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The remembered village as ethnography

or counted, arrive on the printed page after having been filtered through the brains and bodies of members, ethnographers, typists and typographers. Hopefully, the author-ethnographers who supervise this process have some kind of inherent, although probably not innate, ability to stay relatively close to the truth. Bluntly, the test of an ethnography is not to be found in the method used but in the extent to which the ethnographer can’ be credited with the ability to tell a hawk from a handsaw. The fact that M.N. Srinivas’s new book, The remembered village (1976), is a memory ethnography is one of the least important things about it. It is, perhaps, interesting to compare such a memory ethnography with what might be called a methodical ethnography, which is based upon such formal devices as synoptic charts, random samples, taxonomic trees, or correlational surfaces. Because a methodical ethnographer is dedicated to the presentation of evidence in support of each of his ethnographic facts, it follows as the night the day, that the better his documentation, the fewer facts he can document. Whether he relies upon assembled quotations, photographs, censuses, or elaborate computer analyses, the methodical ethnographer tends to establish small truths painfully and is often reluctant to move on to larger truths. The act of choosing an item of infor-