When
it comes to the research essay, I’ve always been of two minds. On the one hand, the research essay presents
an amazing opportunity, an opportunity to chose any topic in this world —
primates, for instance — and make myself an instant expert on it. I have an insatiable desire to know
everything about everything, and this, of course, is why the research essay has
always appealed to me.
So
I soak up research like a sponge, and like a sponge that has become too full of
water, the information starts to seep out of me. It comes out in drips and drabs. Trivial facts about primates flow into
conversations with my friends and family.
“Did you know that bonobo societies are run by women, and they are the
only non-violent primates?” “Gibbons
bond with their mates by singing together every morning.” My friends and family start out fascinated by
the information, but eventually their fascination disintegrates into mere
tolerance. I like to think this is their
subtle way of telling me that it’s time to put it all on paper. When I sit down to write the essay and have
done the research this thoroughly, it is always the easiest essay that I have
ever written. The well-researched essay
basically writes itself.
But
then there is the darker side of the research essay when the research takes
over. It takes over my subconscious, and
it takes over my essay. It haunts my
dreams at night, and transforms what I set out to write — a comic piece
comparing primate and human bonding — into something completely outside of my
intentions — a tragic condemnation on primate research. I read my finished essay not sure whether to
be proud of the piece I’ve create or to throw it away and start over. Is it better for me as a research writer to
follow the research where it leads or to seek out the research that will allow
me to write the essay that I set out to write in the first place? Which is the more honest way to write?
It
is the same dilemma that Eula Biss faced when writing her acclaimed essay “Time
and Distance Overcome.” What she set out
to write was an essay on the telephone pole, and what it became was an essay on
lynchings. Had her research on the
telephone pole not led her to hundreds of articles on lynchings, she would have
written an entirely different essay, likely beautiful, but likely less powerful
and less renowned.
She
chose to follow the research, and it is the path I, too, most frequently
choose. I have told myself that it is
the most honest way to write. But I
cannot help but feel that, in a world full of tragedy, following the research
will lead me down many dark roads, and sometimes it may be better to rage
against the darkness and seek the light.
Within every subject, lightness and comedy can be found, and I cannot
view these things as being any less honest a part of the human experience than
darkness and tragedy.
Shari Lefler is an MFA student,
specializing in Creative Non-Fiction at Florida Atlantic University. She was born and raised in Boca Raton, FL, a
place she sometimes tries to leave but always returns to on account of other
places being cold. She spends her spare
time trying to cuddle with her dog that spends its spare time trying to escape
her grasp.
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