The trouble I have with the Wolcott reading – what makes it seem unethical to me and thus, I suppose, “bad” (or “not good’) research isn’t to do with transparency. If, somewhere in “Sneaky Kid,” Wolcott had disclosed his relationship with Brad, I don’t think I ultimately would have felt better about it – it’s not necessarily the relationship itself that bothers me, it’s that because of the relationship, or maybe within the context of the relationship, Wolcott’s identity in relation to Brad – researcher or lover? – was so entangled. I’m not sure Brad could have been sure whom he was making disclosures to, which I consider unfair and unethical.

In that way, the issues raised are very similar to those that hatch from covert research: The individuals who agree to work with us have a right to know who we are and what we’re doing. They might have reasons – good ones – not to cooperate. If they don’t know who we are, they cannot protect themselves and we cannot adequately protect them. And here, I think, it’s just as “covert” for a researcher to take on the guise of a friend or intimate acquaintance as it is to pose as, say, a health worker.

The dilemma of relationships is that we need a degree of intimacy – and relatively quickly in a lot of cases – to unbolt the storehouse of those truly authentic insights and experiences that make lives so thrilling and enlightening to examine. But, too much intimacy, and the subject is entrusting those insights and experiences to a friend – along with all the expectations of friendship. Mark Kramer (who co-edited one of my favorite books about writing ever, “Telling True Stories: A Nonfiction Writers’ Guide”) calls that “contaminated access.”

Once, when I was still a newspaper reporter, I spent two years following a young, homeless and gang-affiliated mother as she moved into her first apartment, regained custody of her kids and tried to sculpt a happy, successful adult life. I wasn’t much older than her. Whenever we spent time together, I made sure I was dressed like an office-working professional – dresses and heels. I didn’t want her to ever think she was whispering secrets to a friend instead of telling stories to a writer who was going to turn around and repeat them. To thousands of people. We had a lot of conversations about it, but I also created this wardrobe barrier to intimacy as a sort of ethical safeguard.

It didn’t occur to me for many months that now I looked like a social worker, a case manager, a counselor. Any one of the scads of people she was required to talk to. It’s a minefield.