This is a guest post by Fiona Ellis, University of Roehampton, London
There’s no one way of planning and writing a book (whether philosophy or otherwise), and much of it has to do with temperament. Some people like to map everything out in advance (Iris Murdoch), others make it up as they go along (Haruki Murakami), and most people probably do a bit of both of these things. The first important thing is the big idea – this is the book’s main selling point, and it makes the project worth doing in the first place. In my 2014 book God, Value, and Nature (OUP), the big idea was that there are expansive (i.e. non-scientistic) conceptions of nature which can be pushed in a theistic direction, and that predictable ways of resisting this move involve a contestable conception of God.
I like to have a fairly clear sense of where I’m going, and once I have the basic idea I set out a provisional chapter structure. This was easy to do for God, Value, and Nature because I was following a particular line of argument and reproducing its structure at different levels of content. I knew where I wanted to go, and it was mostly a matter of spelling out the relevant arguments. There were surprises along the way, but nothing too shocking. Things are trickier with the book I’m planning at present, for the argument is more complex, and there are murky depths which will surface only when the writing process begins. I usually aim at 7 or 8 chapters, and squeeze the initial plan into a couple of pages. It took about 2 years (including a term of sabbatical leave) to produce a complete draft of God, Value, and Nature. I wrote most of it before getting in touch with a publisher because I didn’t want to be constrained by a particular plan or timeline, and it meant that the submission was in the best possible shape.
I write each chapter as if it’s the finished product, and try to avoid having a series of incomplete drafts. Loose ends and gaps mess up the developing argument, and my books tend to have a fairly tight structure. The downside is that I can end up spending an inordinate amount of time on one chapter, but things can go really smoothly too. Once I’m happy with a chapter I’ll share it with one or two friends; I’ll then revise it in response to feedback before moving on. I work best when there’s an uninterrupted stretch of time – ideally a few weeks or more where I can go for total immersion. If the weather’s half decent I’ll start and end each day with a swim, but apart from that I’ll be mostly at my desk. This is my idea of paradise, and the second best is when I can organise a few days along these lines.
I try to write philosophy in an accessible and non-technical way, and over the years I’ve developed a style which suits my personality and interests. I take seriously Iris Murdoch’s idea that the problems of philosophy are the problems of life, and I’m allergic to what Bernard Williams calls ‘stylistic scientism’ (‘People can perhaps persuade themselves that if they fuss around enough with qualifications and counter-examples, they are conducting the philosophical equivalent of a biochemical protocol’). I write the same way whether I’m doing a journal article or a book, and I use the first person too. It is often said – e.g. in the google search I’ve just done – that the first person is unacceptable for academic writing and appropriate only when one is conveying ‘personal information’. I don’t accept this dichotomy between the academic and the personal – think of Murdoch’s philosophical problems again – although this is not to deny that there are forms of academic writing for which an impersonal perspective is more appropriate.
I’ve probably made the process sound much easier than it is, and there are various pitfalls and agonies which I’m reminded of as I look at version 9 of the plan for Project Desire and Meaning (here in front of me in my illegible handwriting!). I’m also reminded of something Murakami once said in the context of spelling out the difference between writing short stories and writing a novel. Writing a short story costs you very little, and if it goes wrong you can throw it away without worrying too much about it. At most you’ve wasted a couple of months of your life. But a novel is a big commitment, and if something goes wrong then life seems truly compromised. Something similar can be said of the difference between writing a journal article and writing a monograph, and it emphasises the importance of thinking carefully at the planning stage. Ultimately, however, there’s no getting away from the risks involved in creative activity, and no codification of what is involved. The platitudes are beginning to flow, but I want to end with something which has been a real source of consolation and inspiration. Not the refreshing morning swims (although they have helped), but knowing that even my most brilliant philosopher friends go through the relevant crises of confidence and depression and come out at the other end with a lovely new book!
"It is often said – e.g. in the google search I’ve just done – that the first person is unacceptable for academic writing and appropriate only when one is conveying ‘personal information’. I don’t accept this dichotomy between the academic and the personal – think of Murdoch’s philosophical problems again – although this is not to deny that there are forms of academic writing for which an impersonal perspective is more appropriate."
I've always been baffled by this advice and don't see any reason behind it that's not confused. Let's assume there's some good distinction between an impartial academic or scientific perspective and a personal perspective. It's simply not the case that a first-person speaking voice is sufficient for, or characteristic of, the personal perspective. I can write from or of my personal perspective without using "I", and I can write from an academic perspective while using it. Easy example: "In the first part of this paper I shall".
Can't we all agree that this advice only sounds good on the mistaken (and simplistic) assumption that the first-person speaking voice is sufficient (and necessary) for a personal perspective?
Posted by: A Philosopher | 04/05/2019 at 11:00 AM
Re: A philosopher
Quick quibble: can we please all stop saying `shall'? What's wrong with `will', other than the fact that it lacks pretentiousness?
Posted by: Tom | 04/05/2019 at 02:48 PM
Tom: I was being descriptive. I tend to avoid "shall" myself, although I don't mind it. I do think there are a number of turns of phrase and other idiosyncratic prose-ticks which are becoming overused and tired within philosophy. If anything, I'd put "shall" into this category.
Posted by: A Philosopher | 04/05/2019 at 05:29 PM