As you may or may not know, next week marks my triumphant return to graduate studies. I’m going back to school for a simple, noble cause: to eventually get bored, drop out and become a three-time graduate school dropout. The threepeat is rarely attained, but I think I’ve got a pretty good shot. Naturally, my last few weeks have been filled with preparation. I’ve reordered cable television, so I have more reasons to procrastinate. I grew a quality graduate school scruffy beard, although I shaved it off earlier today, a process which took a lot longer than I thought it would. I even asked Santa for a stylish tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. I didn’t get one at Christmas, but there’s always hope that someone will get me one for Pandepoenium. And I also dropped a couple hundred dollars on books, including the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association (5th Edition).
Way back in the year 2000, when I was an idealistic youngster attending my first graduate classes with stars in my eyes and music in my heart, I owned a copy of the Fourth Edition Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association. I hated it. The font choice for the examples was abysmal. Apparently, this font was chosen because it “shows how material appears when typed” (p. xxxi). How wonderfully thoughtful of the APA. After all, the one thing I always wonder about when reading the machine-printed text of a reference book is how text looks when printed on a page. But thankfully, the Fifth Edition uses a far more readable font and it makes use of cutting-edge technology like italics and boldface. Truly, it is a step-forward into a new century of citation referencing.
Despite the production improvements, the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association still has some design flaws. For example, the section on quotations (3.34) directs the reader to section concerning style (5.13), which then points the reader back to section 3.34. I spent fourteen hours flipping back and forth until I finally gave up, and I still don’t know how to properly cite a reference to the published proceeding of a symposium. And while I can see the point of arranging the manual in the X.YY section headings, it’s not very helpful when the text references section numbers, rather than page numbers. Sections range in length from a paragraph to a few pages. A direction to “see section 5.13″ doesn’t help me get to section 5.13 any faster. It would be far more usable to cite the page of the section in addition to, or as a replacement for the section numbers.
But enough about form, it’s time to discuss the content of the Publication Manual. Personally, I don’t understand why the APA needs their own style guide. The MLA guide is clearly superior method of citation. And the APA certainly doesn’t need its own manuscript guidelines. I mean, why waste all this time coming up with a set of guidelines, just so a bunch of Viennese witchdoctors can pompously summarize the results of a questionnaire filled out by 500 Psych 101 students? Even if the psychologist is doing lab work, like seeing how many time a toddler will electrocute a hamster before it gets bored and wanders off, the MLA guidelines are more than suitable. But I guess psychologists are too good for the MLA. If they want to publish their child cruelty/hamster cowardice studies using their own esoteric, nonsensical (Citing both pages of non-continuous multi-page newspaper article? Fuck that.) standards, then so be it.
That’s not to say that everything in the Publication Manual is entirely bad. There’s an intriguing subplot involving a Chinese laundromat, the Des Moines hashish trade and a mysterious transient know only as Miser Rosy, but, unfortunately, it never gets resolved in any satisfactory fashion. Despite its plot failings, I suppose the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association still serves its purpose well enough. The convenient index and table of content allow those of us foolish enough to waste our time in the soft sciences to make easy use of the Publication Manual. And really, that’s all a book such as this is good for. Ignoring for a moment the transcendental musings of Miser Rosy and her merry pack of ruffians, the best use of the Publication Manual is as a handy guide for reference and formatting guidelines. Although I can’t recommend the Publication Manual to the casual reader, it meets the need of a specific audience and I suppose that’s got to be worth two tiny Ludivine Sagniers.
You’re making an investment in your future. And if it doesn’t work out, you can always come to Florida to make sure my dragonfruit farm doesn’t burn down.