{'fraction_non_alphanumeric': 0.02819672131147541, 'fraction_numerical': 0.0, 'mean_word_length': 4.7368421052631575, 'pattern_counts': {'":': 0, '<': 0, '<?xml version=': 0, '>': 0, 'https://': 0, 'lorem ipsum': 0, 'www.': 0, 'xml': 0}, 'pii_count': 0, 'substrings_counts': 0, 'word_list_counts': {'cursed_substrings.json': 0, 'profanity_word_list.json': 0, 'sexual_word_list.json': 0, 'zh_pornsignals.json': 0}}
In Search of an “I”: Embodied Voice and the Personal Essay

I became a writer of personal essays by accident. I was a graduate student, fully steeped in the habits and customs of the academy, a diligent worker enthralled by the challenging intellectual work of theorizing literary and cultural texts. I’m fairly sure I never used the pronoun “I” in my seminar papers or conference presentations, beyond the necessary positioning of myself as a white female critic; and in my work, as well as my teaching, I strove to move past mere personal feelings and develop more sophisticated, academically rigorous analyses. I was a professional, and though I considered myself to be fairly self-aware, I’d learned one thing from observing those around me: those who mixed the personal with their scholarship ran the risk of being seen as unprofessional, amateurish, or worse—someone who had confused the need for therapy with the study of literature. Perhaps, then, it was not completely accidental that I found myself writing personal essays; but it was unexpected, something not quite planned. I’d just returned from Senegal, where a short teaching stint provided me with a way to fulfill a lifelong desire to live in Africa, though I’d justified the detour by telling myself it was important for my dissertation. It could have been the time spent abroad, or maybe it was coming home; but in any event, I felt disoriented upon my return, as if I’d stepped off solid land and onto a rocking boat. My balance was thrown, and I couldn’t