The title of this blog post is a reference to Mario Small’s oft-cited paper, “How Many Cases Do I Need?”, on sampling in qualitative research. His title, I think, is a play on the fact that most qualitative researchers don’t actually want to think about sampling in qualitative research. As such, we usually respond in… Continue reading “How many black authors do I need?”
My twitter and facebook feeds are lighting up: if you need help, call 1-800-273-8255 (The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline). Reach out—you’d be amazed how many people have struggled too. And, in time, get (professional) help—it helps. That last bit should come with an asterix. I’ve been struck lately by the narratives I’ve read—from this piece… Continue reading Getting Help
I was Vladimir Lenin for Halloween in 2002. I have absolutely no recollection as to why—I’m pretty sure I leaned liberal democrat at the time, of the sort that Lenin might call a “petty bourgeois philistine”, and not revolutionary communist. But it seems important because, apparently, I knew who Vladimir Lenin was when I was… Continue reading Vladimir
My students are anxious, and they’re not making it up. A meta-analysis of surveys found that one-third of college students met criteria for a mood disorder, with higher rates among women, first generation college students, and racial minorities. Since many of my students are all three, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that a half-dozen… Continue reading TA (Teaching Anxiety)
To my surprise, there is scattered evidence that people are reading my book. It makes me uncomfortable – that perhaps, somewhere, a graduate seminar is trashing it, someone is posting a takedown on goodreads, etc. But since I’ve largely assumed that my book was rapidly consigned to the intellectual dustheap – appropriate, for a book… Continue reading Sociology, floating in the ether
A few weeks ago, I stepped off the metro at Glacière in Paris’s 14th arrondisement and walked into Sainte Anne’s hospital, where I had spent the better part of my fieldwork last year. It felt good to be back in a psychiatric hospital as an observer, not a patient. Walking through the gate was just… Continue reading Asylum
“Can you remember what you felt like when you walked through that door?” “No,” I blubber back. “You said you were feeling okay. It was just twenty minutes ago.” “I’m not okay,” I insist, through tears. “I’m not going to be okay.” It hadn’t been an easy day. I had a total meltdown over the… Continue reading Out of Sense, Out of Mind
