Nicholas H Wolfinger 2002
Nicholas H Wolfinger 2002
Nicholas H Wolfinger 2002
NICHOLAS H. WOLFINGER
University of Utah
Q
R
Qualitative Research
Copyright
SAGE Publications
(London,
Thousand Oaks, CA
and New Delhi)
vol. (): -.
[-
() :;
-; ]
A B S T R AC T
KEYWORDS:
85
Introduction
At first glance, writing fieldnotes seems deceptively straightforward. Go to a
research site, see what happens, then write it down. But this simple description raises a fundamental question: when typing up notes, exactly what does
the researcher choose to annotate? Decisions made at this juncture of the
research process may have a profound impact on the final ethnographic
report. This article explores some of the taken-for-granted assumptions
involved in writing fieldnotes.
Over time, ethnography has become increasingly self-conscious (Clifford,
1986; Emerson, 1983, 1987). Many scholars have examined the relationships between ethnographers and their subjects (Clifford, 1986; Woolgar,
1988) and ethnographic texts and their readers (Atkinson, 1990; Woolgar,
1988). Comparatively little attention has been paid to fieldnotes (Emerson et
al., 1995; see also Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970). Most of the extant research
has been either taxonomic (Ottenberg, 1990; Sanjek, 1990a) or philosophic
(Clifford, 1990; Sanjek, 1990b), but not pragmatic. Fieldnote tutorials routinely neglect practical consideration of the issues involved in note-taking, a
particularly noteworthy absence in light of ethnographys fundamentally
86
subjective underpinnings. Van Maanen (1988) provides an eloquent statement of the problem:
To put it bluntly, fieldnotes are gnomic, shorthand reconstructions of events,
observations, and conversations that took place in the field. They are composed
well after the fact as inexact notes to oneself and represent simply one of many
levels of textualization set off by experience. To disentangle the interpretive procedures at work as one moves across levels is problematic to say the least. . . .
Little wonder that fieldnotes are the secret papers of social research (pp. 2234).
I employ data from two sources. First, I use fieldnotes from my ethnography of
public space interaction (Wolfinger, 1995); second, I draw upon ethnographic data produced by others, both published and from graduate classes.
This ethnographer spent a lot of time deciding what to watch. How much of
his equivocation occurred at the time he conducted his observations and how
much was recreated when typing up his notes? The last line in the excerpt
suggests the latter: the concern of fill[ing] pages is specific to the process of
writing fieldnotes. How did his deliberation influence his data collection: did
he treat the checkout queue he subsequently entered as a different phenomenon because it only had two people in it? Did this influence emerge when he
went through the queue or did he just impute it afterwards when typing up his
notes? Speculation could continue, but I think the point has been made: what
the ethnographer does at the word processor and what he or she does in the
field have a meaningful interaction. This idea is not lost on Emerson et al.
(1995: 601), who describe how ethnographers may let understandings
unfold in the course of writing fieldnotes. However, they focus on the rhetorical rather than the substantive implications. How does the process of textual
recreation actually affect ethnographers experiences, as depicted in their
notes?
Ethnography places much discretion in the hands of the researcher.
Symbolic interactionism (Blumer, 1969), social setting analysis (Lofland and
Lofland, 1984) and grounded theory (Charmaz, 1983; Glaser, 1978; Glaser
and Strauss, 1967) three common theoretical warrants for ethnography
argue against the use of field research methods for testing preconceived
hypotheses. Instead, these perspectives advocate letting ones experiences in
the field guide a studys focus. While in the field, researchers presumably identify certain phenomena as interesting and worthy of annotation. They therefore must exercise discretion in deciding what should be documented in their
fieldnotes. The sources of this discretion are explored in the following sections
of this article.
Three practical considerations often shape the course of note-taking. First,
a researcher will sometimes be able to take notes while in the field. Many fieldwork texts advocate this practice (Berg, 1989; Emerson et al., 1995; Goffman,
1989; Lofland and Lofland, 1984; Schatzman and Strauss, 1973). These preliminary notes generally form an outline when the researcher sits down at the
end of the day to type out complete notes. Second, the focus of an ethnographic investigation typically narrows over time (Hammersley and Atkinson,
1983; Spradley, 1980), obviously influencing what a note-taker chooses to
describe. Third, note-taking may be influenced by the perceived audience
(Emerson et al., 1995). Within these broad constraints, however, an ethnographer will still have to decide exactly what should be annotated.
87
88
In other words, all social actors actively strive to make informed decisions
based upon their background knowledge, knowledge that is, in the words of
Garfinkel (1967) seen but unnoticed (p. 118). This includes ethnographic
note-takers. Although it has been suggested that ethnographic writing
depends upon taken-for-granted knowledge (Ely et al., 1991; Emerson, 1983;
Kleinman et al., 1997; Pelto and Pelto, 1978), this idea has not been explored
thoroughly or has been examined only in specific contexts such as conversation analysis (Watson, 1996).
The relationship between tacit knowledge and fieldnotes becomes apparent
in considering an example. The following fieldnote describes Spradleys
(1980) summons to a grand jury:
There were rows of spectator benches, all made of heavy dark wood, oak or
walnut, to match the paneled walls. The rows of benches went for more than
twenty-five feet until they met a railing that seemed to neatly mark off a large
area for official business. . . . At the right of the area behind the railing were
twelve high-back leather chairs behind another railing. A large oak table with
massive chairs all faced toward a high lectern which I took to be the judges bench
(p. 74, emphasis added).
In the last line of this excerpt, Spradley identifies a structure as the judges
bench. How does he know this? He has background knowledge from three
sources: he presumably has some previous exposure to courtrooms, he knows
he has been summoned to the grand jury, and he has recorded other observations (of benches, railings, and a jurors box) indicating the likely presence of
a judges bench. Thinking back to his time in the field, his observations resonate with his background knowledge to produce the identification of judges
bench. This is a particularly useful example because Spradley himself assists
in the argument I propose: by writing which I took to be the judges bench, he
acknowledges the interpretive process involved in making an ethnographic
observation. Furthermore, Spradleys analytic self-consciousness shows that
the processes of interpretation and identification involved in any ethnographic study can be examined by the researcher. In this instance, it is curious that
the judges bench was apparently more difficult to identify than any other part
of the courtroom. Did this reflect the importance Spradley attributed to the
judge in the ensuing legal proceedings, his uncertainty regarding the judicial
role in a grand jury hearing, an unexpectedly small lectern, or something else
entirely? Presumably only Spradley knows for sure, but either way the answer
might tell us more both about the grand jury and how he went about describing his experiences there.
In sitting down to record notes, ethnographers can start by describing whatever observations struck them as the most noteworthy, the most interesting,
or the most telling. What might comprise one of these salient episodes? An
example from an ethnography of phone sex chat line employees:
The phone monitors consistently refer to the callers as losers and sometimes as
psychos. We answer the phones by releasing mute buttons for our headsets and
some monitors use the mute buttons to ridicule the callers while they are still on
the line with them. The most common practice is to talk to the caller and quickly press the mute button and say fucking loser and then return to the caller.
89
90
contrasts in other words, the background knowledge that lead to the identification of certain cases as deviant. This is a desirable occurrence because it
can contribute to the development of theory (Katz, 1983). In my study of
public space interaction, I found that pedestrians often looked at each other
and exchanged pleasantries after narrowly averting a collision. One time a
pedestrian addressed me without looking. I found this anomaly interesting
and accorded it additional consideration in my fieldnotes:
I looked at him (at his face, that is) and said sorry. He did not look back at me
in mumbling a response, which was something like alright. His expression did
not change when he said this. In retrospect, the apparent depth of his preoccupation or reverie rendered this exchange memorable I was struck by it at the
time.
This fieldnote may not have been written had the pedestrian manifested a
more usual reaction to the near-collision.
An interactions boundaries (temporal, spatial, or otherwise) or absence
thereof might also render it memorable. In my study of public space interaction, a memory temporally and spatially contiguous to many others was often
less memorable than one occurring on, for instance, an otherwise empty
street. In the latter case, theres simply less mental fodder present to cloud
ones memory when typing up fieldnotes.
Ethnographers frequently choose to record a particular observation
because it stands out. Observations often stand out because they are deviant,
either when compared to others or with respect to a researchers existing
knowledge and beliefs. Either way, background knowledge influences which
cases are chosen for annotation.
S T R AT E G Y T WO : C O M P R E H E N S I V E N O T E - TA K I N G
An alternate strategy for recording notes is to systematically and comprehensively describe everything that happened during a particular period of time,
such as a single trip to the field. Systematic can mean a couple of different
things. One place to start is with a generalized list of concerns, such as that
provided by Lofland and Lofland (1984: 48):
Who is he?
What does he do?
What do you think she meant by that?
What are they supposed to do?
Why did she do that?
Why is that done?
What happens after ________?
What would happen if ________?
What do you think about ________?
Who is responsible if ________?
91
92
interactions that did happen, because it allows a researcher to develop the criteria for defining an event in any given social setting. Here is an example of an
interaction that didnt happen, that I would not have noted had I just been
using the salience hierarchy method:
I came to a halt at a red light, still on the curb. Across the street, I saw two studenty looking women. They were obviously poised to cross over to my side of the
street when the light turned green. They were positioned far to my right. I looked
over at them . . . to assess whether an interaction was forthcoming whether
either I or they would end up negotiating some sort of passage. . . . It quickly
became apparent to me that no passage negotiating was going to take place.
We were too far apart laterally (somewhere between ten and fifteen feet), and
this was very apparent to me as I stood still and saw them standing still. Thus,
by being still I had the opportunity to assess their intended courses (which they
followed), and they presumably had the opportunity to assess mine. The light
soon turned green and we all passed, far apart, without exchanging glances.
The two women had been talking to each other the entire time.
By describing non-interactions, I made explicit some of the criteria for defining an interaction in public space. Another example, from a student ethnography of a supermarket:
I move along to the produce area where there are a number of people sorting
through the apples, bananas and veggies. I am struck by how normal it all is. . . .
No one is particularly interested in the doings of anyone else. Fruit and vegetables are occupying almost everyones attention fully. Two young women, dressed
in Melrose Ave. style, sweep through the scene, moving rapidly and talking in
quiet but rushed voices. No one but me seems to even notice. The setting is
almost languid.
Conclusion
Fieldnotes are an oft-neglected yet fundamental part of ethnography. They
serve the crucial role of connecting researchers and their subjects in the writing of an ethnographic report. Often an ethnographer spends enormous
amounts of time writing notes. For these reasons field notes may take on a
unique sacredness (Jackson, 1990a, 1990b; Sanjek, 1990b). As Freud might
put it, we cathect our notes they become part of us. Therefore it is important
to understand the processes underlying their creation and how these processes can affect ethnographic texts.
The advent of reflexive ethnography has drawn attention to the relationship between researchers and their subjects, and that of texts and their readers. Moreover, it is well known that prose inevitably embodies the authors
tacit convictions; consider, for example, Howard Beckers (1986) pithy remark
in his book on writing for the social sciences: You have already made many
choices when you sit down to write, but you probably dont know what they
are (p. 17). Fieldnotes, given their importance to ethnographic scholarship,
deserve the same self-scrutiny that other prose is routinely subjected to.
Fieldnotes inevitably reflect the ethnographers background knowledge, or
tacit beliefs. In this article I have described some of the ways in which background knowledge might affect the construction of ethnographic notes, particularly subsequent to the decision to employ either the salience hierarchy or
comprehensive strategies of note-taking. This decision represents one commonly taken-for-granted feature of ethnography that can easily be made
explicit. Within each of these approaches reside more subtle choices. At this
juncture the researchers tacit knowledge affects which observations will be
recorded in fieldnotes. By recognizing some of the assumptions involved,
ethnographers can develop a more thorough understanding of their notetaking and ultimately of the social worlds they study.
NOTES
1.
With apologies to Sheldon Stryker (1980), who gives this useful term an entirely
unrelated meaning.
AC K N OW L E D G E M E N T S
Robert M. Emerson, Jack Katz, Geoffrey Raymond, Andrew L. Roth and the Interaction
Order paper reading group at UCLA provided valuable comments on previous drafts. I
also thank Pamela Lytle, Marc Smith and Darin Weinberg for sharing their fieldnotes
with me. Finally I extend my appreciation to Angela Casady for research assistance
and the Bireley Foundation for its generous support during the latter stages of this
research.
REFERENCES
93
94
95