The article explores a creative-artistic approach rooted in autoethnography, using satire and literary tropes from science fiction and fantasy. Edited excerpts from a completed PhD autoethno-satiric novel called The Doom of Clowns are used to illustrate the theoretical and ethical development of this narrative style. The advantages of employing science fiction and satire are demonstrated through the otherworldly narrative distance and ambiguity these genres allow.

For many years I’ve only intermittently been able to take university education or even life on your planet entirely seriously. Without much apparent choice, exploring satire and humor has therefore become my only possible contribution to the knowledge economy. For this reason, I am presenting an edited excerpt from my completed PhD arts practice novel: The Doom of Clowns.1 I will claim this excerpt is speculative autoethno-satire, an innovative method that expands “creative-artistic” approaches in autoethnography.2 The article is part of a collective resistance to the damaging effects of neoliberal audit culture in the university.3

Neoliberalism has been much defined and denied since its rise to dominance in the 1970s. It could be characterized in part as a worldview in which all aspects of life have their central reference in market logic and its connection to new technologies.4 What Luigi Pellizzoni and Marja Ylönen have called the “neorationality” of neoliberalism informs the language of government and education policy.5 Neorationality depoliticizes decision-making processes with apparently neutral, scientific terms that replace ethical positions that are not in harmony with neoliberal market goals.6

Neoliberalism has also been described by David Harvey as a class project, “masked by a lot of rhetoric about individual freedom, liberty, personal responsibility, privatization, and the free market.”7 Satirizing the deceptive language, dehumanizing absurdity, and destructive effects of neoliberal market logic in the academy becomes necessary when its consequences appear to have surpassed the scope of tragedy. Andrew Sparkes surveys research detailing the overwork, stress, and anxiety experienced by academics under New Public Management practices within neoliberal audit culture, which have created a somatic crisis amongst staff.8 Academic culture is being damaged by neoliberalism and can be resisted only collectively, then replaced by creating a new paradigm. The effects of neoliberal audit culture in the United Kingdom are far from superficial. Margaret Thatcher believed her neoliberal mission was in some sense spiritual: “Economics are the method,” she said, “but the object is to change the soul.”9 A radical paradigm shift in higher education is needed.

Speculative autoethno-satire is satirical writing or performance that uses elements of science fiction and fantasy, connecting with the role of the trickster while remaining rooted in an embodied, autoethnographic intention. In Trickster in Tweed, Thomas Frentz discusses the role of the trickster in the academy. He notes Lewis Hyde’s description of this mythical role: “that creative idiot…wise fool, the gray-haired baby, the cross-dresser, the speaker of sacred profanities.”10 Laughing at the academy and myself, asking what it means to be human in the neoliberal university, while dreaming improbable alternatives, is all I have to offer.

Before the creative piece, I offer some history of satirical autoethnography and reflections on the trickster role in the academy. I identify the literary genres being used and discuss why speculative autoethno-satire is a useful direction for autoethnography. The purpose of presenting the creative excerpt is not to make reading the novel necessary but rather to demonstrate how speculative autoethno-satire is a creative-artistic and strategically potentially useful way of doing autoethnography. There are certainly some broad theoretical strokes here, but the intention is to sketch ways in which theory and creative practice are brought together, so that anyone doing autoethnographic research might find possibilities for using satirical, science fiction and fantasy elements in their narrative research. Following the excerpt, I offer some concluding reflections on speculative autoethno-satire as a creative-artistic way of doing autoethnography.

Alec Grant, Lydia Turner, and Nigel Short emphasize satire as a useful textual approach for challenging the oppressive, deadening effects of cultural hegemony.11 Alec Grant often uses the trickster role in nurse education. Grant suggests that autoethnographers are inherently cultural tricksters because their role is to “irritate the complacency of normative cultures and challenge their hegemonic assumptions—the dominant story lines that are taken for granted as truths in those cultures.”12 Satirizing neoliberal management culture within the academy, Grant exposes oppressive language and behavior to show their effects on nursing education, the wider university, and society.13 Constantly moving positions, lampooning official critiques of his approach, Grant resists being narratively entrapped by neoliberal management and constantly troubles their implicit and complicit strategies to create cultural change.

Jess Moriarty uses autoethnodrama to research the effects of neoliberalism in the academy, sometimes using satirical elements to show the pressures on academics and the culture of fear in the academy, emerging partly from the publish-or-perish culture of the research excellence framework. Moriarty also notices how the nuances of apparently friendly and transparent neoliberal management language can become oppressive, when an “open door policy” means management does not have to knock when they enter your office.14 A sense of the need to break the silence around complicit neoliberal practices emerges.

The value of using satire, sarcasm, and irony in social research in the academy is also explored by Cate Watson.15 Watson uses her autoethnographic data to expose how power works in academic institutions beneath the official discourse. The disrupting, subverting effects of satire, irony, juxtaposition, and the exposure of incongruity are suggested by Watson as analytical tools that can overturn “expectations…within a logic of discovery.”16

Speculative autoethno-satire can engage with a wide range of connected fictional genres when exploring, discovering, and subverting dominant social practices and implicit understandings. Gothic, Fantasy,17 and the genre-defying Slipstream might be used18; the exact boundaries of genre are increasingly contentious and porous. Science fiction has of course been used before in qualitative inquiry. For example, Jane Speedy and Sue Porter employ science fiction to satirize the academy and create spaces where alternatives might be imagined. They present an archaeologist from the future, examining twenty-first-century human beliefs, juxtaposed with their own archived academic voices, reflecting on social inequality and the assumptions of modern academia and arts-based research. Speedy and Porter express the view that arts practice can support those whose knowledge is disregarded to enable silenced voices and play an emancipatory, self-actualizing role. They also note that slippage between fact and fiction is “commonplace in arts-based inquiries.”19

Speculative autoethno-satire draws on the subversive literary tradition of Mennippean satire, which Mikhail Bakhtin views as internally motivated by a search for truth using “extraordinary situations,” to test a “philosophical idea.” The Metamorphoses of Apuleius20 (also known as The Golden Ass) is seen by Bakhtin as providing the earliest full model of Mennippean satire.21 The tradition includes Jonathon Swift’s 1792 novel Gulliver’s Travels, which could be viewed as an early example of satire about the emerging scientific hegemony. Gregory Lynall notes that “Again and again, Swift’s satires charge the scientific impulse with failing to account for the complexity of life, simplifying all to mechanism and the material realm…”22 Whatever the genre emphasis, mixing more outlandish literary tropes with satire in autoethnography could be applied more frequently by employing these elements from both popular and classical contexts.

In providing autoethnographic context for the creative excerpt, I will begin by saying it is set at a fictional South Coast university called Brightstol. Writing in the less usual (for autoethnography) third-person voice, to suggest a sense of self-alienation, I did encounter the possibility of becoming post-autoethnographic or going beyond autoethnography.23 But as the writing process remained rooted in the South Coast autoethnographic community in which it was produced, in dialogue with my PhD supervisors, my embodied position as a middle-aged PhD candidate who had spent years outside the professional ranks always felt quite central to the narrative, however fictional the story became. To some extent, my speculative autoethno-satire represents autoethnographic social research data: notes, observations, poems, emails, filtered through multiple genres and ethical and strategic considerations.24 Everything in the novel, however fictionally exaggerated or extreme, was connected to autobiographical material in some way. The writing process took place in the context of an autoethnographic rather than English literature community. The group meetings connected me to a wide range of disciplines—education, nursing, sociology, art therapy—all of which could potentially benefit from greater use of the elements of science fiction, fantasy, and satire.

The edited excerpt shows the writer/protagonist/PhD researcher as an ambiguously reincarnated extraterrestrial King Arthur who has recently undergone a transformation with his soul partner, Guinevere, resulting in them joining together inside a single body to become a being called Guarfur. The protagonist is in dialogue with a professor, who is very carefully disguised and more of an amalgamation of several members of staff I met at the university. With the added protection of the science fiction and fantasy genres, a quite transgressive, comically satirical insider account of being a PhD student became possible. The use of an ambiguous extraterrestrial protagonist plays on ideas of both a sense of social alienation within neoliberalism and of utopian possibility, beyond class, tribal, or parochial conflict. By humorously mixing realist autobiographical elements with an extraterrestrial character, the story excerpt can examine the cognitive dissonance–inducing effects of modern university life and dream possibilities of a more peaceful world, within the context of an increasingly polarized political atmosphere.

Having mentioned Arthur and Guinevere as representations of my autoethnographic self, I should immediately explain how the use of the King Arthur myth developed. While living in Glastonbury in the UK, I had a room overlooking the supposed grave of King Arthur in the Abbey for several months. My maternal family included a relative called Arthur, and as a child I’d heard those perhaps quite common whispers on both sides of my family about possibly very distant and undocumented royal blood. Theoretically I’d also engaged with Roland Barthes’s “The Death of the Author.” Barthes 1967 essay suggests that “the birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the Author.”25 The French title of Barthes’s essay is “La mort de l’auteur,” a play on Thomas Malory’s 1485 Arthurian novel, Le Morte d’Arthur.26

In the creative excerpt, I use the King Arthur myth partly to satirize my own life as a would-be free spirit outside the academy, creating a sort of alter ego, new age messiah. For over twenty years after earning my undergraduate degree, I traveled, taught English overseas, and was involved in community activist groups when in the UK. While traveling I explored many alternative and spiritual communities, attempting to study Buddhism and other meditative traditions. Then, for a few years, I lived off and on in Glastonbury’s alternative community, where mythic tales abound, before beginning my PhD during later visits.

The satirically exaggerated challenge to neoliberalism is presented in a postironic way, which mixes cynicism and utopian optimism. The postironic strategy employed is viewed by Keir Milburn as a method used by politically motivated comedians to speak to or through the ironic detachment of dominant ideology.27 Using this approach did seem to enable a more widely entertaining utopian voice that can re-imagine “what could be (not just about what has been).”28 Writing within the academy amidst ongoing neoliberal policies, there often seemed to be an atmosphere of overwork, fear, stress, and exhaustion among staff.29 As a PhD student at the time, using speculative autoethno-satire allowed me to remain creative and to humorously express a critique of the situation during a period of intense institutional crisis. In analyzing the trickster role, Frentz notes that “the trickster echoes the wolf (through mock attack) and the sheep (through empathy), but moves beyond both into a comic frame that changes the relational structure but does not threaten the faces of the players.”30 Signaling that the attack on the academy was not entirely serious and that individual personas were not targets was a definite advantage in my relatively subaltern position.

Beatrice Otto describes how the Court Jester had permission to tell truths to the king (while presumably also avoiding their own demise) in a way those within the official hierarchy could not.31 Taking on the role of the trickster and claiming, when pressed, that everything is science fiction and fantasy is one way, perhaps, that an autoethnographer in the academy can break the usual courtly rules. Being satirical or overly humorous within the university is not without its dangers, but I firmly believe that even to this day many highly adept tricksters and fools work effectively within UK universities, while hiding their true vocation, often even from themselves.

The trickster role and the title of the novel, The Doom of Clowns, began as an autoethnographic reflection on my mother, who worked as a comical entertainer for children when I was younger, doing magic tricks, puppetry, and ventriloquism. In the early days of her career, she wore a clown outfit to work, until a Stephen King film made the clown unsuitable. The novel contains much family research, which is beyond the scope of this article, but writing autoethnography rooted in the family or the academy has overlapping concerns, such as relational ethics and, relatedly, the fictional disguising of events and people.32

My evocative, performative approach to creative-artistic autoethnography develops its relational ethics using a more forgiving,33 “maternal” form of humor, drawing on experiences of living with my mother. Susan Watkins notes the use of a “maternal imaginary” in women writers such as Ursula Le Guin, Margaret Atwood, and Doris Lessing.34 Watkins sees a focus on living in harmony with the environment, and on ideas of return, repetition, and home that avoid the cliché of the mother as salvation and support plural, hybrid narratives in the context of “the apocalyptic future(s) that face us.”35 The effects of my mother’s humor became more apparent the more I wrote. The forgiving comical mood created a space in which polarized political and personal positions within the education system, which often seemed to lead to what Watkins calls the “tragic, fundamentalist narratives of blame, judgement, the sheep and the goats,” could be reframed in a playfully absurd narrative.36

The main method of writing was “dialogism,” which understands everything as part of a greater whole, with constant interaction between discourses.37 The literal appearance of a sheep in the story excerpt emphasizes the carnivalesque mood, which suspends “the usual social hierarchies.”38 The carnivalesque mood connected me to the playfulness of childhood, where I learned to speak dialogically using the marionette puppets and ventriloquist dummies my mother used in her work. The dialogue in the excerpt was written and rewritten. My quite rigid holistic voice at the beginning of the writing process gradually became more fluid and manoeuvrable. The dialogic writing process of allowing one character to answer another as though present was part of the relational ethics; this disrupted both the dominant neoliberal discourse and an authorial voice that might at times oversimplify or too easily distance itself from the neoliberal “other.” This writing process thus increased the nuance and complexity of my satirical approach to produce the excerpt, where the strategy was not to ridicule a particular professor, but more the situation and the neoliberal discourse acting upon the voices of the characters and writer, so no individual is targeted or blamed.

The carnivalesque dialogue with neoliberalism includes the playful exaggeration of my own holistic discourse. Satirizing a holistic perspective in the excerpt signals the not entirely serious attack on neoliberalism in the academy but still portrays a sense of the repressive, sinister activities of neoliberal management. While ridiculously satirizing a holistic worldview could potentially be misinterpreted as hostile to the cause, the mood of nonseriousness makes it difficult to build a concrete case for such an interpretation. By dialoguing with neoliberal management culture in such an absurd way, spaces are explored that might support further reflection, dialogue, and action in relation to the need for paradigm change. The outlandish holistic discourse of the hero in the excerpt takes place in a world where the neoliberal antagonist is an almost pantomime-style villain. This digitally generated extraterrestrial antagonist does not appear in the excerpt but, to give some context, has previously stated a desire to download “The top 0.1 percent of financially well-off Homo sapiens…after a final devastating war between the rich and the poor.”39

Speculative autoethno-satire also supports the development of diffractive perspectives in autoethnography.40 Although a diffractive perspective is approached only humorously in the excerpt, unconventional perceptions and entanglements that disrupt ideas of human agency become easier to explore than might be possible using more realist forms of writing. While using extraterrestrial characters and fantasy elements alone is unlikely to overcome many of the problems with reflexive representational approaches, which Karen Barad suggests have implicit humanist assumptions about human autonomy, it does open spaces where dominant cultural assumptions about human agency and knowledge can be playfully examined. When extraterrestrials appear in fiction, it is often as part of an exploration of what it means to be human. Unusual onto-epistemic spaces can appear, through the mystery and otherness of the extraterrestrial, to challenge current beliefs and social practices. Using extraterrestrials therefore potentially supports autoethnographic work in exploring other forms of being and knowing, by destabilizing a hegemonic neoliberal worldview and creating space for imaginatively diffractive writing.

To give some textual context for the novel excerpt: the following scene takes place in the academy and includes mention of a commune in the nearby woods. This is because the protagonist, who has just transformed into Guarfur and become the embodiment of Arthur and Guinevere, has been recruiting staff and students to build a community with a gift-based economy, with no fuel bills or mortgages and luxury-level amenities nearby.

Excerpt from The Doom of Clowns

“Waves of love, can you feel them Professor Digby?” Guarfur says as the students move a few tables away.

“You can’t talk like that around here, Arthur, or whatever your name now is. I’ve seen people die around here for less.”

Guarfur turns and smiles at Professor Digby. “The university is full of people who are out of alignment with galactic evolution.”

“Right there, right there. You see that’s going to offend a lot of people, and then you won’t be allowed to stay. We are desperate around here—everything’s being cut. You’re only here because we couldn’t find anyone else.”

“I was sent to your reality to help,” Guarfur replies.

“That’s good,” says Professor Digby. “Very performative, but keep it focused on you. Don’t talk about us and tone down the complaints about the hierarchy being insane. We’re trying to help the students develop into working members of society.”

“Humans won’t survive on their current path, Professor,” says Guarfur. “There’s no need for violent thoughts anymore. We’re all one; we’re all connected. There is only love, and it’s always the answer.”

“Now you sound like half a dozen other hysterical empaths around here, if they decided they could shout about what they wanted. No funding bodies will go for extraterrestrial messiahs around here,” says Digby.

“I’m from your own future. You can’t understand that yet because you’ve been educated wrongly. But human pain could soon be over.”

“And the woo woo commune in the woods behind the campus needs to stop. I don’t understand how you’ve got away with it for so long.”

“Love is protecting us, Professor Digby. Your belief in the power of the enemy is what enslaves you. Open your mind and allow the self beneath your collective personality to emerge.”

“Why doesn’t anyone arrest you?” asks Digby.

“Several police officers have joined us,” replies Guarfur. “They found the love within. They went beyond the fear. Soon there will be thousands of us in woods and valleys across the Earth. Let go, and help create a brighter future. We have an irrigation system, we have electricity, everything you need for a comfortable life, and there are no bills. Each day more students leave their accommodation on campus to live with us full time.”

“The only possibility is you do a few lectures, a very short course mini-module. Alien love perspectives as a new ecological activism perhaps. What we really need is someone who knows how to answer questions about religious cults and stuff like that. They are getting popular again and they infiltrate the mindfulness courses.”

“Many of us are here Professor Digby,” says Guarfur.

“Baa,” says the sheep.

“Even as we speak, Professor Digby, I’m activating parts of your subconscious buried deep beneath the overwork, the stress, the compromises, the verbal conditioning by the system. When this conversation is over you’ll go back to your office and you won’t remember what I’ve said. You won’t report me. You’ll calmly and without quarrel begin to follow my commands, and together we’ll begin to educate the students in a way that’s appropriate.”

“Good, that’s the kind of thing we want,” says Professor Digby. “I’ve been asking for a direct hypnosis angle for ages. Resisting media brainwashing, turning consumers into citizens. That’s what we do here. Just stop building things in the field.”

“You want to change, Professor. I see that.”

“I want a pension,” says Digby.

“There’s only awareness, Professor—consciousness expanding out through myriad dimensions. And breathe. Surrender to the great mother of the universe.”

“You’ll have to talk normally sometimes, or you’ll need a moderator when you lecture. And I still think you need to lose the sheep. It was funny for a couple of days, but now it’s a health and safety issue.”

“The sheep should have equal rights, Professor.”

“Okay,” replies Digby. “It can in my view, just not here. Try the animal sanctuary.”

“Why is life so stressful here, Professor Digby? Is it because the students live in constant anxiety about debt, and even the staff that aren’t on zero-hour contracts look like frightened primates? Maybe it’s because this entire system is corrupt. Become the hope for the future. Join the thousands of us building the new world because the old world cannot change in time.”

“Baa,” says the sheep.

“You need to clarify your research objectives,” says Digby. “If you want this to be funded you need to make it clear for the panel. How is this going to help people get on the housing ladder? Second, what basic extraterrestrial skills does it develop? Third, most people don’t want to leave normal society. And, you won’t be able to take the sheep with you anywhere on campus from now on, especially the loos—there have been complaints about the wool blocking the drainage.”

“Our transmission beneath your conscious mind is almost complete,” says Guarfur.

“It’s got promise, as I say,” says Digby. “But you still need to develop the performance aspect. Have you thought of dressing as a tree? I’d like to see some change around here. We need a bit of a shake-up. But if you want to save this planet you’ll have to communicate in a way the Earth inhabitants here find acceptable.”

“I thank you for your cooperation,” Guarfur says.

Professor Digby sighs, “However inclusive we are, there are still requirements about the way you present the research. Either go for a full space-suit and maybe a spaceship, wear a few tentacles, or get on the cross and let us crucify you. And tell people the sheep has asked to be allowed to rest at home or something.”

“We can no longer recognize your ways of seeing the world.”

“Look, a lot of us know you really do think you’re an extraterrestrial. We know you’re not just pretending to do it for research.”

“Yes, I am an extraterrestrial,” Guarfur replies.

“Well, some of us don’t think that should be held against you in terms of the research being approved. But I think you have boundary issues. It’s important you can show you understand the human perspective and can, as an extraterrestrial, deliver fundable research that raises our profile as an institution.”

End of Excerpt

Speculative autoethno-satire is an imaginative, playful approach to autoethnography that can potentially allow for a safer space when exploring and critiquing neoliberal politics in the academy. Using humor and extraterrestrial characters certainly made me feel safer. When writing about the academy or other areas of life where ethical or strategic distance might be paramount, this approach allows for a multilayered narrative that can remain ambiguously open. This does leave the text open to misinterpretation, but the mood of good humor hopefully reduces any danger of this being an overly serious misinterpretation. Anyone potentially implicated in a story can feel unthreatened while reading, as everyone is given the protection of genre. This again, was helpful, given the academic context in which the writing was taking place. Even if a hint of someone’s presence is found, the human characters from whom I’d drawn in the academy and outside were all portrayed with some sympathy. In the creative excerpt, making the professor sympathetic was a key aspect. If the narrative criticized a character, they could answer back in the text as if present.

There were a lot of cuts and staff redundancies at the time of writing and, as a PhD student, appearing to be too critical in volatile situations is not always a good idea. Oppressive institutional practices and political themes could be approached in ways that might otherwise be difficult for ethical, emotional, strategic, or onto-epistemic reasons. I could also imagine positive alternatives, other ways of being and living using characters from other worlds, which meant there was less chance of being seen as overly critical or becoming mired in misery.

Mixing personal stories with mythic elements made the slippage between fact and fiction quite obvious. Making no direct claims to factual truth, I could still draw on the smorgasbord of life events, traumas, and trials, but they were woven into a playful tale subverting a well-known mythic story. Saying you’re writing speculative autoethno-satire may signal that you are not entirely serious. A serious attack within the academy, as Frentz suggests, might lead to being considered a wolf with still-buried, unconscious anger, which could increase the chances of being ejected by the good shepherds as well as the fully neoliberal shepherds.41 The carnivalesque mood and trickster role allows the narrative to move between genres, parodying neoliberalism in ways that can potentially remain slightly unclear or ambiguous. Satire’s presence in a novel or narrative may not always be easy to detect because, as Bakhtin suggests, it has an ability to absorb or penetrate other genres.42

As a creative-artistic approach, speculative autoethno-satire encourages the use of a wide range of literary genres to ask fundamental questions about life in the neoliberal academy, including, what does it mean to be human? This approach also supports the imagining of alternatives to a neoliberal future using science fiction and related genres, while remaining connected to an embodied autoethnographic intention, and perhaps a wry smile. The trickster can be both intimate and distanced, funny and serious, with a flexibility that potentially supports a reimagining of self and society. Using extraterrestrials, Arthurian myth, and satire certainly made fictionalizing autobiographical material and challenging neoliberalism in the academy enjoyable.



Russell Heywood, The Doom of Clowns: A Novel and Critical Commentary (PhD dissertation, The University of Brighton, UK, 2017).


Jimmy Manning and Tony Adams. “Popular Culture Studies and Autoethnography: An Essay on Method.” The Popular Culture Studies Journal 3, no. 1/2 (2015): 193–194.


Andrew C. Sparkes, “Qualitative Research in Sport, Exercise and Health in the Era of Neoliberalism, Audit and New Public Management: Understanding Conditions for the (Im)possibilities of a New Paradigm Dialogue.” Qualitative Research in Sport, Exercise & Health 5, no. 3 (2013): 440–459,


Luigi Pellizonni and Marja Ylönen, eds. Neoliberalism and Technoscience (London and New York: Routledge, 2016), 5.


Pellizonni and Ylönen, Neoliberalism and Technoscience, 52–54.


Pellizonni and Ylönen, Neoliberalism and Technoscience, 60–68.


David Harvey, “Their Crisis, Our Challenge.” Interview. Red Pepper. March 15, 2009.


Sparkes, “Qualitative Research in Sport, Exercise and Health.”


David Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 23.


Thomas S. Frentz, Trickster Makes this World: Mischief, Myth and Art (New York, Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 1998), 22–23.


Alec Grant, Lydia Turner, and Nigel P. Short, eds. Contemporary British Autoethnography (Rotterdam: Sense Publishers, 2013), 5–6.


Alec Grant, Lydia Turner, Nigel P. Short, and Tony E. Adams, eds. International Perspectives on Autoethnographic Research and Practice (New York. Routledge, 2018), 114.


Grant, Contemporary British Autoethnography, 33–48.


J. Moriarty, “Autobiographical and Researched Experiences with Academic Writing: An Analytical Autoethnodrama.” NAWE: Writing in Practice, vol. 2, 2013.


Cate Watson, “Notes on the Variety and Uses of Satire, Sarcasm and Irony in Social Research, with Some Observations on Vices and Follies in the Academy.” Power and Education no. 2 (June 2011): 139–149.


Watson, “Notes on the Varieties and Uses of Satire,” 139.


Rosemary Jackson, Fantasy: The Literature of Subversion (London: Routledge, 1981).


Bruce Sterling, “Slipstream 2.” Science Fiction Studies,” 38, no. 1 (March 2011): 6–10. doi: 10.5621/scieficstud.38.1.0006


Jane Speedy and Sue Porter, “Introduction to ‘Creative Practitioner Enquiry in the helping Professions.” In Creative Practitioner Inquiry in the Helping Professions. Edited by J. Speedy and J. Wyatt (Rotterdam: Sense Publishers, 2014), 1–6.


Apuleius. Metamorphoses or The Golden Ass: A New Verse Translation. 2nd ed. Translated by E.J. Kenny (London: Penguin, 2004).


Mikhail Bakhtin, Problems ofDostoevsky’s Poetics. Translated and edited by Caryl Emerson (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press 1984), 113.


Gregory Lynall, Swift and Science: The Satire, Politics, and Theology of Natural Knowledge, 16901730 (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 144.


Eleanor Ty and Chrystl Verdun, eds. Asian Canadian Writing: Beyond Autoethnography (Wilfred Waterloo, Canada: Laurier University Press, 2008).


Manning and Adams discuss the benefits of having overlapping orientations between creative-artistic and social research approaches. Jimmy Manning and Tony Adams. “Popular Culture Studies and Autoethnography: An Essay on Method. The Popular Culture Studies Journal, 3, no.1/2 (2015): 194.


Roland Barthes, “Death of the Author” (1967). In Barthes, Image Music Text (London: Fontana Press 1977), 142–148.


Thomas Malory, Le Morte D’Arthur (1485). The Winchester Manuscript (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008).


Keir Milburn, “The Comedian as Populist Leader: Postironic Narratives in an Age of Cynical Irony.” Leadership. Sage Journals, Online First. October 30, 2018.


Art P. Bochner and Carolyn Ellis. Evocative Autoethnography, Writing Lives and Telling Stories (New York: Routledge, 2016), 56.


Sparkes, “Qualitative Research in Sport, Exercise and Health,” 440–456.


Frentz, Trickster Makes This World: Mischief, Myth and Art, 78.


Beatrice K. Otto, Fools are Everywhere: The Court Jester Around the World (Chicago & London: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 48.


Tony Adams and Jimmie Manning also support the use of creative-artistic approaches in family research. See Tony E. Adams and Jimmy Manning, “Autoethnography and Family Research.” Journal of Family Theory and Review 7, no. 4 (2015): 350–366.


Tony Adams discusses forgiveness in relation to critical autoethnography in “Critical Autoethnography, Education, and a Call to Forgiveness.” International Journal of Multicultural Education 19, no. 1 (2017): 79–88.


Susan Watkins, “Future Shock: Rewriting the Apocalypse in Contemporary Women’s Fiction.” Literature Interpretation Theory 23, no. 2 (2012): 125.


Watkins, “Future Shock,” 135.


Watkins, “Future Shock,” 135.


Mikhail Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981), 426.


Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 10.


Heywood, Doom of Clowns, 170.


Karen Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway: Quantum Physics and the Entanglement of Matter and Meaning (Durham, NC & London: Duke University Press, 2007), 86–94.


Frentz, Trickster Makes this World: Mischief, Myth and Art, 61–63.


Mikhail Bakhtin, Problems ofDostoevsky’s Poetics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984), 119–120.