In theory, I could make a different decision. In Alessandria, I have some pre-1900 editions of two major baroque treatise authors, and a sufficient number of critical texts. These are enough to understand these two authors, if not to say something new on a historiographical or philological level. (If there were at least Tesauro’s first edition of Il cannocchiale aristotelico, I could write a comparison between the three seventeenth-century editions.) Let us suppose that I explore no more than four or five books tracing contemporary theories of metaphor. For these, I would suggest: Jakobson’s Preliminaries to Speech Analysis, the Liège Groupe µ’s A General Rhetoric, and Albert Henry’s Méétonymie et méétaphore (Metonym and metaphor). Here, I have the elements to trace a structuralist history of the metaphor. And they are all books available on the market, they cost about 11 dollars altogether, and they have been translated into Italian. At this point, I could even compare the modern theories of metaphor with the baroque theories. For a work of this kind, I might possibly use Aristotle’s texts, Tesauro, 30 or so studies on Tesauro, and the three contemporary reference texts to put together an intelligent thesis, with peaks of originality and accurate references to the baroque, but no claim to philological discoveries. And all this without leaving Alessandria, except to find in Turin or Genoa no more than two or three fundamental books that were missing in Alessandria.
But these are all hypotheses. I could become so fascinated with my research that I choose to dedicate not one but three years to the study of the baroque; or I could take out a loan or look for a grant to study at a more relaxed pace. Do not expect this book to tell you what to put in your thesis, or what to do with your life. What I set out to demonstrate (and I think I did demonstrate) with this experiment is that a student can arrive at a small library with little knowledge on a topic and, after three afternoons, can acquire sufficiently clear and complete ideas. In other words, it is no excuse to say, “I live in a small city, I do not have the books, I do not know where to start, and nobody is helping me.”
Naturally the student must choose topics that lend themselves to this game. For example, a thesis on Kripke and Hintikka’s logic of possible worlds may not have been a wise choice for our hypothetical student. In fact I did some research on this topic in Alessandria, and it cost me little time. A first look for “logic” in the subject catalog revealed that the library has at least 15 notable books on formal logic, including works by Tarski, Lukasiewicz, Quine, some handbooks, and some studies of Ettore Casari, Wittgenstein, Strawson, etc. But predictably, it has nothing on the most recent theories of modal logic, material that is found mostly in specialized journals and is even absent from some university libraries. However, on purpose I chose a topic that nobody would have taken on during their final year without some kind of previous knowledge, or without already owning some fundamental books on the topic.
I’m not saying that such a topic is only for students who have the resources to purchase books and for frequent travel to larger libraries. I know a student who was not rich, but who wrote a thesis on a similar topic by staying in a religious hostel and purchasing very few books. Admittedly, despite his small sacrifices, his family supported him and he was able to devote himself full time to this project because he didn’t have to work. There is no thesis that is intrinsically for rich students, because even the student who chooses “The Variations of Beach Fashion in Acapulco over a Five-Year Period” can always search for a foundation willing to sponsor such a research project. This said, a student should obviously avoid certain topics if he is in a particularly challenging situation. For this reason, I am trying to demonstrate here how to cook a meal with meat and potatoes, if not with gourmet ingredients.
3.2.5 Must You Read Books? If So, What Should You Read First?
The examples in this chapter suggest that writing a thesis involves putting together a great number of books. But does a student always write a thesis on books and with books? We have already seen that there are experimental theses that document research in the field, perhaps conducted while observing mice in a maze for many months. Now, I do not feel confident giving precise suggestions on this type of research. Here the method depends on the discipline, and people who embark on this kind of research already live in the laboratory. They work with and learn from other researchers, and they probably do not need this book. However, as I have already said, even in this kind of thesis it is necessary to contextualize the experiment with a discussion of previous scientific literature, and so even here the student must deal with books. The same would be true of a thesis in sociology that required the candidate to spend a long period of time in a real social environment. This student will need books, if nothing else, to understand how others have already carried out similar research projects. There are even thesis projects that require the student to page through newspapers or parliamentary acts, but even these require background literature.
And finally there are the theses that discuss only books, and in general these are in the subjects of literature, philosophy, the history of science, canon law, and formal logic. In Italian universities these are the majority, especially for degrees in the humanities. Consider that an American student who studies cultural anthropology has the Native Americans right around the corner, or finds money to do research in the Congo, while the Italian student usually resigns himself to writing a thesis on Franz Boas’s thought. Naturally, more and more students are writing ethnographic theses that involve researching Italian society, but even in these cases the library work is relevant, if only to search previous folklore collections.
Let us say that, for reasons that by now should be easy to understand, this book addresses the vast majority of theses written on books, and using only books. Here we should reiterate that a thesis on books usually employs two kinds: the books it talks about, and the books that help it talk. In other words, the texts that are the object of the study are the primary sources, and the critical literature on those texts constitutes the secondary sources. Regarding our experiment in Alessandria, the original texts of the baroque treatise writers are the primary sources, and all those who wrote about the baroque treatise writers are secondary sources.
The following question therefore arises: should a student deal immediately with the primary sources, or first cover the critical literature? The question may be meaningless for two reasons: (a) because the decision depends on the situation of the student, who may already know his author well and decide to study him in depth, or may be approaching for the first time a very difficult and perhaps seemingly unintelligible author; (b) this is a vicious circle, because the primary source can be incomprehensible without the preliminary critical literature, but it is difficult to evaluate the critical literature without knowing the primary source. However, the question is reasonable when posed by a disoriented student, perhaps our hypothetical student who is dealing with the baroque treatise writers for the first time. He might ask us whether he should begin immediately reading Tesauro, or should first cut his teeth on Getto, Anceschi, Raimondi, and other critics.
It seems to me the most sensible answer is this: approach two or three of the most general critical texts immediately, just to get an idea of the background against which your author moves. Then approach the original author directly, and always try to understand exactly what he says. Afterward, explore the rest of the critical literature. Finally, return to examine the author in the light of the newly acquired ideas. But this advice is quite abstract. In reality, students tend to follow the rhythm of their desire, and often there is nothing wrong with consuming texts in a disorderly way. The student can meander, alternating his objectives, provided that a thick web of personal notes, possibly in the form of index cards, keeps track of these “adventurous” wanderings.
Naturally, the approach depends on the researcher’s psychological structure. There are monochronic people and polychronic people. The monochronic succeed only if they work on one endeavor at a time. They cannot read while listening to music; they cannot interrupt a novel to begin another without losing the thread; at their worst, they are unable to have a conversation while they shave or put on their makeup. The polychronic are the exact opposite. They succeed only if they cultivate many interests simultaneously; if they dedicate themselves to only one venture, they fall prey to boredom. The monochronic are more methodical but often have little imagination. The polychronic seem more creative, but they are often messy and fickle. In the end, if you explore the biographies of great thinkers and writers, you will find that there were both polychronic and monochronic among them.
4 THE WORK PLAN AND THE INDEX CARDS
4.1 The Table of Contents
