As a reader, I have often thought that the response and rejoinder section of journals tends to evoke a more emotional response than do most journal articles. Upon further reflection, I think it is more a case of a forum that reveals the depth of emotion that can be aroused by seemingly dispassionate journal articles. The tone, the voice, and the style of response and rejoinder are often quite different from that of the articles in any given journal, a sudden change in writing that implicitly permits authors a little more latitude to overtly or covertly reveal the emotional component that is part of all thought and theorizing, but that tends to be camouflaged by the conventions of scholarly writing. This change in convention can have a jarring effect; reading some responses and rejoinders can be like eavesdropping on an intimate quarrel in which people inadvertently expose their hurt feelings, their reproachful accusations, their petty jealousies, their intellectual obsessions, or their need to split hairs or to be right or to be noticed, all under the guise of academic debate. At times, it is a juicy, gossipy section, hinting at the relationships between authors, ongoing feuds, mutual admiration societies, and pet theories. On welcome and thankfully not infrequent occasions, the response and rejoinder section of ajournal is truly a dialogue, an open conversation that stimulates the reader, that includes the reader, that does not make the reader feel like an embarrassed eavesdropper. This is hard to achieve, and I do not know if we (Diamond, Sheridan, Trumbull, and myself) have done that here, but if there is one thing that unites our four pieces, it is this common view that scholarly writing can be personal, dialogic, and even dialectic. One of the ways to enjoin such a conversation is to candidly discuss one's own experience or reactions and then to really listen to what
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