Writing Narratively on Difficult Subjects
By Julie Wheelwright
Writing about sexual violence can be a psychologically difficult, morally complex, and emotionally draining experience. Researchers and writers understand their huge responsibility in bearing witness to the pain endured by victim-survivors which they must translate into prose for other readers. The writer must also balance the inclusion of shocking details to accurately describe sexual violence with their awareness of a reader’s ability to absorb it. Their stylistic choices in detailing a sexual trauma must also respect the integrity of the victim-survivor.
These are questions that journalists, post #MeToo, have given a fresh urgency to a perennial topic. Jina Moore, writing in The Columbia Journalism Review (2011), describes how journalists face ‘the pornography trap’ in which they must ask themselves, “How do we make readers ethically comfortable with our storytelling choices and morally uncomfortable with what the story depicts?”[i] Literary critic Elaine Blair suggests that while an ‘ideal account of sexual assault’ would lack description completely to avoid eroticizing a victim-survivor’s account, it might fail to engage a reader’s empathy or interest. She observes that ‘the prospect of a voyeuristic reading haunts the journalist, but she shouldn’t – can’t – avoid describing a series of actions that took place . . . She can afford no wrong moves.’
Academics addressing issues of sexual violence and its related medical harms also grapple with concerns about how they might most appropriately communicate their subjects’ experiences. As the discourse within journalism implies, the question of stylistic and aesthetic approaches might provide answers to developing an ethics of such trauma writing. To consider how creative writing techniques might support this goal, SHaME brought together a group of academics and ECRs working in this field, to explore how to hone their skills and experiment with different genre forms to learn more about ‘narrative’ writing.
We considered why we write, our subjectivity as writers, our intended readers, questions of voice and narrative perspective, how to use ‘scene making’ to place our subjects within context, the development of narrative structures, and the design of ethical frameworks for different media. Over six sessions held at Birkbeck, participants completed and shared short, guided assignments, engaged in close reading of texts, and considered how to solve common writing ‘problems’. We also discussed how academic research might, by using different writing styles, become accessible to a wider readership.
Many participants reported that they found creative writing techniques enabled them to engage their imagination and to consider their research subjects from a different perspective. What happens, for example, when you narrate a subject’s experience by adopting their point of view? Should that narrative be told from a first-person perspective or from the third, what different does the change of pronouns make and can this address the power dynamic between subject and writer/researcher? Raphaela found that this discussion resonated with her:
talking and thinking about our motives as writers, why we write, and how to compensate for writing about other people’s trauma really stuck with me throughout the workshops (and after!).
We considered the vital question of the reader for whom we are writing. While academics assume they are addressing their peers which requires adherence to a proscribed style, in writing for other media we need to broaden our range of techniques to engage and sustain a reader’s interest. Those concerns may then influence a writer’s decisions about how much context and background to include, and how much detail is appropriate when describing traumatic events for a non-specialist reader.
Since a narrative– the ordering of events to provide them with meaning – provides the structural form for creative writing, participants considered how best to organise and signpost their material. Mary found that by thinking about her reader, she has become more conscious of the ‘overall structure of my written piece as well as to smaller details within chapters and/or paragraphs.’ Rémy discovered that creative writing enabled him to enjoy ‘the opportunity to reconnect with writing for the sake of creating something new, of telling a story that is compelling, and not “proving” something.’ Many participants found that the guided writing exercises were liberating as a process but also had useful applications to their academic work.
We learned about the techniques writers employ in a range of genre forms by a process of close textual reading. Ruth found this process boosted her confidence in applying different approaches to her historical materials so that her descriptions are more vivid. This useful experiment with new forms was, she discovered, more than ‘a diversion away from the ‘real’ work’. Avni was surprised to realise that although the group had a shared interest in writing about painful subjects, that ‘there was a lot of humour and lightness . . . coupled with sensory word play’. Meryem observed how the workshop participants all approached difficult subjects in unique ways.
Although creative writing was new to many participants, they discovered that these techniques were adaptable to their academic writing, liberated their imaginations and even enabling them to consider communicating their research to a broader readership. Tracey’s observation reflects the positive experience of many:
At a very basic level, it feels like something I can do now – not necessarily well, but something that it’s not ridiculous to try.
Writing Narratively on Difficult Subjects brought together academics and practitioners researching and writing about sexual violence and took place between October 2023 and January 2024.