There is “soul food.” And you can eat soul food while hearing soul music. Poems and literature often direct us into the depths of soul. But academic books rarely enter that sacred territory. And being a social sciencey type of academic, it sort of makes me sad sometimes that our lot rarely spice our writings with the traces of soul. That sort of thing is discouraged, for reasons that often have to do with the “science” half of “social science.” For research, analysis, and writing, dispassion is supposed to be our guiding light and for the most part, this is not necessarily bad for it makes for more comprehensible, manageable works. And let’s face it, too much soul, and you get intractable mush.

But every once in a while a dash of passionate soul is delectable and thankfully does creep into our work to shake away the cobwebs of dispassion that cling to define our academic style of writing. The genre of ethnography, being it is so interpretive, is somewhat susceptible to such outpourings and we can find traces of soul in more daring political tracts, cultural studies material, as well as literary analysis too.

Now the study of intellectual property, being it is dry and arcane, is probably one area that seems more like a “soul-crusher” than a soul-magnet. But this week I was pleasantly surprised to find the strong currents and overtones of soul in Paul Saint-Armour’s delightful book on IP law: The Copywrights: Intellectual Property and the Literary Imagination

I guess I am just saying that alongside a really set of interesting arguments about the dynamic history of IP and literary property, the book is written really, really well. In particular, the chapter on Oscar Wilde is simply stunning and not to be missed. And given that Oscar Wilde’s writing and life are as soulful as soul can get, the chapter is doubly soulful! Take a look:

Rather than naively imagine orality as a tonic to writing, as nature to writing’s artifice, or as authenticity to the travesty of type, Wilde recognized that the longing for orality as origin, nature, or authentic prehistory may be the most characteristic thing about print culture, which thrives by manufacturing origins and measuring its distance form them in order, alternately, to wound or worship itself. His writing both embodies and inflicts an ache for the forms of orality while elaborately demonstrating their irrecuperability even their unknowability: we must return to the voice, yet as it now is, we cannot do so. (p. 94)