There's nothing like writing a dissertation to make you doubt your intelligence. My theory chapter is starting to look like it could be a chapter in the next Ian Hodder book, which means I'm either a genius or rambling insensible jargon in increasingly complicated clauses.
The Danish Boy says it makes sense to him and it reads well. This is the joy of being married to a former archaeologist who has read a lot of theory. I am, however, wondering if he is a bit biased. Or perhaps he's simply wise enough to know that he should be nice to the woman who makes his food. It's not supposed to read well anyway, it's supposed to be academic, which is latin for "impenetrable use of jargon in complex sentences containing multiple clauses." Or maybe that's the German definition of "academic," I can never remember.
Anyway, without counting catalogue and appendices (I am really not sure if I want to include all of them, it seems a bit over the top if you ask me) I had 80 pages single spaced.
Whoopee! I exclaimed. Until I discovered that when I made it double spaced, as I need to for final publication, I did NOT have 160 pages. I had 149. Grumble grumble.
So... so far I have used 149 pages to answer the question I posed in the beginning of my dissertation. I could probably answer that question in 3 pages, but brevity is the soul of wit, not dissertations, which are not in the least bit funny.