Sarah Stuart: Marking a write of passages

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I am six days and 7000 words away from completing my first proper literature review, a summary of all the important or pivotal research on a topic of your choosing (corporate crisis communications for me) complete with bibliography of the 50 key academic articles you drew insights from and a plan on how to use this research in your own, more original research project later in the year.

Seven thousand words used to be a mere trickle to someone who's spent her career filling pages. At university, it's a river.
Every five words you must check to ensure they are all your own. If not, you must attribute - author, year etc. If those five words are in the same order as the author has used them, quote marks must be added. The only original thought allowed is in how you say something - not what you say.

It means hours of ploughing through hundreds of sometimes unreadable academic papers, deciphering sentences such as "Research Question 1, focusing on the possible isomorphic relationships between personal control and crisis responsibility, was explored using factor analysis" and wondering why the word "public" has replaced good, old "people".

I usually skip those pages where they tell you how they learned what they've learned, as academic articles handily follow formats where the first paragraphs tell you what you're going to learn and the last paragraphs point out the knowledge gaps.

This week I've learned that in the mid-1990s, the fashion was for scholars to suggest that apology was the best form of crisis communication for an organisation that had mucked up in some way. Nice idea - warmth, concern and taking responsibility all being excellent ways for a corporate to project an image of really caring.

Trouble is, apology leads to some sticky financial and legal ramifications that most businesses aren't exactly keen on. And so the scholars went back to the books and experimental surveys and a few years later found that apologies aren't necessary. Empathy on its own works just as well in protecting long-term reputation.

Others in my class are tackling topics such as the psychology of using a real estate agent; what happens in the life cycle of an industry after a building boom has busted; and how small, family-owned Kiwi firms can best internationalise. For any business topic, however niche, there are hundreds if not thousands of articles and research papers to delve into. Just don't try talking about it at parties.

Panicking, but at the same time gripped by what I'm learning, I've spent hours in the University of Auckland's Business Information Centre, a gorgeous room on the second floor where the chairs are designer leather and the walls are stacked with every business magazine imaginable.

This is also where the Fonts of All Knowledge sit - the business librarians who can sniff out a long-forgotten thesis at a hundred paces and know their way around the university's dozens of international databases like I used to know my family.
Wondering why Gen Y wine drinkers in the US prefer old world tipples over new? Ask Lynne. Interested in the hygiene conditions of international bank notes used in New Zealand fast food stores? She'll find you a study. The writing you'll have to do yourself.

"Most of the literature reviews we receive are not as good as the people who wrote them," our lecturer Rick Starr said in class last week. Well, that's a relief. MBAs are filled with executives bemused at the lengths academics go to make a point. Distilling a decade of their research into a single, coherent study is a skill beyond most.
But the chance to spend 10 weeks immersed in a niche topic useful to you and others, and of vital importance to a small group of some of the smartest people in the world, is a treat. Learning is the greatest joy. Submitting the report, not so much.