{"id":6120,"date":"2017-11-02T16:21:17","date_gmt":"2017-11-02T03:21:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/?p=6120"},"modified":"2017-11-02T16:34:15","modified_gmt":"2017-11-02T03:34:15","slug":"throwback-thursday-when-data-has-a-mind-of-its-own","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/?p=6120","title":{"rendered":"Throwback Thursday: When Data has a Mind of its Own"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><em>This post by Dr Anaise Irvine first appeared on Thesislink in May 2016.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>So you have a hypothesis.<\/p>\n<p>You&#8217;re really excited about it. You&#8217;d love it to be true. You can&#8217;t wait to explore it in full detail and spend months or years thinking about it.<\/p>\n<p>Except then you start testing the hypothesis, and your findings take you in a completely different direction. Maybe the hypothesis isn&#8217;t true. Maybe it doesn&#8217;t appear to be the most important aspect of your data. For whatever reason, suddenly your research is going in a completely different direction than you had anticipated.<\/p>\n<p>What should you do: stick to testing the hypothesis, or follow the data?<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/wp-content\/uploads\/1280px-Magnifying_glass_with_focus_on_glass.png?ssl=1\"><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter wp-image-4914\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/wp-content\/uploads\/1280px-Magnifying_glass_with_focus_on_glass.png?resize=600%2C338&#038;ssl=1\" alt=\"1280px-Magnifying_glass_with_focus_on_glass\" width=\"600\" height=\"338\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/wp-content\/uploads\/1280px-Magnifying_glass_with_focus_on_glass.png?resize=1024%2C576&amp;ssl=1 1024w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/wp-content\/uploads\/1280px-Magnifying_glass_with_focus_on_glass.png?resize=150%2C84&amp;ssl=1 150w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/wp-content\/uploads\/1280px-Magnifying_glass_with_focus_on_glass.png?resize=300%2C169&amp;ssl=1 300w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/wp-content\/uploads\/1280px-Magnifying_glass_with_focus_on_glass.png?w=1280&amp;ssl=1 1280w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>I faced exactly this problem in the first year of my PhD. I had hypothesised that recent works of fiction with genetic themes would articulate a philosophy of heredity, and that new ways of writing about families would emerge from an understanding of genetics. That topic was totally fascinating to me. I could see quite happily spending 3-4 years working on it.<\/p>\n<p>Except that I was wrong.<\/p>\n<p>The more I read, the more I realised that contemporary fiction with genetic themes was more often about cloning, bioengineering, and creating hybrid humanoid creatures. That was far less interesting to me. But I was faced with a choice: do I write a thesis about genetic fiction and conclude that it\u00a0<em>doesn&#8217;t <\/em>have much relevance to the family? Or do I change my focus and spend years working on something I&#8217;m not particularly interested in?<\/p>\n<p>If I were a scientist, it might have been perfectly acceptable (though admittedly not ideal) to publish negative findings. But as a literary scholar, I have to make an argument &#8211; and making an argument about what&#8217;s\u00a0<em>not <\/em>happening in works of fiction would be a little strange. So I decided to follow the data. It seemed like the responsible option, and in hindsight, my research is robust and defensible because of that choice.<\/p>\n<p>But I still had a major problem &#8211; a problem, in fact, that was much bigger than my thesis. I was now pursuing a highly specialised qualification in a topic that I <em>didn&#8217;t<\/em> want to build an academic career around. Was I going to suck it up and accept a research trajectory that I hadn&#8217;t chosen?<\/p>\n<p>No. I had to find a way to make the new topic interesting again, and to direct it towards a career pathway that I actually <em>did<\/em> want to pursue. I needed to stick with the conjecture that contemporary genetic fiction tends to focus on cloning and bioengineering. But for my own interest, I had to find an angle that added a social element.<\/p>\n<p>Sure enough, the fiction offered it. After a lot of deep reading, I realised that fictional clones and genetically engineered beings are often depicted as future exploited minority groups. What&#8217;s more, their exploitation is frequently modelled on historical cases of slavery and dehumanisation.<\/p>\n<p>Suddenly, I had a social justice angle. I could write up findings that were accurate to my source materials, while pursuing a line of research that I could actually get excited about. As a bonus, I had opened up my career options. I could legitimately claim research expertise not only in literary scholarship and genetic fiction, but also in social justice, particularly discrimination and diversity issues.<\/p>\n<p>My initial hypothesis wasn&#8217;t supported, and my data (yes, novels are data to lit nerds!) had taken me in a direction I never would chosen. But I ended up discovering something else that <em>was <\/em>true, and that also lay within my area of interest. I wouldn&#8217;t want to repeat that year, but it had a good outcome.<\/p>\n<p>If you&#8217;ve had (or are going through) a similar experience, please share it in the comments. It may be scary to realise that research can&#8217;t always be planned, but hey, it&#8217;s kind of exciting too. That&#8217;s where new knowledge comes from.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>This post by Dr Anaise Irvine first appeared on Thesislink in May 2016. So you have a hypothesis. You&rsquo;re really excited about it. You&rsquo;d love it to be true. You [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":25632,"featured_media":4914,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[47,48],"class_list":["post-6120","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-category-3","tag-data","tag-hypotheses"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/wp-content\/uploads\/1280px-Magnifying_glass_with_focus_on_glass.png?fit=1280%2C720&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p83npQ-1AI","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6120","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/25632"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6120"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6120\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6122,"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6120\/revisions\/6122"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4914"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6120"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6120"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thesislink.aut.ac.nz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6120"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}