Writing in the first person: innovation or disaster?

A year ago I opened a thesis that astounded me: the doctoral student wrote ‘I will explore the aspects of …’ and that ‘I chose the sample on the basis that …’. It was the first instance of the consistent use of the first person that I had seen in 15 years’ experience of editing academic texts.

The student explained that his supervisor had recommended this approach to acknowledge the particularly close links between the researcher and the research subjects. When, a couple of months later, I read another introductory chapter in the first person I again checked that this was not an oversight. Since that time, more theses than not have included significant elements written in the first person and I have long stopped querying it.

So why this sudden introduction of the personal into formal academic texts? Is it a fad or is there a useful purpose?

There is nothing that has to be expressed in the first person. If the author’s own experience is relevant, it can be described in the passive mood: ‘ … the researcher had worked in the local authority for ten years, so many personal contacts were available’. The purpose of using the first person must therefore be conceptual rather than practical.

Clearly, the writer’s thoughts, life, character and experience are in the background and must inform the thesis, from the choice of topic to the conclusions - a different person would produce different work. What is the advantage, though, of focusing a spotlight on the researcher, as well as on the subjects? An acknowledgement of the role of the personal is one possibility, though this can be achieved without using the first person. Beyond that it remains a mystery to me (and yes, I do acknowledge the paradox!).

The disadvantage is clearer: it is difficult to avoid the formal report of a piece of research developing overtones of a primary school essay: the spirit of ‘What I Did On My Holidays’ creeps onto the page. The student asserts ‘I think that …’ and the reader tacitly replies, ‘Who cares?’. The excitement of the ice cream and the trip to Alton Towers overshadows the main purpose of the work, and risks downgrading the research to an opinion piece.

Does this trend reflect the increased consumerisation and marketisation of education? Is the researcher at the forefront because increasingly the main aim is to enhance the student’s career rather than to add to the sum of knowledge? Is this way of thinking encouraged by Thatcher’s children reaching the age where they become doctoral supervisors? Whatever the reason, it does not read well. With luck, it may prove to be a fad. But I (as if you care!) doubt it.