Playing on the Edge: Sadomasochism, Risk, and Intimacy

Concluding Notes: Erotic Subjectivity and the Construction of the Field

Concluding Notes 187 Concluding Notes: Erotic Subjectivity and the Construction of the Field The postmodern view of ethnography as a jointly constructed narrative, rather than an accurate objective depiction of social reality, has gained support in recent years. Despite increasing crossover between the two, questions concerning the role of the ethnographer remain unsettled. In the field and in her writing , what the ethnographer “does” with her feelings, her presence, her narrative, her voice, her body, and her sexuality is a matter of interest for ethnographers across disciplines and intellectual inheritances. At times, the objectives of ethnography themselves are at issue. The disagreements between “realist” (Van Maanen 1988) or “academic” ethnography (Rinehart 1998) and postmodernist ethnographies that have been termed “interpretive “ (Denzin 1997), “fictional” (Rinehart 1998), and “evocative” (Anderson 2006a) are not necessarily over the roles of subjectivity and introspection, but over their intentions. Advocates of subjectivity in ethnography have been accused of navel-gazing (Jarvie 1998), and indulging in “a celebration of the personality of the anthropologist” (Ryang 2000). Postmodernist ethnographers have responded with claims that realist ethnographers fail to recognize that “understanding is visceral” (Denzin 1995) and have called analytic ethnography an attempt “to contain, limit, and silence the personal, or the self, in the research context” (Burnier 2006). Some scholars subscribe to the possibility of an integrated approach (Anderson 1999, Lerum 2001) and others have ventured examples of integration, blending personal introspection with conventional analytical approaches (Ronai 1995; Frank 2002). I have endeavored to situate this book in this blended space. 187 188 Concluding Notes Long after most of this manuscript had been written, I had a fascinating conversation with a colleague from another institution. Anna1 had read a paper I had written, based on this chapter, in which I touted the virtues of subjective analysis (Newmahr 2008). She wanted more information about my subjective experience of SM than I had shared in that article: Did I enjoy my play? What did I like? What didn’t I like? Did I find it erotic? Are these people my friends? Why didn’t I stay in the community once my research was finished? I answered only her last question: because I was finished. I wrote the dissertation , landed a job, and moved to another city. I left the other questions unanswered. I did not see (and I am not certain that I see even now) how these questions would further, enrich, or usefully complicate an understanding of the people with whom I had spent so much of my time during these years. Still, her inquiries troubled me for reasons that I view as relevant to this book, and to ethnography more generally. They underscored an important question about where to draw the line in subjective analysis and representation of the self in ethnographic work. While divulging the researcher’s emotional responses to field experiences may be valuable, it is not necessarily so. I agree with critics of this kind of ethnography that all too often we assume that our emotional experiences in the field are relevant and instructive to our audience. There are, though, aspects of my subjective experience in the field that are germane to how my understanding came to be what it is, rather than something else. These are important pieces of the puzzle of SM. This illustrates some of the intersections between my own subjective analysis—that is, taking myself as the subject of analysis during fieldwork—and the central arguments of this book. The following section begins with my field notes about my first SM scene, and explores the ways in which my subjective analysis informed my project. Emotional Experiences in SM Play I told Russ I would be ready in a minute. When I returned to the room, he wasn’t there. Suddenly someone grabbed my hair from behind me and pushed me up to the cross at the wall, putting my arms above my head. My heart was pounding; I knew it was Russ, but I also knew people were watching us—watching me. He slid the blindfold over my eyes (which made me slightly less self-conscious) and gently pulled my hair out from underneath it. He lifted my shirt over my head and removed it. He cuffed my left wrist and fastened it to the bolt above. I remember feeling relieved; Concluding Notes 189 I hadn’t known what to do with my hands. He did the same with...