ABSTRACT
I accepted the invitation to contribute to this book in the expectation that writing about my life’s experiences would be challenging, instructive, even pleasurable. It has been all of these, but I did not expect it to be quite so difficult. What follows, therefore, is tentative and exploratory due both to the nature of autobiography and to the fact that a life’s story cannot be completed until the life is over, and perhaps not even then. I have been troubled also by possible accusations of self-indulgence and self-centredness, despite Steedman’s claim that autobiography can question central cultural narratives and provide disruption and counterpoint (Steedman 1986)—something I would want to do as a feminist writer. And disclosure of personal details is likely to render myself vulnerable to the critical gaze of friends, colleagues and strangers-another thing to be wary of. So in this contribution, I address the concerns I and others have about the nature and task of academic autobiography, later on threading in some of the narratives and themes of my life.
