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The Vulnerable Observer: Anthropology That Breaks Your Heart
Behar (anthropology, U. of Michigan-Ann Arbor) challenges the idea of objectivity and impersonality in research, blending ethnography with memoir in an account of her own fieldwork in Spain, Cuba, and the US, placed together with personal stories of life as a young Cuban Jewish immigrant. Annotation c. by Book News, Inc., Portland, Or.
195 pages, Hardcover
First published January 6, 1997
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January 3, 2024
In the book The Vulnerable Observer: Anthropology That Breaks Your Heart, Ruth Behar, a Jewish Cuban American writer/scholar, shows us that anthropology doesn’t have to be “rooted in male quests and male musings about foreign lands”(pg. 172).
Throughout this book, (which is a combination of ethnography, memoir, and essay), Behar proves just how expansive anthropology can be. Indeed, anthropology can be as expansive as our hearts, only if we let it be. Gone are the days when the anthropological field asks of us to study other humans as “objects,” submitting to the concept of Self v. Other. No, to learn about another person, culture, or life, we must realize that we are studying ourselves, too.
And yet, one must be cautious when attempting to break the binary of self v. other, for there is a danger of examining the world by centering the self, which leaves us to produce work that is egotistical at best and patronizing at worst. To produce work that centers the self would be a misinterpretation, in my opinion, of Behar’s writing. Behar asks us to be vulnerable observers, which reiterates that the observer cannot escape the present nor the past. When the observer inserts themselves into history and the present moment, the observer can recognize their complicity in what is taking place. To be vulnerable means not blurring reality, but rather, stepping fully into reality. Behar references Isabel Allende’s musings when Allende lost her daughter, Paula. After the loss of her daughter, Allende had to begin “surrendering to the intractableness of reality...setting forth on an irreversible voyage”(pg. 2).
As Behar surrenders to her realities, both past and present, her writings begin to break the reader’s heart, and her authenticity allows the reader to trust Behar with our hearts.
There is great tragedy in this book, from Behar’s grandfather Zayde dying in Miami while Behar is studying death in Santa María, Spain, to Behar remembering her experience in a waist-down cast after a traumatic car accident. To me, there is also tragedy (but perhaps hope) in Behar asking herself, again and again, difficult questions surrounding identity.
Behar is Jewish, both Sephardic and Ashkenazi, and for her, some of the questions that tug at her heart are questions regarding land, return, deterritorialization, and diaspora. Behar tells us that these questions also arise because she is Cuban—she lived in Cuba along with her parents and grandparents until she was eight. She quotes a woman in David Rieff’s book, writing:
“Just like Jews, what is important to us is that we keep on saying it [next year in Havana]....That’s what unites us, that feeling. It’s an emotional thing, something no one should take away” (pg. 145).
This book, in many ways, is so relevant. Behar writes on collective identity and trauma, memory, art, Israel, Palestine, Cuba, Detroit, Miami, New York, Santa María, privilege, love, death, and life.
Before you go, I learned of these authors in this book, and I want to share them with you if you don’t already know them:
~Rosario Morales (Jewish Puerto Rican who wrote Getting Home Alive)
~Sidra DeKoven Ezrahi, “Diasporism’: Philip Roth from ‘Portnoy’ to ‘Shylock’”
~Renato Rosaldo, Culture and Truth: The Remaking of Social Analysis
Throughout this book, (which is a combination of ethnography, memoir, and essay), Behar proves just how expansive anthropology can be. Indeed, anthropology can be as expansive as our hearts, only if we let it be. Gone are the days when the anthropological field asks of us to study other humans as “objects,” submitting to the concept of Self v. Other. No, to learn about another person, culture, or life, we must realize that we are studying ourselves, too.
And yet, one must be cautious when attempting to break the binary of self v. other, for there is a danger of examining the world by centering the self, which leaves us to produce work that is egotistical at best and patronizing at worst. To produce work that centers the self would be a misinterpretation, in my opinion, of Behar’s writing. Behar asks us to be vulnerable observers, which reiterates that the observer cannot escape the present nor the past. When the observer inserts themselves into history and the present moment, the observer can recognize their complicity in what is taking place. To be vulnerable means not blurring reality, but rather, stepping fully into reality. Behar references Isabel Allende’s musings when Allende lost her daughter, Paula. After the loss of her daughter, Allende had to begin “surrendering to the intractableness of reality...setting forth on an irreversible voyage”(pg. 2).
As Behar surrenders to her realities, both past and present, her writings begin to break the reader’s heart, and her authenticity allows the reader to trust Behar with our hearts.
There is great tragedy in this book, from Behar’s grandfather Zayde dying in Miami while Behar is studying death in Santa María, Spain, to Behar remembering her experience in a waist-down cast after a traumatic car accident. To me, there is also tragedy (but perhaps hope) in Behar asking herself, again and again, difficult questions surrounding identity.
Behar is Jewish, both Sephardic and Ashkenazi, and for her, some of the questions that tug at her heart are questions regarding land, return, deterritorialization, and diaspora. Behar tells us that these questions also arise because she is Cuban—she lived in Cuba along with her parents and grandparents until she was eight. She quotes a woman in David Rieff’s book, writing:
“Just like Jews, what is important to us is that we keep on saying it [next year in Havana]....That’s what unites us, that feeling. It’s an emotional thing, something no one should take away” (pg. 145).
This book, in many ways, is so relevant. Behar writes on collective identity and trauma, memory, art, Israel, Palestine, Cuba, Detroit, Miami, New York, Santa María, privilege, love, death, and life.
Before you go, I learned of these authors in this book, and I want to share them with you if you don’t already know them:
~Rosario Morales (Jewish Puerto Rican who wrote Getting Home Alive)
~Sidra DeKoven Ezrahi, “Diasporism’: Philip Roth from ‘Portnoy’ to ‘Shylock’”
~Renato Rosaldo, Culture and Truth: The Remaking of Social Analysis
June 17, 2011
An interesting and challenging book that I didn't always agree with, but the author grapples with hard questions about anthropology and the role of the anthropologist (and thus the role of any social scientific researcher in recent times). In a set of essays that revolve around the question "how much of the researcher should be in the research?" Behar explores how her personal background and experiences inform her research. Her discussions are clear, frank, and evocative, and my only problem with the tone is that it feels sometimes she slips into being self-congratulatory, maybe even a touch smug at times. I remain ambivalent about foregrounding the researcher in anthropology, an exercise that when done without rigor seems likely to turn research into a chance to have a personal confessional and relegate other cultures and people to the role of charming backdrop to the researcher's struggles. However, Behar makes a compelling and unflinching case for the value of such anthropology, and the fact that something is sometimes done badly is hardly a reason to jettison the practice.
June 30, 2015
I should preface my review by saying that anyone who read this book hoping for a traditional ethnography, will be disappointed. It's not that kind of book.
With that being said, I loved this book. I think that the conversation that this book raises, about how anthropologists situate themselves within their research and the personal experience of fieldwork, is an important one to have in anthropology. We are not so distanced from that which we study, that our research won't affect us.
Side note: I also lost my grandfather while I was doing fieldwork, and it was good for me to know that my experience wasn't isolated, that there are others who have had to go through the same thing.
With that being said, I loved this book. I think that the conversation that this book raises, about how anthropologists situate themselves within their research and the personal experience of fieldwork, is an important one to have in anthropology. We are not so distanced from that which we study, that our research won't affect us.
Side note: I also lost my grandfather while I was doing fieldwork, and it was good for me to know that my experience wasn't isolated, that there are others who have had to go through the same thing.
January 6, 2021
This book was incredible. And, yes, it broke my heart. I will be returning to it, and hopefully I’ll remember to write a little more by then.
May 11, 2014
I don’t know if this book made me think and understand anthropology per se in a new way; I am tempted to also place this book in the genre of “academic memoir.” It encouraged me to think about the forces that have shaped my life, as a Mennonite, as a woman, as a privileged outsider, and how those forces are always at work as I interact and attempt to understand the world around me here, in Colombia and in Canada. New ideas for my own memoir….
November 23, 2019
Behar models self-reflexivity in ethnographic projects, largely informed by feminist approaches to anthropological research. I loved how she wove her experiences into her research. A must-read for social scientists and researchers!
April 30, 2025
"I believe writing with a broken heart is the path towards understanding what we cannot yet name, what the sea has not yet swept away"
February 14, 2021
It was bad, then it got better, and then it got worse.
May 7, 2024
I read this book and felt so teary towards the end. She compares events/experiences/emotions/memory to that of themes that linger with us throughout our lives. They are like kaleidoscopes and we return to them again and again, trying to gain clarity and another way of seeing and telling.
I also was struck by Behar talking about reflecting/writing in hindsight for when you're younger and how it is always imbued with the emotional intelligence of the adult self.
I also was struck by Behar talking about reflecting/writing in hindsight for when you're younger and how it is always imbued with the emotional intelligence of the adult self.
December 31, 2024
In actuality this is a very quick read, I just kept going back to it when I finished other required reading. Absolutely influential to me and anthropology as a discipline. This book does /not/ feel dated despite being written in the 90s, and feels even more relevant with the current rise of auto ethnography and memoirs rolling out of the publishing industry. A great reminder to focus on being kind and doing good work, and to also acknowledge yourself in your work, as subject or observer.
June 14, 2024
very important, vulnerable, and emotional reflection by an established anthropologist about her research, her discipline and her legacy. behar is definitely a great writer to kickstart this broader conversation about honest and emotional anthropology, as you can feel her heart in every story.
February 25, 2010
Perhaps she was too vulnerable. I did not appreciate the ability to see "behind the curtain" of ethnography. I realize that these rather potent biases exists in all anthropologists, but I felt like her story (perhaps self absorption) foregrounded the stories and lived experiences of those she was studying.
June 17, 2008
This book broke my heart and pretty much trigger a nervous breakdown and a semester off from grad school. I am better now. This book invoked emotions in me that I forgot I had. I think I am going to read it again, this time with a clear head.
March 20, 2025
“In 1985 an avalanche in Colombia buried an entire village in mud. Isabel Allende, watching the tragedy on television, wanted to express the desperation she felt as she helplessly observed so many people being swallowed by the earth.
In her short story "Of Clay We Are Created," Allende writes about Omaira Sánchez, a thirteen-year-old girl who became the focus of obsessive media attention. News-hungry photog-raphers, journalists, and television camera people, who could do nothing to save the girl's life, descended upon her as she lay trapped in the mud, fixing their curious and useless eyes on her suffering. Amid that horrid audience of onlookers, which included Allende herself watching the cruel "show" on the screen, she places the photographer Rolf Carlé. He too has been looking, gazing, reporting, taking pictures. Then something snaps in him. He can no longer bear to watch silently from behind the camera. He will not document tragedy as an innocent bystander. Crouching down in the mud, Rolf Carlé throws aside his camera and flings his arms around Omaira Sánchez as her heart and lungs collapse.
The vulnerable observer par excellence, Rolf Carlé incarnates the central dilemma of all efforts at witnessing.”
“In the midst of a massacre, in the face of torture, in the eye of a hurricane, in the aftermath of an earthquake, or even, say, when horror looms apparently more gently in memories that won't recede and so come pouring forth in the late-night quiet of a kitchen, as a storyteller opens her heart to a story listener, recounting hurts that cut deep and raw into the gullies of the self, do you, the observer, stay behind the lens of the camera, switch on the tape recorder, keep pen in hand? Are there limits - of respect, piety, pathos - that should not be crossed, even to leave a record? But if you can't stop the horror, shouldn't you at least document it?”
“Anthropology is the most fascinating, bizarre, disturbing, and necessary form of witnessing left to us at the end of the twentieth century. As a mode of knowing that depends on the particular relationship formed by a particular anthropologist with a particular set of people in a particular time and place, anthropology has always been vexed about the question of vulnerability.”
“Because there is no clear and easy route by which to confront the self who observes, most professional observers develop defenses, namely, "methods," that "reduce anxiety and enable us to function efficiently."
“And so begins our work, our hard work - to bring the ethnographic moment back, to resurrect it, to communicate the distance, which too quickly starts to feel like an abyss, between what we saw and heard and our inability, finally, to do justice to it in our representations. Our fieldnotes become palimpsests, useless unless plumbed for forgotten revelatory moments, unexpressed longings, and the wounds of regret. And so even though we start by going public, we continue our labor through introspection.”
“The charge that all the variants of vulnerable writing are self-serving and superficial, full of unnecessary guilt or excessive bravado, stems from an unwillingness to even consider the possibility that a personal voice, if creatively used, can lead the reader, not into miniature bubbles of navel-gazing, but into the enormous sea of serious social issues.”
“How, I asked, might we make the ethnography as passionate as our autobiographical stories? What would that take? How might we unsettle expectations by writing about ourselves with more detachment and about others with all the fire of feeling? Can we give both the observer and the observed a chance at tragedy?”
“Vulnerability, in short, is here to stay. Critics can keep dismissing these trends as forms of “solipsism,” but a lot of us are going to continue wearing our hearts on our sleeves.”
In her short story "Of Clay We Are Created," Allende writes about Omaira Sánchez, a thirteen-year-old girl who became the focus of obsessive media attention. News-hungry photog-raphers, journalists, and television camera people, who could do nothing to save the girl's life, descended upon her as she lay trapped in the mud, fixing their curious and useless eyes on her suffering. Amid that horrid audience of onlookers, which included Allende herself watching the cruel "show" on the screen, she places the photographer Rolf Carlé. He too has been looking, gazing, reporting, taking pictures. Then something snaps in him. He can no longer bear to watch silently from behind the camera. He will not document tragedy as an innocent bystander. Crouching down in the mud, Rolf Carlé throws aside his camera and flings his arms around Omaira Sánchez as her heart and lungs collapse.
The vulnerable observer par excellence, Rolf Carlé incarnates the central dilemma of all efforts at witnessing.”
“In the midst of a massacre, in the face of torture, in the eye of a hurricane, in the aftermath of an earthquake, or even, say, when horror looms apparently more gently in memories that won't recede and so come pouring forth in the late-night quiet of a kitchen, as a storyteller opens her heart to a story listener, recounting hurts that cut deep and raw into the gullies of the self, do you, the observer, stay behind the lens of the camera, switch on the tape recorder, keep pen in hand? Are there limits - of respect, piety, pathos - that should not be crossed, even to leave a record? But if you can't stop the horror, shouldn't you at least document it?”
“Anthropology is the most fascinating, bizarre, disturbing, and necessary form of witnessing left to us at the end of the twentieth century. As a mode of knowing that depends on the particular relationship formed by a particular anthropologist with a particular set of people in a particular time and place, anthropology has always been vexed about the question of vulnerability.”
“Because there is no clear and easy route by which to confront the self who observes, most professional observers develop defenses, namely, "methods," that "reduce anxiety and enable us to function efficiently."
“And so begins our work, our hard work - to bring the ethnographic moment back, to resurrect it, to communicate the distance, which too quickly starts to feel like an abyss, between what we saw and heard and our inability, finally, to do justice to it in our representations. Our fieldnotes become palimpsests, useless unless plumbed for forgotten revelatory moments, unexpressed longings, and the wounds of regret. And so even though we start by going public, we continue our labor through introspection.”
“The charge that all the variants of vulnerable writing are self-serving and superficial, full of unnecessary guilt or excessive bravado, stems from an unwillingness to even consider the possibility that a personal voice, if creatively used, can lead the reader, not into miniature bubbles of navel-gazing, but into the enormous sea of serious social issues.”
“How, I asked, might we make the ethnography as passionate as our autobiographical stories? What would that take? How might we unsettle expectations by writing about ourselves with more detachment and about others with all the fire of feeling? Can we give both the observer and the observed a chance at tragedy?”
“Vulnerability, in short, is here to stay. Critics can keep dismissing these trends as forms of “solipsism,” but a lot of us are going to continue wearing our hearts on our sleeves.”
January 22, 2024
"...[A]nthropology that doesn't break your heart just isn't worth doing anymore." My gods, was this book phenomenal!
I had a professor early in college who said something along the lines of "Anthropology is the most humanistic of the sciences and the most scientific of the humanities", and I basically took that phrase and ran with it because YES!
How in the world can you consider studying and observing and interacting with your fellow human beings without emotion, without compassion, without beung vulnerable? In my opinion, there is no way to share the full account of one's fieldwork without being vulnerable. It's a shift that I've very much enjoyed seeing as anthropology evolves from accounts of strange new worlds (i.e., non-Western communities🙄) to some truly beautiful stories depicting the ongoing struggle and also the joys of what it means to be human!
Ethnographies like Fresh Fruit, Broken Bodies, Righteous Dopefiend, and Grief and a Headhunter's Rage were so enlightening for me during undegrad because they were so vulnerable, so human. Early anthropology works try so hard to make sure the reader understands that they are simply observing subjects; "this is science - look at the many differences between us and them".
I'm honestly so disappointed that Ruth Behar's The Vulnerable Observer wasn't on any of my syllabi in undergrad or during my master's program. If I ever become a professor as I desperately hope, I'll certainly have to rectify that.
Thankfully, I was gifted a copy of the 25th anniversary text by a dear friend who works in the publishing industry (love you, Nicole😘)! They dm'ed me with a photo of the book and asked simply "do you want a copy?" and whoo boy, do they know me well!
I loved this book. I love humanity. I love being vulnerable and feeling all of my emotions. This book was healing in ways I didn't even know I needed, but I will be forever grateful💚
I had a professor early in college who said something along the lines of "Anthropology is the most humanistic of the sciences and the most scientific of the humanities", and I basically took that phrase and ran with it because YES!
How in the world can you consider studying and observing and interacting with your fellow human beings without emotion, without compassion, without beung vulnerable? In my opinion, there is no way to share the full account of one's fieldwork without being vulnerable. It's a shift that I've very much enjoyed seeing as anthropology evolves from accounts of strange new worlds (i.e., non-Western communities🙄) to some truly beautiful stories depicting the ongoing struggle and also the joys of what it means to be human!
Ethnographies like Fresh Fruit, Broken Bodies, Righteous Dopefiend, and Grief and a Headhunter's Rage were so enlightening for me during undegrad because they were so vulnerable, so human. Early anthropology works try so hard to make sure the reader understands that they are simply observing subjects; "this is science - look at the many differences between us and them".
I'm honestly so disappointed that Ruth Behar's The Vulnerable Observer wasn't on any of my syllabi in undergrad or during my master's program. If I ever become a professor as I desperately hope, I'll certainly have to rectify that.
Thankfully, I was gifted a copy of the 25th anniversary text by a dear friend who works in the publishing industry (love you, Nicole😘)! They dm'ed me with a photo of the book and asked simply "do you want a copy?" and whoo boy, do they know me well!
I loved this book. I love humanity. I love being vulnerable and feeling all of my emotions. This book was healing in ways I didn't even know I needed, but I will be forever grateful💚
August 29, 2018
An engaging read. This book is thought-provoking. It is categorised under women's studies and anthropology - but like all good books it goes beyond established academic boundaries and touches upon history, migration and diaspora studies. The study of death, burial and memory are sensitively told - and the questions it raises about academic objectivity and empathy with your subject profound. Behar writes that today anthropologists are `seeking another voice...that can accommodate complex I's and we's both here and there. This has led to a re-theorization of genres like the life history and the life story, and the creation of hybrid genres like self-ethnography and ethno-biography' (p. 26). Her discussion about Cuba and Cuban/US/Jewish identity is intriguing and well written. The author has the ability to explain complex identity issues in a straightforward and sympathetic manner. You will find yourself wanting to re-read this book of essays (and at 177 pages this is possible) because it will leave an impression on your mind.
April 30, 2019
This book is groundbreaking. Insightful. Behar presents a uniquely feminist, intersectional approach to research which is deeply needed. Whether you agree with her or not, or partially agree with her, she makes a valid case for a different approach to qualitative research which provides incomparable insight and depth.
April 24, 2020
"Call it sentimental, call it Victorian and nineteenth century, but I say that anthropology that doesn't break your heart just isn't worth doing anymore." Wonderful little book that asks important questions about observer and observed, subjectivity, the illusion of objective science, our shared vulnerabilities, the living past, and the ethics of witnessing.
September 17, 2017
This is a beautiful weaving of reflections on anthropology (as a field right now) and Behar's own fieldwork in the US, Spain, and elsewhere and and experience as a Cuban-American. I read it for school but for general reading, if you are interested in anthropology, it's great.
February 8, 2022
This book had highs and lows, but Behar makes a powerful case for anthropology that breaks your heart (which I read as also having the potential to break your heart). Yes, I hope to follow in this path.
January 5, 2025
I am in awe with Ruth Behar‘s ability to catch human feeling - hers, that of others - in her writing. Not only a book for any writer or anthropologist, but in my opinion for any political activist, scientist, teacher or just any human who feels ready to feel and cry a little.
August 10, 2019
It changed my view of what is anthropology for.
April 12, 2020
Heartbreaking, no doubt!
Read
December 28, 2021good but rather uneven, much preferred the introduction/first essay on death and memory.
February 4, 2023
The Vulnerable Observer had some wonderful insights.
December 20, 2024
Marta’s essay will particularly stick with me.
December 24, 2024
One of the few books I read this year that set my mind alight.
July 13, 2024
「迪．賽圖對鳥在其他物種的巢裡下蛋以及回憶『在不屬於它的地方誕生』所做的類比。他深入書寫，記憶過程與被記憶物自身的難以捉摸與可動性，指出存在著『回憶與被記憶物的雙重改變，回憶受某件事物影響時便會運作，而被記憶物只有當其消失時才記得』。記憶是一種『改變』的行動，因為那編織回憶的『看不見的銘刻』要變成看得見『唯有透過新的環境』。迪．賽圖比喻的行動捕捉了記憶的行動，他說：『回憶是由環境所演奏，如同鋼琴是由音樂家所演奏，而當手接觸琴鍵，音樂便流洩而出。
回憶是一種他者的感受』關於回憶（一種認知的形式）總是發生在他處（亦即回憶總是『他者』）的觀念，是界定人類學知識的反身性中心。」
總共六章的內容：「易受傷的觀察者」、「死亡與記憶：從聖瑪麗山城到邁阿密海灘」、「我的墨西哥朋友瑪塔」、「裹著石膏的女孩」、「前進古巴：離散、回歸與絕望的民族誌書寫」及「讓你傷心的人類學」。由徘徊至創傷的陰霾、不斷停留於痛楚裡的露思，一度想要為自己解開身上的痛苦，由深入的角度閘述有關人類學，同時提及創傷所造成的痛苦，這份理解與同理超越那些自稱有相對程度上認識自我的人們。另一方面，坦言能擁抱承受傷痛的能力，實在不多於一人，大多數人無法逃離對創傷、痛苦、恐懼與不安的綑綁，即或在痊癒過後能迎來嶄新的變化，經歷黑夜後迎來的破曉，此道理我們每人都深深知曉，只是單憑言語，是無法真正解決問題，唯有帶著勇敢、愛自己的心情與行動，從起點走至終點，突破我們選擇停滯不前或迷失的想像。
若然痛苦是能經想像所產生出來，會否能於想像之中創造我們想要活著的能力、渴望與感受？
有時無法形容「痛苦」一詞，那種非常折磨人的氛圍、逼不得已地正視自己當下的感受，也是一種難以短時間內消化的現實與情緒。學習如露思般，逐一拆解、透視自我內心的部分，讓人佩服、尊敬。會否其實每個人都有足夠承載受傷的能力，只是我們不斷被灌輸「不可能」的觀念而已？
讀過此書後，勾起我所認為「痛苦」的事實與記憶，往往改變的不是抹去已過的事實，而是學懂原諒、擁抱當下無能為力的自己，這份的接納必須來自「我」，他人是無法給予的安慰。關於自己的所有事，若不親自為自己解決，便會失去從中能認識自己的機會，因痛苦而釋懷更甚。
痛楚、痛苦、痛恨，這些關於內在的情緒，若不親自逐一擊破，我們只會活得不像自己，也活得不像個人。此書並非教曉大家該如何解決創傷、創傷後遺、理解痛苦等，反而是透過人類學的本質，窺探痛苦的根源、重新探索自我、找到療癒的方式以擁抱及接納自我，藉此露思以自身的痛點作為研究的目的，為此震驚的是她為大家解開不少��常對人類學的理解，甚至是將人類學融入傷痛，以達至證明人類學的本質是會令人傷心。
回憶是一種他者的感受』關於回憶（一種認知的形式）總是發生在他處（亦即回憶總是『他者』）的觀念，是界定人類學知識的反身性中心。」
總共六章的內容：「易受傷的觀察者」、「死亡與記憶：從聖瑪麗山城到邁阿密海灘」、「我的墨西哥朋友瑪塔」、「裹著石膏的女孩」、「前進古巴：離散、回歸與絕望的民族誌書寫」及「讓你傷心的人類學」。由徘徊至創傷的陰霾、不斷停留於痛楚裡的露思，一度想要為自己解開身上的痛苦，由深入的角度閘述有關人類學，同時提及創傷所造成的痛苦，這份理解與同理超越那些自稱有相對程度上認識自我的人們。另一方面，坦言能擁抱承受傷痛的能力，實在不多於一人，大多數人無法逃離對創傷、痛苦、恐懼與不安的綑綁，即或在痊癒過後能迎來嶄新的變化，經歷黑夜後迎來的破曉，此道理我們每人都深深知曉，只是單憑言語，是無法真正解決問題，唯有帶著勇敢、愛自己的心情與行動，從起點走至終點，突破我們選擇停滯不前或迷失的想像。
若然痛苦是能經想像所產生出來，會否能於想像之中創造我們想要活著的能力、渴望與感受？
有時無法形容「痛苦」一詞，那種非常折磨人的氛圍、逼不得已地正視自己當下的感受，也是一種難以短時間內消化的現實與情緒。學習如露思般，逐一拆解、透視自我內心的部分，讓人佩服、尊敬。會否其實每個人都有足夠承載受傷的能力，只是我們不斷被灌輸「不可能」的觀念而已？
讀過此書後，勾起我所認為「痛苦」的事實與記憶，往往改變的不是抹去已過的事實，而是學懂原諒、擁抱當下無能為力的自己，這份的接納必須來自「我」，他人是無法給予的安慰。關於自己的所有事，若不親自為自己解決，便會失去從中能認識自己的機會，因痛苦而釋懷更甚。
痛楚、痛苦、痛恨，這些關於內在的情緒，若不親自逐一擊破，我們只會活得不像自己，也活得不像個人。此書並非教曉大家該如何解決創傷、創傷後遺、理解痛苦等，反而是透過人類學的本質，窺探痛苦的根源、重新探索自我、找到療癒的方式以擁抱及接納自我，藉此露思以自身的痛點作為研究的目的，為此震驚的是她為大家解開不少��常對人類學的理解，甚至是將人類學融入傷痛，以達至證明人類學的本質是會令人傷心。
March 17, 2016
This was a book for class, and it was so beautifully written. Ruth Behar is an ethnographer who argues it is important to be vulnerable when writing and reading. She gives intensely personal examples about dealing with her grandfather's death, surviving a traumatic car accident and returning to Cuba to connect with the country she left as a young child. Her raw vulnerability really resonated with me and made me understand a lot about why I chose to write some of the stories I did, what personally drove me. It was transformative, and I can't wait to find that vulnerability as I embark on this ethnographic writing. It's very different than the objective reporter approach I'm used to taking in journalism.
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May 18, 2010I only got a chance to read a couple of the essays in this book before I had to return it to the library, but I loved the overall premise. Behar's first-person anthropological essays are perfect for the postmodern generation of intellectuals. Why pretend that we're unbiased, dispassionate observers when clearly we're human beings who are deeply affected when we witness war and poverty and other tragedies? Why has the Academy considered this distance to be preferable? I'm not an anthropologist myself, but I guess you could say I'm a writer/journalist and I think these principles can apply to this field as well.
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