
time from a lot of people, but you must earn that privilege. If you want
to convince your readers of your ideas, treat them well. You can do
this by striving for clarity, relevance and a good balance between
length and information, and between new ideas and those your readers
can already be expected to know.
Clarity is a primary concern here. It is not the same as
simplicity. A friend of mine once wrote to me about a draft I had
submitted to him for criticism: "II ne s'agit pas de clarifier du confus
(ton cas, alors, serait desepere) mais de developper du concis" (it is
not a matter of clarifying confused ideas - your case would be hopeless
- but of developing conciseness). The best guarantee for clarity is your
plan. Conciseness is a matter of patience.
Structure your arguments. Each unit, i.e. the text as a whole
but also each sentence and each paragraph, has a beginning, which
invites the readers to start, and an end, in which you make good your
promise. Always announce what you will do and why, as well as what
you have done and what, as a consequence, you are about to do. Each
idea must be presented and shown to be relevant, each argument
made explicit. And all of this, of course, without redundancy,
wordiness, pedantry or platitude.
Argumentation
ASCA offers a course in argumentation designed especially for those
busy writing a thesis. It is highly recommended you take it. Here is a
preview of some of the things you might learn there. Write your
arguments first, then your conclusion. Expressions such as "after all"
and "namely" are symptoms of an inverse argumentation. Such
inversions easily occur: you think something, you write it down, then
you realize you have to justify it; the argumentation thus follows the
thought. If you catch yourself doing this, be alarmed, because this is a
symptom of inversed reasoning. It will make it more difficult for your
readers to absorb the argumentation. Turn the argumentation around.
The obligation to give arguments in order to "deserve" conclusions is
very helpful, also for yourself: it is a way of checking if your reasoning
is correct. Sometimes you may have skipped a step. Think about the
necessary intermediary moves and you will have come a long way.
Avoid "of course", "naturally" and "obviously". Sometimes you
will feel compelled to write something that everybody knows, but

35

consider first whether it deserves to be said. If it does, is it really so

obvious, or are you, perhaps, avoiding arguing the idea because
maybe it isn't so obvious at all? Such phrases tend to sound pedantic
and intimidating. What about if a reader isn't familiar with what you
present as obvious?
Avoid arguing through questions (as I did in the previous
paragraph). Real questions tend to blur the clarity of your argument,
and rhetorical questions are manipulative. Just say what you want to
say, and argue it when necessary. If you really want to propose the
idea as a question, then say : "We might wonder if .... " But be sure to
answer the question in the end.
George Lakoff and Mark Johnson advocate the following rules
for argumentation (1980: 88-89; freely rendered):

content: make sure you have enough to say and enough

evidence to support your argument, and say the right things
in order to make your point.

progress: develop your argument from premise to conclusion.

structure: rational arguments require logical connections

among the various parts.

strength: the argument must be able to withstand objections.

This depends on the weight of the evidence and the tightness
of the logical connections.

basicness: some claims are more important th an others.

Maintain and defend the most important ones since
subsequent claims will be based upon them.

obviousness: when something Is less obvious - less easy to

accept - put more effort into arguing it.

directness: the force of an argument can depend on the

straightforwardness of the line from premise to conclusion.

clarity: what you claim and the connections between those

claims must be clear.
All of the above hints should be kept in mind.
Paragraphs

A division into paragraphs structures your work and makes it

accessible. Create paragraphs of about half or one third of a page.
Always use the enter key to move to the next line, then the tab key to
indent the paragraph. That way, you can check at a glance whether a
t ext has enough structure. There must be semantic structure too. The
beginning of one paragraph must follow logically on the end of the
previous one. Equally, the end of a paragraph must clearly indicate
what st ep has been taken and the main idea of that paragraph.
Paragraphs start out with a justification of their existence and
end with the necessity for the following paragraph. Always check
whether the transitions make sense. When you switch from one
subject to another, be sure the connection between the two is clear. If

36

you are discussing someone indicated with a proper name, repeat the
name the first time it is mentioned in a new paragraph.
Sentences
With the advent of word-processing, the temptation to use long
sentences has become a serious hazard . What happens is that you
start out by writing a simple sentence, then you have second thoughts,
then, despite some interim ideas that present themselves as counterarguments, you continue the sentence, until - after quite a few subclauses - you finally put a full stop at the end, even though other
nuances are still competing for your attention, but then, you want to
do justice to complexity, so ... Can you read this sentence in one go?
My suggestion is to rewrite it in a series of separate sentences. Try it. I
am sure you will see what I am driving at.
Overly long sentences are also a hindrance to accessibility. A
good rule of thumb is that one sentence should contain one idea. If
there are more ideas, split the sentence. If you tend to put ideas
between brackets, or dashes, consider writing a whole new sentence.
Reconsider each sentence after writing it to see if it can be split. If it
can, remember to ensure that the connection between the sentences is
clear and explicit. This is the purpose of conjunctions.
Style
Write in as direct a style as possible. Avoid indirect formulations, such
as the passive voice, double negatives and nominalizations of verbs.
Such formulations cloud the issue. Avoid unnecessary subordinations,
and use a minimum of words. A sentence like "The fact is that nobody
can say for sure" should be replaced with "Nobody knows for sure".
Don't say "The question is whether"; just say why it doesn't work or
isn't true. Avoid vague statements such as "These problems have to do
with the Gulf War" . Do you mean "These problems were caused by the
Gulf War"? Then you need to argue how and why. Or, do you mean
"These problems, among others, were the cause of the Gulf War"? In
that case, the sentence begs the question of the relative importance of
that particular fact as a cause.
What if you try and don't succeed? A vague statement that
you cannot tum into a clear argument must be deleted. Avoid phrases
such as "This has to do with", "as it were", "in a manner of speaking",
"so to speak". If you wish to establish a connection, don't write "this
makes me think of... "; no one is interested in your personal
associations. The connection is only relevant If you can specify it.
Avoid keeping too many options open as you write, but do put
your arguments in perspective. If your writing is overly relativistic,
your reader will suspect you don't know what it is you want to say. Be
as reader-friendly as possible: neither over- nor underestimate your
readers. The amount of pre-knowledge you can expect depends on the

37

nature of your project. If your work is interdisciplinary, don't write

"introduction to" texts; this could be perceived as condescendant. But
nor should you assume that everything you know is common
knowledge. This is why interdisciplinary writing is an art in itself; you
must explain everything without appearing to do so.
Avoid wordiness. Be concise when you can, without speaking
in enigmas. A direct style dictates you should write "I" when you mean
"I". Don't use "we" or "one"; they are both unclear. Only use "we"
when it is absolutely clear which group you mean. Using "we" as a kind
of indirect speaking voice has become old-fashioned, and sounds
pompous. "We" as a kind of intimacy easily becomes dishonest; it
creates a community of people who agree with you before such a
community exists. On the other hand, you are writing to create that
community. But you will only manage to do so if your readers allow it.
Don't hesitate to use "I". It helps you to check whether you
can really defend what you are writing. But state what you want to
assert without prefacing every statement with "I think". And "I feel
that" won't do at all; your reader is not interested in your feelings, or
in what you believe. Only those things that you are able to
substantiate with arguments and data or details of your object are
worth mentioning. What is important, though, is for your reader to be
able to follow you when you formulate why you feel what you feel, or
why you believe what you believe.

Exclusive language and essentialism

"We" is not only vague and self-effacing; it can also appear to exclude
certain readers. For example, strictly speaking, it may indicate only
men, feminists, academics, whites or middle class people. Ask yourself
whether you are indeed excluding groups of readers. Don't write "We
have been silent long enough about our experiences with incest" when
you really mean "Victims of incest have been silent about their
experiences for long enough. Moreover, this topic has been ignored by
society and not been part of a public discourse". These are two related
but different issues. Unpacking them helps your analysis.
Avoid essentialist terminology. Don't write "woman" but
"women". But you must also ask yourself who belongs to this group;
the sooner you define that, the more your work will benefit. Avoid
essentialist expressions like "always", "everywhere", "universal" or
"essentially", as well as syntactic structures that posit eternal truths.
Instead, use personal pronouns that indicate whom you mean. Don't
write "he" when you write about "he or she". If you don't like using "he
or she", you can alternate "he" or "she", or use the convention "s/ he".
Another possible solution to this language-bound dilemma is to indicate
at the beginning of a chapter that you will use "he" or "she" and that
each includes both genders. The problem with this solution is that "he",

38

even when clearly qualified,

conventional, exclusive sense.

tends

to

be

interpreted

in

the

Metaphors
Using metaphors is unavoidable. Properly chosen metaphors can
inform the reader and offer subtlety or unexpected combinations of
signs and meanings, while formulating without metaphors can lead to a
much more wordy text. But only use metaphors that truly enhance
your text; choose them carefully. You must be aware of the
consequences when you use a metaphor, i.e. what is the extra
information provided and how can it be integrated?
The following pitfalls tend to arise:
metaphors can run away with your text, thus becoming a long
string. In the end, the reader can become so immersed in the
metaphor that it ceases to illuminate the topic.
metaphors can lead you to skip a phase in your argument.
Examples, short narratives and metaphors are often misused
as arguments. But they are not arguments, and should not be
used as such.
metaphors are often cliches that irritate and add nothing.
Cliches can often lead to skipping an argument through their
appeal to so-called "common sense".
metaphors tend to be informed by your personal persuasions.
While they may occasionally be helpful, in the end they
become "preachy" and moralistic.
irony more often than not doesn't come across in written
texts.
word plays are often ineffective and boring. Use them
sparingly and only when they are truly witty.
In this brochure, I have used the metaphor "the object speaks
back". I don't mean to assert that texts, images and films can take you
to task when they "feel" you are distorting what they "intend to say".
They cannot. They are mute things, and you are a live subject; they
were made in the past, and you speak in the present. Clearly, this
manner of speaking is metaphoric.
I will now explain the use of this metaphor here, first
according to its general usefulness, then in terms of its possible
pitfalls. The metaphor "the object speaks back" indicates that there is
a way in which objects can resist projections and wrong
interpretations. My message is that it is in your interest to understand
and heed t hese resistances. I consider the message so important that I
risk using this metaphor.
But to avoid having my metaphor become a long string, I use
it only incidentally. Rather than alleging it instead of an argument, I
use it to strengthen an argument I wish to make. The argument is that
objects are not quite mute if you allow them to "speak". The metaphor,

39

therefore, asks how you can let an object speak when it does not have
a voice. I owe that question an answer. The short, provisional answer
is that the close analysis of passages will be difficult if the object is not
easily accommodated in its role as illustration. I will explain this further
under "quotations".
Another possible pitfall in using this metaphor is that it sounds
rather like a cliche. It sounds like you might have heard it before. But
this is not because it falls back on a common-sense metaphor. Rather,
it resonates with the polemical metaphor frequently used today, "the
empire strikes back". It is to that metaphor that I am alluding. But
because the verb "to strike back" has been replaced in my metaphor
with "to speak back", the political overtones have been substituted
with a nuance that leaves the content of the speech-act open. The
object can thus affirm or contradict, or protest or acknowledge what
you want it to "say", through the quotation you allege.
There is no irony in my metaphor. I mean it as it sounds: the
object is given a kind of voice, or at least the equivalent of one. And it
fits my personal view of cultural objects. I would not have been able to
use it if I did not consider it important that cultural objects be
"emancipated" from their subordination to mechanistic theory. In this
sense, this metaphor has an anti-positivist resonance to it.
Technical terms
Only use those technical terms that you really need, that you have
defined and that you use within the framework of that definition.
Italicize a term the first time you use it only, preferably where you
define it. Make an index of your concepts so that readers can find them
and their definitions again when needed. Unnecessary jargon makes
your text sound pedantic and intimidates your reader, often resulting
in irritation with both text and author. The appropriate use of technical
terms, however, creates clarity and efficiency. When you explain a
term, give an immediate reference (in footnotes).
An example of a term that needs to be Introduced and defined
is focalization. This term Is easily misunderstood. It comes from
narrative theory, where it denotes the subject position from which the
occurrences and items in the fabula (a term to be defined) are
perceived and subsequently presented. There are three reasons why it
needs to be defined : first, because the phenomenon it covers is worth
looking at; second, because there are other terms available that do not
serve the purpose as adequately (e.g. the term "perspective" confuses
the subject and object of perception, while "narrator" confuses the
subject of speech with the subject of perception); and third, because
its visual resonance may lead to misunderstandings about its precise
meaning. When using the term , narrative theory avoids pronouncing
on the kind of sensorial perception involved, and thus pronounces on
the synaesthetic nature of all perception .

40

It is also meaningful, even important, to define well-known

words that ca n easily be misunderstood. A good example is the word
"trauma". Whereas it is easy to say that losing your key was traumatic
(the night you had to go back home to your parents because you
couldn't get into your new room), in a scholarly discussion of trauma
such a usage would be vague and ultimately abusive. "Trauma" needs
a definition precise enough to cover only those occurrences that we
intuitively perceive as traumatic (such as genocide, rape or lifethreatening accidents) . Terms or concepts serve to distinguish as much
as define.
Emphasis
Use italics only for foreign words or technical terms that you want to
emphasize. To highlight something within a text, don't put it in italics;
rephrase it. Use italics, underlining and exclamation marks as well as
other graphic markers sparingly; they make your text look impertinent
and self-imposing . Don't try to effect an emotional response in your
reader in this way. The reader will decide for him/herself whether or
not s/he wants to be surprised or incensed. Avoid "very" as both an
adjective and adverb; it usually adds nothing and is often even
grammatically incorrect. It counts as sloppy for native speakers and
pedantic for non-native speakers.
Quotations
Quotations constitute an important element of scholarly texts, such as
theses, and need to be treated as such. There are two ways to do this.
Quotations of one or two lines can be integrated within the text, in
which case they are enclosed in double inverted commas. Consistently
use double inverted commas; single inverted commas are used for a
quote within a quote. Quotations of more than two lines should be set
off from the text and blocked. When you block a quote, use the indent
key and omit inverted commas. You can leave a white space before
and after the quotation, or not, as you choose. Don't diminish the
space between lines or reduce the font. This creates problems with layout at the end . Note the following examples:

- Quotations of less than two lines (included within your t ext between
double inverted commas):
As Van Luxemburg wrote, "Ana's pedestal has become a
prison". Therefore it makes no sense ...
- Longer quotations, in block form (skip a line, indent, skip another
line; omit double inverted commas). If, for example, in your analysis of
Virginia Woolf's Orlando, you want to quote Catherine Lord's

41

association between this modernist novel and Shakespeare's Othello,

you write:

Orlando is not the first text in Western culture that

problematizes the meaning of "he" or "she". As film theorist
and literary critic Catherine Lord writes:
This stirring up and conflation of contiguously related
elements such as text and texture, finds a precedent
in Othello. The protagonist's treatment of his wife
and his handkerchief disturb the stable relationships
of alterity in Othello's cosmos. (1999: 83)
Whereas Lord develops the relationship between text and
texture through the Shakespearean metaphor of the
handkerchief, I wish to draw attention to the meaninglessness
of writing the personal pronoun in the third person.
In just a few sentences, you have introduced Lord , recalled
Shakespeare through her, drawn attention to the need for historical
awareness in any analysis of cultural texts and distinguished your line
of argumentation from Lord's. Meanwhile, by presenting Lord 's
argumentation, you have drawn attention to the plurality of possible
interpretations without losing sight of your own. (For more on
quotations, see the chapter on "Sources" .)
Lay-out
The decimal numbering system formerly common for titles and subheadings, especially in the social sciences and linguistics, is boring for
your reader. It does, however, help to structure your work. Give your
paper a title that adequately covers the content. Each section shou ld
have its own title. Make a balanced division between sections. Your
table of contents should indicate the precise information of your
project, even serve as a summary. Italicize, or use bold or a larger
typeface in the title, but make a choice and stick to it consistently.
Enter one line before each new heading. You may decide to enter two
lines before a chapter title, then one before the next chapter. The
general point is that the title should be closer to the text that it defines
than to the previous unit. Enter one line before, but not after, subtitles.
The first paragraph of a chapter or section is not marked with
a tab. Regarding punctuation, be consistent in the order of inverted
commas and full stops. If you follow the British convention, when
quoting a phrase put inverted commas first, then the full stop. 3 For the
3
British and Ameri can punctuation ( and spelling) differ considerably (consuk The Chicago
Manual of Style for details).

42

printer to distinguish between dashes indicating a reflection and a

hyphenated word, you should use dashes with a space on either side
for reflections - like these - and hyphens without a space on either
side for hyphenation (as in "double-barrelled"). In English, hyphenate
words only if they together form a qualifier: for example "the
seventeenth century", but "seventeenth-century art".

43

6. Sources
Quotations are an important part of your text. Using them properly will
help you to organize your work and strengthen your arguments.
Furthermore, the use of quotations and other sources will indicate the
framework of your (inter-)discipline.
As mentioned earlier, it is perfectly acceptable to use other
people's ideas, but you must document your sources. Too few
indications of sources make your text vague and your framework
unclear. Furthermore, you could be accused of lack of knowledge or
plagiarism (ripping-off). To become convincing as a writer, you must
be clear about what is yours and what is borrowed. Be honest and
straightforward about your sources, both direct and indirect. Use direct
sources as much as possible, but if you can't for some reason, indicate
this. If, for example, you talk about Derrida via Culler, let your reader
know that you used Culler on Derrida. Don't make it sound as If
Derrida were the author of a particular idea if indeed it was Culler who
expressed that idea about Derrida. For example: Derrida 1980: 30, as
quoted in Culler 1983: 184. If you want to quote Derrida himself, i.e.
not via Culler, you must find the reference in Derrida's work.

Concepts
Always indicate the author of a particular concept. The concept of
heteroglossia, for example, was coined by Bakhtin, introduced in the
West by Kristeva and first seen by you in an article by Diaz-Diocaretz
in the journal Lover. The entire history of the concept must be made
evident. You indicate this in a footnote. Here, you would write a
footnote as follows (except for the names, all the data in this
imaginary footnote are made up!):
Diaz-Diocaretz defines heteroglossia as " ... " (1987: 22-23) .
Her definition is based on Julia Kristeva (1978), where the
French critic provides an account of Bakhtin's introduction of
the term.
The first name of an author is usually included the first time
he is mentioned. Second and subsequent mentions use only the
surname. Adding a phrase like "the French critic" may also serve to
briefly introduce the newly named writer. A footnote may thus provide
not only the necessary definition of a term , but also, for those who
wish to know more about the concept, a brief genealogy. Moreover, if
your readers have never heard of Kristeva, they ca n now situate this
writer. For the above note, I presupposed that Diaz-Diocaretz was

44

introduced in the main text, and that Bakhtin had been introduced
earlier.
How to balance the quantity of sources cited? Citing too many
sources within the body of your text will sound pedantic and
intimidating . Relegate them to footnotes. Avoid bracketed strings of
sources. It is perfectly acceptable to write: "The term 'heteroglossia' is
helpful in understanding the recycling we notice in Flaubert's prose.
(Diaz-Diocaretz 1987: 22-23)", but don't write "Aristotle's ideas on
mimesis have a long history of reception (Dupont-Roc and Lalot 1985;
Berger 1999; Alfredo 1965; Bremer 1987; De Jong 1998)". Such
strings of citations make your text unreadable and should be included
in a footnote. In the latter case, however, there Is another problem: it
is pointless to cite five out of thousands of possible sources. Only cite
those authors whose ideas on Aristotle's mimesis differ significantly,
e.g. one who interprets the concept as "imitation" and another who
sees it as "representation" (a distinction you would add and comment
on in a footnote) .
Be sure to use concepts and ideas according to their meaning
as defined in the source. If you don't , you must indicate how you have
changed the definition . Don't hesitate to do th is; there is no reason to
become enslaved by a definition. Instead, appropriate and integrate
new ideas into your own framework. But, at the same time, don't try to
give your own ideas a special status by appropriating an established
concept with an idiosyncratic definition. For example, Gerard Genette
(1973: 233) introduced the term metadiegetic to account for
embedded discourse in narrative. This definition is rather idiosyncratic;
it does not square with the usual meaning of the prefix " meta-", which
means "commentary on", as in "metalanguage" (as language on
language) . If you need to describe the phenomenon and only know
Genette's discussion of it, you can write something like this:
Gerard Genette discusses effects of such embeddings In his
narrative theory (1973: 233) and calls it "meta-discourse".
Since this use of the prefix meta- can easily be misunderstood
to mean discourse about, instead of embedded within,
discourse, I propose to refer to the phenomenon he analyzes
as "hypo-discourse".
In this way you account for your source, explain the concept, emend
the term and trace the genealogy of the kind of thought at issue in
structuralist narratology. All this information can be packed into two
sentences.
Quotations
It is important to seek a balance between too many and too few
quotations. A good rule of thumb is to oblige yourself to "earn" each

45

quotation: it must be meaningful and integrated into your argument.

The following hints may be helpful.
Remember that a quotation cannot replace an argument. It
has to be integrated into your work and thus appropriated. Analyse it
and comment on it. If you do so, you will discover both the argument
you wanted to use in the quotation and much more. This is where my
metaphor "the object speaks back" comes in. You are making an
argument and you wish to illustrate it. But since texts or images are
never just there to confirm what you have to say about them, they are
not quite going to do the job for you.
This is perfectly fine. You can begin by analysing those
aspects of the passage or image that do confirm your argument. But,
as you can never take that confirmation for granted, you must make it
explicit. While doing so, you will come across aspects that seem to go
in different directions, are more specific or even contradict the
confirmation. Don't shy away from making these variations explicit. It
will allow you to "let the text speak", and to emancipate it from all the
disadv antages that using it in a utilitarian fashion entails. Furthermore,
your thinking will develop. It is in analysing quotations that you are
closest to your object, and hence, most likely to learn, complicate your
argument and get new ideas; the object "speaks back", you enter into
a dialogue with it. This empowers the object - but also yourself.
Avoid strings of quotations. Cultural analysis is not an
empirical science. Three quotations illustrating the same idea are no
more convincing than one. Three are too few to serve as "evidence",
and too many to stand as an example with its own idiosyncrasies. Each
quotation has to introduce something new. Don't use quotations that
repeat each other. If you do, you reduce the sum of your quotations to
a cliche. It also looks manipulative: using many like-sounding
quotations over-emphasizes your claim to being " right" . Moreover, it
obliterates differences between the quotations.
The length of quotations must be in direct proportion to their
importance within your thesis. The tendency to quote at length reflects
a lack of control over what you have to say. It is symptomatic of their
wrong use: you have become hostage to your own quotations. In
addition, whereas your reader is reading the text because she wants to
understand your argument, she ends up losing track of precisely that.
In all cases, a lengthy quotation must be a reward for your own
thought process: analyse the quotation, write it up in a short text ,
perhaps introducing it, then include it, and finally, indicate why it is
particularly relevant to your work.
Accuracy in quotations is evidence of good scholarship;
mistakes are evidence of sloppiness. It is easy to make mistakes when
copying quotations, as it is boring work and one is easily distracted. So
be careful when copying them: every detail, including full stops and
commas, must be as in the original. If you want to skip a passage in

46

the quotation because it is irrelevant, you indicate this with three dots
for a single word and four dots for more than one word; in both cases
the dots are framed by square brackets: [ ... ] .
Quotation is a potential enrichment of your text. It will work
well if you stick to the basic rule: always analyse, don't illustrate only
and take images as seriously as passages of texts. Use primary
sources where possible, and comment on your motivation if you quote
a secondary source.
Footnotes 4
Word-processing has also made the creation of footnotes easier.
Footnotes are meant to support your work. You can use them to
develop the primary arguments laid out in the main text, for additional
details, background information, sources and short comments on
quotations. But word-processing has also created another possibility:
that of writing a parallel work in footnotes. This is to be avoided.
Don't contradict your thesis by writing a second text in the
footnotes; you should make nuances in your arguments in the main
text. It won't do to contradict yourself and undermine your primary
claims. It therefore only makes sense to write extensive footnotes
when they support your primary text. Footnotes are often used to
shorten the main text. Large segments of text are relegated to them.
Initially, this is helpful to yourself; it enables you to be more concise
without losing sight of the complexity of your argument. But, in the
final version, just think of how the main text works without those long
para-texts. Delete mercilessly if you don't really need them, or save
such segments in a different document for potential use in another
article.
Don't put full bibliographical references in footnotes. These
should be included in the bibliography. Nor should you make a
separate footnote just for a reference. Short references can be
included in the main text. The reader is best served if he can move
easily between the primary text and the footnotes. Be reader-friendly
in this respect as well. Since footnote numbers interrupt your reader's
concentration, it makes sense to place them at the end of the sentence
or, wherever possible, the end of the paragraph.
Word-processing allows you to write your footnotes
immediately. You don't have to wait until the en d of the project, be it a
chapter or your entire thesis. Take advantage of this opportunity! At a
later date, you will have forgotten what you intended to say. If you
know what you want to say but are hesitant to formulate it straight
away, note some keywords to remind you of your thoughts.

4
l always recommend footnotes ove r endnotes as they make the text more reader-fr iendly. Be
prepared to make endnotes (also made easy in Word), though, as publishers somet imes
require them .

47

7.

Bibliography

Each thesis includes a bibliography in which the "works consulted" and

sometimes "suggestions for further reading" are documented. Once
your thesis is ready, you assemble this bibliography in alphabetical
order. Don't divide it into sections according to categories, although it
may be useful to keep literary and critical texts separate when your
thesis deals with literature. But don't use the terms "primary" and
"secondary"; this creates a hierarchy. Include only those texts that you
actually mentioned in your thesis, no others. If you analyse films,
make a separate "filmography". Again, this list should include all films
mentioned, but only those . More and more frequently, theses also
include electronic sources such as websites. The same rule applies.
In all references, be precise and comprehensive. Some styles
include only the place of publication and not the publisher or the full
page-span of the articles. I recommend you choose the most
comprehensive format. By way of example, the following list includes
references to all the texts mentioned in this brochure. There is only
one article. Note the difference between book and article references.
Article titles are put in quotation marks, followed by the name of the
publication - either a book or journal - in italics. In the case of
journals, the year and issue number are added; for edited volumes,
the name of the editor. Always add the page-span. Where there are
three authors or less, all are mentioned. Where there are more than
three, only the name of the first author is mentioned, followed by "et
al." .
A sample bibliography:
Bal, Mieke
1992 "Narratology and the Rhetoric of Trashing". Comparative
Literature 44 (3): 293-306
2002 Travelling Concepts in the Humanities: A Rough Guide. Toronto:
University of Toronto Press
Baronian, Marie-Aude
In preparation . Image, Me moire et Transmission. Sur Ia (non-)
representation et !'heritage du genocide armenien. Amsterdam: ASCA
Berendsen, Marjet
1991 Reading Character in Jane Austen's Emma. Assen: Van Gorcum

48

Bleeker, Maaike
2002 The Locus of Looking: Dissecting Visuality in the Theatre.
Amsterdam : University of Amsterdam (unpublished)
Dimock, George
1993 Constructions of Childhood. Rochester,
Rochester (unpublished)

NY:

University of

Eemeren, Frans van, Rob Grootendorst and Francisca Snoek

Henkemans
2002 Argumentation: Analysis, Evaluation, Presentation. Mahhaw, NJ,
and London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Publishers
Elsaesser, Thoma s
1989 New German Cinema: A History. London: McMillan/The British
Film Institute
Karsten, Frans-Willem
1998 The Wisdom Brokers: Narrative's Interaction with Arguments in
Cultural Critical Texts. Amsterdam: ASCA Press
Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson
1980 Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University of Chicago Press
Lord, Catherine
1999 The Intimacy of Influence: Narrative and Theoretical Fictions in
the Work of George Eliot, Virginia Woolf and Jeanette Winterson.
Amsterdam : ASCA Press
Neef, Sonja
2000 Kalligramme. Zur Medialitat einer Schrift, anhand von Paul van
Ostaijens De feesten van angst en pijn. Amsterdam: ASCA Press
NUFFIC
1994 Nederlandse Hoger Onderwijs Termen in het Engels. Nuffic: The
Hague
Smith, Piers Michael
1997 Colonial Obscene: Reading Cultural Texts on Borneo, Ex-centrically.
Amsterdam : University of Amsterdam (unpublished)
Tops, Ellen
2001 Foto's met gezag. Een semiotisch perspectief op priesterbeelden
1930-1990. Nijmegen : Vantilt

49

(The) University of Chicago Press

1993 The Chicago Manual of Style The Essential Guide for Writers,
Editors, and Publishers, 14'h ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press
Vojkovic, Sasha
2001 Fathers, Sons, and Other Ghosts: Subjectivity in the New
Hollywood Cinema. Amsterdam: ASCA Press
Vries, Hent de
1996 "Cultural Analysis: On Theorizing the Present". BRIEF: Issues in
Cultural Analysis, ed . Mieke Bal, et al., 3-6. Kampen: Kok Faros
The bibliography is your most important instrument for subsequent
scholarship. Moreover, as mentioned before, it provides readers with
insight into your intellectual network, frames of reference, even your
intellectual style.

so

8.

Finishing

A year will pass between completion of the chapters of your thesis and
your public defence. Only when you have fini shed all the chapters will
you write your introduction. To do this, you must first read the latest
theory and criticism on your topic. You will then reread your chapters
to make final revisions and refresh your memory on the development
of your argument. This is also the moment to check for repetition and
contradictions.
Paradoxically, you can only write the introduction after you
have written the rest of your thesis. Once you have written the
introduction, you will go through each chapter again to check that it
makes sense . (It helps to keep a list while writing your chapters,
indicating the issues y ou want to see mentioned in the introduction.)
Then you write the conclusion. Writing the introduction and the
conclusion will take you another six months.
Once they are completed, it is time to submit the application
form requesting your defence. For details, consult the PhD brochure of
the university, where all the rules and regulations are set out. You will
then focus on finalizing your thesis for the printer. Most theses are
printed according to a camera-ready system, which means there
mustn't be a single error anyw here in the text. Every typo, comma and
indent must be checked and corrected. This will take you another
month or two. You must also get in touch with a publisher as soon as
you near the end of writing your introduction. But don't do this
prematurely; you might risk rejection, and most theses improve
dramatically in the final stage. Consult your advisor on these matters.
Once your thesis is print-ready, your advisor will read it, to
decide whether approval is possible. A second or third advisor may also
read it. Your advisor m ay approve the thesis on condition that a
number of small changes are made while you await the r eturn of th e
application form from the central administration.
When the advisors (called "promoters" in the Dutch system)
have approved the manuscript, the first promotor will submit a form
setting up the thesis committee. The committee m embers will be
select ed by the promotor in consultation with the ca ndidat e, and
finally, by the promotor and the dean of the faculty, the latter who is
ultimately responsible for its formation. After about two weeks, th e
application form will be returned , at which time all the committee
members will receive a copy of the manuscri pt. Make sure there are
enough copies for distribution at thi s point. Once the manu script ha s
been sent to the committee members, a date for your defence can be
arranged with the university usher (called the "pede!" in the
Netherlands). The thesis committee makes only a gener al "yes" or "no "

51

decision on the defensibility of the thesis. This decision is made within

six weeks of the thesis having been received (eight weeks if it is
received just before the summer break).
Other details regarding this procedure can be found in the
brochure "Rules and Regulations for the Attainment of a Doctorate",
available from Kees Ostendorf at: Academische zaken, Room 129,
Faculty of Humanities, University of Amsterdam, Spuistraat 210, 1012
VT Amsterdam, tel. +31 20 525 3054, fax +31 20 5255 3305, email:
[email protected].

52

The graffiti or wall writing on the cover of ASCA publications represents a letter or
in Dutch. The form of the text is on icon for the form of leHers, with on address, 'Deor
so-and-so', followed by the 'body' of the letter. The word thot hos the shape of the odclross
is self-referential. The word
means 'note', smollleHer, but it rhymes with 'liolje',
a more usual address, meaning 'Dearest' or 'Sweetie'. This fits in with the beginning of the
text itself that says: 'I love you'. The discourse of the love-leHer then shifts to that ol epistomic
philosophy when it continues: 'I did not make you up'. The statement of non- fi ction is
inherenrly contradicted by the address that changes a real person, the anonymous writer's
beloved, into a self-referential description of the note.
This tension questions the distinction between
and reality the note/graffiti thornotiz.es.
It also inscribes academic reAection at the heart of on expression of contemporary, 'popula r'
culture. Moreover, the body of the text is identical to the ending of a poorn, 'Je bent'
{'You ore'). by Dutch poet Ellen Warmond. Thus the interdiscursive complexity of the text,
connecting it to academic inquiry as well as, through this reference, to 'high literature',
doubles up with intertextuol citation,
to women's literature of the 1950's.
The graffiti is publicly accessible, semonticolly dense, pragmatically intriguing, visually
appealing and insistent, and philosophically profound. Yet it stubbornly remains a transient
thing that could disappear any moment. Thus, this accidentally found 'text-imoge' hos coma
to stand for the ASCA program in more ways than one.

ASCA

located at the Faculty of Humanities at the University of Amslerdom, the Amslerdom School
for Cultural Analysis brings together scholars active in literature, philosophy, visual culture,
religious studies,
and media studies, argumentation theory and science dynamics.
Specialists in their own respective
they share a commitment Ia working within on
interdisciplinary framework and to maintaining a dose connection with contemporary
cultural and political debates in the society at large and with the cultural institutions outside
of the academic world. Within ASCA they hove joined forces Ia
of the narrow
provide a stimulating environment for scholars, professionals, and graduate students both
from the Netherlands and abroad. The institute supervises internally and externally funded
PhD projects, offers regular seminar and hosts yearly workshops and conferences.
Hent de Vries

Frans von Eemeren

Eloe Kingma
Mieke Sal, lnge Boer, Atholyo Brenner, Jose van Dijck, Frans van Eemeren,
Thomas Elsaesser, Eveline Feteris, Rokus de Groot, Govert den Hortogh, Bert Meuffels,
John Neubauer, Ruud Peters, Ierne van der Peel, Agnes van Rees, Beale Roessler,
Jon Simons, Ginette Verstraete, Gerard de Vries, Willem Weststeijn.
International Advisory
Boord

Georges van den Abbeele, Anthony Blair, Stephen Bonn, Jonathon Culler, Jon Cook,
Wencly Doniger, J. Cheryl Exum, Anselm Haverkamp, Scott Jacobs, Coren Kaplan,
Evelyn Fox Keller, Carolyn W. Korsmeyer, Ruth lorond, Michoellelf, Lisa Tickner,
Samuel Weber, Albrecht Wellmer, Hoyden White.

Information

ASCA, Spuistraat 210, room 346, 1012 VT Amsterdam, The Netherlands,

Tel: +31 20 525 3B74, Fox: +31 20 525 3052, [email protected]

www.hum .uva.nl/asca