The Ethnographer’s Task

If cultures consist of the worlds created and inhabited by particular social groups, then the ethnographer’s mission is to enter those worlds, become familiar with

them, and describe them to outsiders. If cultures consist of the stories people tell themselves about themselves, stories about what it means to be who they are, then

the fieldworker’s job is to retell those stories. If cultures consist of an ensemble of acted documents, a body of texts so to speak, then the ethnographer’s work is

to interpret those texts, to convey their meanings to an audience of outsiders, to re-present and represent the voices and viewpoints of the people who produce them.

In short, one of the primary purposes of ethnography, according to award-winning ethnographer Keith Basso, is “to construct principled interpretations of culturally

constituted worlds and to try to understand what living in them is like.”1 This, of course, “can be a perplexing and time-consuming business.”2 “But,” he continues,

“when the work goes well—

when puzzling claims are seen to make principled sense and when, as a consequence of this, one is able to move closer to an understanding of who the people involved

take themselves to be—it can be richly informative and highly worthwhile. Indeed, … it is just this sort of work that makes ethnography the singularly valuable

activity—and … the singularly arresting and gratifying one—it very often is.3

Given the ever-present challenges as well as the potential rewards of “engaging and exploring different versions of the world,”4 how should ethnographers go about

their business if they want to succeed, and succeed admirably? What should they do and what should they avoid if they want to construct useful accounts of other

systems of thought and traditions of social practice, if they want to produce accurate and insightful interpretations of the meanings of unfamiliar artifacts,

institutions, and practices? In the final chapter of his award-winning ethnography, Basso spells out “the ethnographer’s task,”5 illuminating both its overarching aims

and its ultimate outcomes, both what makes for effective fieldwork and what promotes exemplary deskwork. First and foremost, the overarching aims and the ultimate

outcomes:

The ethnographer’s task is to determine what [various] acts of expression purportedly involve (why they are performed, how they are accomplished, what they are

intended to achieve) and to disclose their importance by relating them to larger ideas about the world and its inhabitants. In other words, [acts of expression] are

treated as actualizations of the knowledge that informs them, as outward manifestations of underlying systems of thought, as native constructions wrought with native

materials that embody and display a native case of mind. And it is that cast of mind (or certain prominent aspects of it, anyway) that the ethnographer must work to

grasp, intelligibly make out, and later set down in writing.6

“An assignment of this delicacy,” Basso continues, “challenges the text-building pen as much as it does the truth-seeking mind. Mulling over imperfect field notes,

sorting through conflicting intuitions, and beset by a host of unanswered questions, the ethnographer must somehow fashion a written account that adequately conveys

his or her understanding of other peoples’ understandings.”7 But how—how does the ethnographer represent in writing another way of thinking, acting, and being? How

does he or she inscribe a three-dimensional world onto a two-dimensional page, transforming without deforming, flattening without deflating, enfolding without

confining, embracing without smothering? How does the ethnographer embody a living world in a book and yet avoid fabricating a lifeless document? Answers reside in the

intimate and parallel relationship between fieldwork and deskwork, between learning and writing, between gaining access to and then representing the natives’ point of

view. Keith Basso:

My own preference is for . . . narratives that move from interpretations of experience raw to those of experience digested, from moments of anxious puzzlement (“What

the devil is going on here?”) to subsequent ones of cautious insight (“I think perhaps I see”). Because that, more often than not, is how ethnographic fieldwork

actually unfolds. It is a discomfiting business in which loose ends abound and little is ever certain. But with ample time, a dollop of patience, and steady guidance

from interested native instructors, one does make measurable progress . . .

Doing ethnography can be a great deal of fun, and disguising the fact on paper, as though it were something to be ashamed of, is less than totally honest. It may also

be less than effective. Current fashions notwithstanding, clenched teeth and furrowed brow are no guarantee of literary success. In crafting one’s prose, as in going

about one’s fieldwork, it is always permissible—and sometimes highly informative—to smile and even to laugh.

It is permissible, too, to be pleased—and sometimes downright impressed—with things one happens to learn. From time to time, when luck is on their side, ethnographers

stumble onto culturally given ideas whose striking novelty and evident scope seem to cry out for thoughtful consideration beyond their accustomed boundaries. Making

these ideas available in perusable form is a worthy endeavor on general principles.8

This is essentially the tack Barbara Myerhoff takes in Number Our Days, one of the first ethnographies to employ the kind of creative nonfiction writing that makes

social-cultural anthropology accessible, entertaining, moving, and enlightening—that can blow your mind, crack you up, and break your heart. Tackling what ultimately

remains a utopian task, beyond the ordinary abilities of mere mortals, her innovative work remains truly ethnographic—centered on and grounded in the culturally

significant social doings of interacting individuals. A fine example of the ethnographer’s craft, Number Our Days allows the receptive reader to see how ethnographic

researchers go about their business, how they seek to make principled sense of diverse forms of social conduct, to figure out what people are up to when they engage in

various private and public practices. This highly-praised work by an award-winning author illustrates what distinguishes ethnographic fieldwork and deskwork from other

ways of doing social science; shows what participant observation and in-depth interviews actually entail; and brings to light the possibilities, the limitations, and

the ethical implications of these classic anthropological methods.

Like Keith Basso, Barbara Myerhoff “proceeds on the premise that ethnographic fieldwork is centered on discerning the meanings of local symbolic forms,”9 forms of

symbolic action, that is—action that symbolizes, that expresses or displays ideas, beliefs, values, and attitudes. She also subscribes to Basso’s more specific claim

that “language is everywhere a symbolic form without parallel or peer, and that the activity of speaking, of enacting and implementing language, is surely among the

most meaning-filled of all [forms of symbolic action].”10 And so she too “seeks to interpret social and cultural systems,” to make sense of social conduct, “through

the manifold lenses afforded by language and speech.”11Number Our Days therefore pays close and careful attention to various forms of talk: everyday conversation,

friendly and heated argument, scripture-based debate, graduation speeches, informal group therapy sessions, personal experience narratives, prayer, poetry, song, and

autobiography. “Conveying these worlds [of meaning],” as Keith Basso observes, “capturing with words both the richness of their content and the fullness of their

spirit, requires an exacting effort at linguistic and cultural translation that can never be wholly successful.”12 “The problem,” he explains,

is that verbally mediated realities are so densely textured and incorrigibly dynamic that