Samples from published material
"In 1964, when I was eighteen, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien was seventy-two. He had been retired from his position as Oxford professor of Anglo-Saxon for five years, whereas I was five years away from my doctoral research in Scotland. Nine years later, about the time I started my first teaching job, he was dead. Our paths crossed at the end of his life shortly before he reached the cult status with which people associate him today. At the time I discovered him he was not yet famous (William Ready, librarian at Marquette University, bought his papers in 1957 for less than $5,000); he was not yet getting calls in the middle of the night from fanatics in California who wanted to ask him questions about the pronunciation of Elvish words, and perhaps I was the first to send him a tape of songs that I'd made from his poetry."
“A Harrowing True Mysterious Pilgrimage Travel Adventure on the Road Less Traveled (by Bike/Camel/Motorcycle/Ultralight) into the Heart of a Dark Lost Island as Told by the Sole Survivor of a Zen Odyssey among Jaguars, Serpents, and Savages: Travel as Western Cultural Practice Revealed by the Titles of Travel Books,” Journeys: The International Journal of Travel and Travel Writing 3 (2):50-59.
The International Journal of Travel and Travel Writing (2002)
Finifugal: Shunning the End of Anything
For your last meal from the OED
I serve you finifugal. I shun you
as I shun the end of a good book. I neglect
to turn out the light, keep saying,
"Oh this is a good one" as I scan the page
for one more word to keep you here. I laugh longer
and encourage you to talk between bites.
I practice abstinence of time,
mince words and eat each second slowly.
I shun your absence as you measure me for mine.
Robert J. Theodoratus, “British Isles,” Encyclopaedia of Cultural Anthropology 1:155, 1996: “The first social anthropological books on Scottish communities were by Americans and appeared in the 1980s. The best known is Susan Parman’s (1990) general description of a crofting community on the island of Lewis.”
From Chapter 6, "Kinship, Courtship, and Marriage": Ma tha thu airson do mholadh, baisaich; ma tha thu airson do chaineadh, pos. (If you want to be praised, die; if you want to be criticized, marry.)
Concluding paragraphs (published in Lumina 2011):
"You showed exceptional presence this evening." Already Parman knows him well enough to know he is teasing her. "Not everyone would put up with being embraced by a Hebridean with a lobster."
"Don't forget the song," she says.
"Did you understand the words?" he asks.
For the next thirty years she will lie to him on a regular basis. Is she lonely? Is she happy in California? Does she want to return to Scotland to take up a job he has arranged for her? Will she have time to review the article he has written criticizing HIDB's policies? Does she think he made a mistake in turning down the knighthood? Will she ever write a memoir? (After he dies she does, originally calling it The Storey of Scotland but then changing the title to Granite and Salt to avoid any wrong connotations--this is not, after all, a love story.)
When she tells him that she doesn't remember the Gaelic in the Hebridean love song, she is lying. She knows the song all too well. 'S mi tha bronach's tu'm dhith.
Sad am I without thee.
Dream and Culture
A study of Western cultural structures of knowledge and meaning that relate to dreams from Homeric Greece to the present day. I employ semiotic anthropology to explore the semantics (meanings), syntactics (linkages with other symbols), and pragmatics (uses) of the dream as a way of describing assumptions in the Western intellectual tradition about the mind, what it means to be human, and what humanity's place is in the universe. This is one of my favorite books, and for many years it was available only in an expensive hard-cover edition from Praeger. I now own the rights and hope to issue a revised edition.
“Lot’s Wife and the Old Salt: Cross-Cultural Comparisons of Attitudes toward Salt in Relation to Diet,”
Cross-Cultural Research 36 (2): 123-150, 2002.
The Human Relations Area Files (HRAF), housed at Yale, is a difficult tool to use and has received a lot of criticism, especially with regard to the issue of what is being compared to what, but it represents a bold and interesting experiment in scientific method. After writing two grants for a new research facility and the computer lab to go with it, I persuaded the university to change its membership in HRAF from associate to sponsoring, and for several years I served on the board, including a year as Chair (the first woman to do so; Yale is more conservative than California). I have a long history of grant-getting from the National Science Foundation (beginning with an undergraduate research scholarship in neurophysiology), but I've also gotten grants from the National Endowment for the Humanities, and my research tends to be descriptive, qualitative ethnography.
When I became a HRAF board member, I decided I'd better put my money where my mouth was, and I designed a research project using cross-cultural analysis that focused on one small piece of a larger project on salt. (Note: One of my biggest problems with many cross-cultural studies is that they are often trivial. When I attended a National Science Foundation Summer Institute on Research Methods in Cultural Anthropology at the University of California, Irvine in 1995, I argued that the wording on our t-shirts, "Anthropology counts," should be changed to "Anthropology counts things that count.") If I was going to spend an enormous amount of time sorting through quantitatively significant amounts of information in the HRAF database, I wanted to ask qualitatively significant questions.
The interesting thing about salt is that it's essential for human biology but too much salt has negative consequences. What if culture (in the form of positive and negative valuations) acts as an unconscious regulating mechanism on salt consumption, encouraging its consumption in conditions of salt scarcity (as, for example, in a mostly vegetarian diet), and discouraging its consumption in conditions of salt abundance (as, for example, in a heavily meat-eating diet)? I tested this hypothesis, sorting cultures by diet, and then (a trickier process) sorting statements about salt into positive or negative categories (e.g., in Scotland Gaelic-speakers say something is "as dear as salt" whereas the Onge of the Andaman Islands find salt unhealthy and disgusting). Findings were statistically significant in support of the hypothesis. Given American society's high meat consumption, it's perhaps not surprising to find salt given such negative press.
“The Meaning of ‘Europe’ in the American Anthropologist (Part I),”
in Susan Parman (ed.), Europe in the Anthropological Imagination. New Jersey: Prentice Hall. Pp.169-195, 1997.
In contrast with the stringent methodology used in the research on salt, I used a different technique when doing research on the study of Europe in Anthropology. The study of Europe has traditionally been the province of historians, sociologists, economists, and political scientists, and if anthropologists studied Europe they studied marginal peoples (e.g., crofters in the Scottish Outer Hebrides, as the Western Isles were called when I started my doctoral research). I edited Europe in the Anthropological Imagination to assess not only what anthropologists had learned about Europe but what anthropologists had learned about anthropology. If anthropologists couldn't study everyone, they had no right to claim universality. The final chapter in the book is one I wrote called "The Meaning of 'Europe' in the American Anthropologist (Part I)." My "methodology" was to start reading from the 19th-century beginnings of the American Anthropologist (that icon of the anthropological profession in the United States) up to 1970, taking notes and generating categories and themes--a rampant case of induction. I felt elated from the roller-coaster ride but sobered and embarrassed by some of my profession's fixations (e.g., the preoccupation with race, immigration, and eugenics from 1888 through the 1930s). Some day I hope to get to Part II.