AG: From a disciplinary perspective, we don’t always find STS programs at every university or institution. Many of us find ourselves in rooms that are not our own, where we continually negotiate what it means to practice STS using theories and methods that are often illegible to other disciplines. Moving from one room to another also demands constant re-negotiation of these terms of engagement. How do you negotiate these rooms, and does a sense of restlessness inspire you to move from room to room, between buildings, while building new forms of engagement?
JC: In a sense, there wasn't a choice. I wasn’t fed up with the laboratory or finding a need to move to other rooms. It was more about finding myself in these rooms, ending up in places which were very diverse. Some STS people do lab studies, some do policy-engaged work, and some people work with art and science. I was suddenly doing all these things, partially because of the opportunities that were provided to me, and also because synthetic biology as a nascent field is engaged in different ways with different people. So it wasn't necessarily a ‘restlessness’, but I do think there is a kind of restlessness within STS. In the book, I talk about being a liminal figure and being transient while moving around. And in the conclusion, I talk about safe harbors as places that are open to the world, not places that are closed with walls around them. So I wanted to think about what unites STS work in all these different locations.
JC: STS can be an open place for people that don't necessarily adhere to specific theories or methodologies, but are engaging in the broader mission and vision of a loosely defined field. So at what point—when you have a diversity of people, thoughts, approaches in a room—does a field not become a field? A field is quite weak compared to a discipline. A field is obviously a spatial metaphor as well. A strength and weakness of STS is its refusal to disciplinarize—to become a discipline. I would say, loosely speaking, STS has a shared literature and applies the insights of the social sciences and humanities to the study of science and technology. So maybe it's about a kind of sensibility and critical reflexivity. But that doesn't mean STS people can't come from other disciplines. Many in STS began with degrees in the sciences before moving to STS. Questions about boundary work obviously come up here, but I don't really want to do that. A Place for STS isn’t trying to define STS or its place. It’s about doing STS and finding places for us to do that.
AG: That's a really useful way to think about what it means to collaborate in studies of science and technology, by being reflexive and thinking otherwise as a method and practice. And this might help us think about the rooms that organize your text as a multi-sited ethnography. These rooms seem to coincide with a more flexible, nuanced, and distributed understanding of the discipline and its methods. A Place for STS seems like a methodological fieldguide to assist navigation throughout new locations and orientations. How might the reader consider this methodological approach, not only in terms of place, but in terms of the methods and forces that place us in transit and demand translation between places? How might we read between the lines, between the pages, and between the places introduced in your text?
JC: That's a very interesting question. What are the forces that propel us? I didn't really have self-propulsion. I was invited into these spaces, and had opportunities to explore and meet people with overlapping interests. So the moving around wasn't intentional, but it was very beneficial because it provided a critical perspective. It’s not that everyone needs to do a multi-sited ethnography—they can stay in one place and do great work. But as an STS researcher, the people we often study or collaborate with are moving around themselves and involved in different places. And maybe it also relates again to the ‘restlessness’ we were talking about earlier, about a kind of restlessness of STS itself. We get funding from different sources, work on different projects with different people, which takes us to different places because we often don't have institutional and disciplinary security. We seek out ways of making a living by teaching and working and getting grants with other scientists from many different disciplines.
AG: Speaking of place, where do you prefer to write? What kinds of places best cultivate your writing praxis? Do you prefer certain rooms or places that encourage your writing and way of thinking? Or do your ways of writing and thinking map upon the kinds of journeys and encounters that inform this text?
JC: There are places where you have to sit down and be quiet, and I do like libraries. And as you can tell, some of the book was written during a pandemic that had its particular constraints on places of work. But I'm pretty flexible in terms of where I write. I write anywhere…anywhere I happen to find myself, which is often on a train. I'm often traveling for various reasons and spend a lot of time on public transport. And I think this kind of liminality—this kind of moving around—very much embodies the liminality that I advocate in the book. For me, this reflects the idea that writing has so many elements to it. The actual sitting and putting words on a page is only one bit of that. Also, much of this work was very collaborative. So I felt a slight discomfort with the idea of ‘sitting there on my own’ writing of my book because it is indebted to other people, particularly other STS researchers. So I think of my writing as taking place in collaboration.
AG: I wonder if we can wander into another room: the editorial room. Are there any ideas that didn’t survive the editorial process that still occupy this room? Any thoughts, insights, or components that didn't quite make it into the book?
JC: I had so many ideas that didn't make it into the book... I really wanted to think about creating spaces for collaboration and flourishing. This book is about places that already exist, and I would like to consider these other kinds of spaces. How do we create them? What do we put inside them? How do we furnish them? Are they on the edge of another space? Other places that didn’t make it into the book include passageways and secret underground tunnels. And I'm really drawn to interlinking and mobile spaces, in traveling places that you can call your own, and I briefly talk about boats at the end of the book, as a kind of mobile traveling place. And I had the opportunity to teach a course on this book at the University of Vienna before it was published. I asked the students to write about their own place for STS and they came up with such brilliant things. Some examples were the car mechanics’ workshop, the library, the museum, and the pharmacy. Someone wrote about fairy doors cut into trees. It was exciting to see so many imaginative engagements with this idea of a Place for STS.
Published: 08/25/2025