Cathartic storytelling: The use of letter-writing in a study on prisoner isolation in Scotland

Abstract

The aim of this article is to demonstrate the strengths of letter-writing as a qualitative method of inquiry in prison research. It aims to do so by drawing on the author’s research on experiences of isolation in Scottish prisons, carried out through letter exchanges with prisoners over the course of over a year. The positive elements of letter-writing were significant not solely from a researcher prospective, but also from that of correspondents. Through a process of catharsis and storytelling, participants were able to reflect on and recount stories of their trauma in isolation. However, a number of emotional and ethical challenges were encountered in the process, which researchers need to be mindful of prior to embarking on correspondence-based prison research.

Introduction

The art of letter-writing has been lost somewhat, superseded by emails, messaging and texting in different forms and forums (Stanley, 2015). And yet, prisons remain stuck in a different reality, out of time (Cohen and Taylor, 1972) and space (Gill et al., 2013). In prisons, letters continue to play a significant role in communication with the outside world (Wilson, 2000). When phone calls are strictly limited by minutes and credits, when the “email a prisoner” scheme gives limited time, space and opportunity for exchanges, pen and paper provide the only avenue to the world beyond. The long-lost art of letter writing therefore, remains rife in the prison realm.

Drawing upon a PhD study on experiences of isolation in Scottish prisons, this article argues why this means should be exploited more in prison research. It also considers some of the shortfalls and ethical challenges this particular type of methodological inquiry presents. It does so firstly by presenting a brief historical overview of prisoners’ letter-writing, followed by details of the study itself. The article then moves on to reflect on ethical aspects of the project and the shortfalls of the correspondence method. It subsequently situates the method in a prison context. One of the key contentions of this article is the cathartic process produced by writing, which is explored as a form of cathartic storytelling. Finally, it considers the emotional implications for the researcher of undergoing this type of work. It concludes that although in this particular case the cathartic process of letter-writing represented an unintended consequence of the research, a more purposive approach towards this method of inquiry in future studies could amount to a specific outcome.

Overview of prisoners’ letter-writing

As Vannier (2020, 251) observed:

The argument that prisoners’ letters can uncover hidden experiences of extreme penal severity further builds on a literature that regularly draws on inmates’ written accounts.

Historically, prisoners’ letters have been a source of fascination, hope and inspiration for centuries. The darkest moments of many prisoners have been reported through their letters to the outside world – from Victor Serge (1977), the Russian revolutionary Marxist, who described letters in prison as ‘tiny wings beating in the hands of the men’(p. 217), to the letters of George Jackson in Soledad Brother (1971) and Nelson Mandela's (2018) during his 27 years of incarceration. From political activists to authors, from Jack Henry Abbott's (1982) In the Belly of the Beast, bringing together his letters from prison to Norman Mailer, to Oscar Wilde's De Profundis (Wilde, 1969), the long letter Wilde was allowed – by prison governor Nelson – to write to ‘Bosie’ (Lord Alfred Douglas) for ‘medicinal purposes’, which would only be handed over to his recipient upon his release (Belford, 2000; Small, 2003), all represented a connecting link between the prison island and life on the outside. Specifically, writing was prescribed to Wilde to assist him with the emotional difficulties he was experiencing while in prison.

Letters are equally as relevant to ordinary prisoners, as a lifeline and linking thread with the outer world playing an integral role in prisoners’ daily lives. There are ‘letters between prisoners, letters between prisoners and authority, and letters between prisoners and their social communities outside the prison environment’ (Wilson, 2000, 184). There are correspondence projects, such as the Bent Bars Project, specifically aimed at LGBTQ + prisoners held in British prisons, and Lifelines, supporting prisoners on death row in the United States (Maybin, 2000).

The day-to-day relevance of correspondence to prisoners’ lives, therefore, differs hugely from its position in ‘normality’, where it has been largely superseded by a digitalised world. Hence research in prison via letters needs to be contextualised against this backdrop, which is very much unique to the carceral realm. It is to a degree foreseeable that research via mail within this setting will have a certain breadth and depth to it, because of the inherent significance of letters to the every-day life of prisoners.

The study

In ‘normal’ research circumstances (if such exist) the research question(s) would guide the method, this equation however, was not as straightforward during COVID-19. This placed researchers within the background of a pandemic in a unique, testing, at times frustrating, environment – one in which resilience and resourcefulness were at times hard to come by.

The recruitment of participants took place between July and August 2021, with fieldwork commencing in September 2021 and ending in January 2023. Part of the PhD programme included a placement with His Majesty's Inspectorate of Prisons (HMIPS) involving a thematic review of segregation in Scottish establishments, between October 2021 and July 2023. The review was published in July 2023 and was the first review of its kind in Scotland (Ravalde and Russo, 2023).

Participants were recruited via two adverts placed 2 months’ apart in the national prison newspaper Inside Time, between June and August 2021. Details of the advert feature below:

ATTENTION SCOTTISH PRISONERS!

Have you had experiences of isolation during your time in custody?

If so, looking for your views!

This PhD project at the University of Edinburgh will be exploring experiences of isolation – for any reason, segregation, discipline, COVID-19, request, protection, crowding, etc. If you are interested in taking part, it would involve communicating by post with the PhD researcher Deborah Russo. Men and women serving any length of sentence (or remand) welcome. Postal costs will be covered. Write to Deborah Russo (PhD student), c/o School of Law, University of Edinburgh, South Bridge, Edinburgh EH8 9YL and you will be contacted with further details about taking part.

PLEASE NOTE: LIMITED TO PRISONERS SERVING THEIR SENTENCES IN SCOTLAND ONLY

At the start of the project, segregation in its most traditional sense was to be the research focus, concentrating on the original notion of prison segregation as a form of separation of certain prisoners (either for administrative, protective, or disciplinary reasons) from mainstream location, which in Scotland takes the form of confinement in specific units known as Separation and Reintegration Units (SRUs).

Sometime in September 2020 it became evident that the research in its entirety would be severely impacted by COVID-19 and not just purely from an access point of view. As a result of COVID-19, isolation had inevitably and pervasively spread in prison settings widening the disconnect and detachment between prisoners, families, and wider society. The Scottish Prisoner Advocacy and Research Collective (SPARC) raised serious concerns about, inter alia, restricted regimes, lack of transparency and mental health deterioration during the management of the pandemic in prison establishments (SPARC, 2020). The initial focus on segregation therefore, also required adaptation in light of the impact of COVID-19 on Scottish prisoners.

Amid a worldwide pandemic, what other research means could be utilised to grasp the essence of prisoners’ experiences of isolation? Letter-writing seemed an obvious choice in the circumstances. Ironically, the letter had been the principal means of communication with prisoners during the author's previous professional experience as a prison lawyer. As observed by Maycock and Dickson (2021, 3) in their analysis of the impact of the virus on Scottish prisoners, letter-writing formed a ‘relatively new form of data collection, well suited to the context of the COVID-19 pandemic’.

A total of 26 participants was recruited, 2 of whom signed up to the research but never engaged further. Twenty-four participated in the project to varying degrees, as detailed further below. Twenty-five out of 26 participants identified as male; one identified as transgender female. ¹ Participants’ engagement in the project was high, and numerous letters were sent and received. The average number of letters sent was nine and received was eight. The highest number received from an individual prisoner was 15, and the lowest 3.

Prisoners were located in varied locations in Scottish prisons. HMPs Barlinnie and Glenochil had the highest numbers of participants, both with eight in each establishment. This is significant because the two establishments differ greatly from one another, with HMP Barlinnie hosting a high remand population, and HMP Glenochil a high proportion of sex offenders. These are relevant factors because some of the study's key findings were that isolation was experienced more intensely by participants on remand and by those serving sentences for sex offences. The contributory elements to prisoner isolation in these two categories included physical aspects (restricted regimes), and mental aspects, uncertainty in the case of remand prisoners, and stigma for those serving sentences sex offences.

Most participants were serving long-term sentences with a combination of Life, Orders for Lifelong Restriction (OLR) ² and determinate sentences of over 4 years. Notably, six participants were on remand. Participants’ index offences included murder (4), sex offences (12), violence (2) and in 6 cases the offence was unclear. The relevance of offence and sentence types to how isolation was experienced by participants quickly became apparent as the project progressed. This was especially the case for sex offenders in view of the stigma attached to their offences and the restrictions in movement due to their status.

All participants experienced isolation to varying degrees and in different forms throughout their incarceration. Long periods in segregation units were not unusual to many participants, with 11 prisoners experiencing isolation within this particular setting. Two participants had spent several years continuously in segregation, others (specifically 4) some lengthy months. Five prisoners experienced isolation whilst segregated for their own protection in suicide prevention cells.

The correspondence project began with no specific structure, or letter format, in mind. The correspondence commenced with a ‘standard’ letter sent to all prisoners as a conversation starter. As the letter exchanges continued, a bank of standard letters was created with questions and concepts to be explored with participants.

The letters were semi-structured in approach, allowing flexibility in participants’ responses. Upon receipt of a letter, it would be logged and analysed. In the subsequent response, clarification would be sought if required to any points made or information given. This inevitably meant that exchanges with some prisoners lasted longer than with others.

Standard letter 2 sought factual details on locations of isolation, whereas letter 3 sought more details of participants’ emotional experiences. Standard letter 4 explored experiences of isolation whilst cell-sharing, as well as lengths of time in isolation. Letter 5 was approached differently and was labelled as ‘a description of isolation as it happens’:

In your next letter I was also going to ask if you could please write to me at a time when you feel isolated. In other words, when you next feel isolated, please grab pen and paper and take some time to describe how you feel. Please list the feelings and emotions that you have at this time, the thoughts that arise and particular rituals or actions you take when you feel this way. If at any time while writing to me you feel uncomfortable or distressed, then please do stop and seek help. However, I do sincerely hope this won’t happen and that, on the other hand, the experience of writing whilst isolated may feel cathartic or freeing for you in some way (please do say if it does).

The ‘description of isolation as it happens’ was unique because a similar exercise would not have been possible by way of an interview. As such, it represented an example of what Shabazz (2014) meant by letters from prison creating both a bridge with the rest of society as well as a separate carceral space for prisoners to express themselves away from the confines of prison walls.

Letter 6 explored the concept of meaningful human contact, as per the definition of solitary confinement laid out in the Mandela Rules 2015 (Russo, 2025).

As mentioned earlier, there was no linear six to eight letter exchange with all participants. With some prisoners the exchange was between 2 to 4 letters, with others up to 6 or 8, whilst with many the exchanges amounted to over 20 letters (as in the totality of letters between participant and researcher). Notably, engagement was high, and 17 participants took part until the end of the project. Participants did not simply engage, they felt invested in the study itself notwithstanding the extra effort involved in writing, when they could have easily given up or stopped. Out of the seven whose participation ended early, three were released, three stopped due to health reasons and only in one case were the reasons unclear.

Ethical considerations

When we think about ethics as researchers, the first thought goes towards ethical processes, applications and hurdles we have to go through in order to get on with our fieldwork. Strictly speaking, ethical approval was not required from the Scottish Prison Service (SPS) for writing to prisoners, especially since recruitment was carried out via Inside Time. Nothing explicitly prohibits individuals from corresponding with prisoners. Nonetheless, for the purposes of transparency, the SPS ethics process was undertaken and granted. SPS research access, however, came with a number of strings attached. For example, regulation 3 of the Regulations Concerning Research Access to Prison Establishments for the Purposes of Conducting Research (SPS, 2020) provides that:

All research data and material of whatever kind (i.e., interview notes, questionnaires, tapes, transcripts, reports, documents, specifications, instructions, plans, drawings, patents, models, designs, whether in writing or on electronic or other media) obtained from the Scottish Prison Service shall remain the property of the Crown. [emphasis added]

The researcher was asked to, but omitted to sign the regulations, as the letters received from participants as part of the project could not physically be considered property of the Crown. Although copyright law is not the topic of discussion here, the author of a letter remains the owner of its contents, although the recipient of it owns the physical letter. ³ In other words, participants continued to own the content of their letters, which they consented to share for research purposes. The physical letters therefore were owned by the researcher. The Crown had no ownership of these. This is an important distinction. Nonetheless, whilst the Crown had no ownership of these, SPS did retain the power to restrict letters from entering or exiting the prison if deemed a potential risk (although this did not occur).

Letter-writing, therefore, allows a degree of flexibility in prison research as it does not require traditional forms of negotiating access. It avoids the need to ‘navigate structures’ or the complexities of ‘social dynamics’ (Rowe, 2014) within the prison itself. Issues relating to becoming a key holder or undertaking ‘self-defence’ training for example, ⁴ never arose within the research and undoubtedly simplified matters.

There are however, some other equally relevant ethical concerns that we may stumble across unexpectedly during our research. Israel and Hay (2012) illustrate this, effectively:

As empirical researchers, criminologists face two distinct difficulties. First, we must develop ways of working that can be regarded as ethical. Second, we have to meet the demands of regulators of research ethics. These are not always the same thing. (p. 501)

Indeed, these are often very different things. Meeting the demands of regulators is normally an application process which is undertaken at the outset of the research. The required ethical approval from the University of Edinburgh to undertake the letter-writing project was obtained and although this process took some months, it was relatively straightforward.

The development of ways of working that can be regarded as ethical, on the other hand, is a process which we as researchers find ourselves navigating when ethical issues arise once fieldwork is well under way. In the context of an example of the latter, the experiences with a participant mentioned at various points, Rachel, will be shared.

As touched upon previously, the participants in the study were all located in male establishments, the majority of whom identified as male. One participant identified as trans female and another, Rachel, was more ambivalent about his sexuality. Despite choosing a female research name, Rachel wished to continue to be referred to as ‘he’, although he admitted himself this decision was plagued with confusion and uncertainty.

A close epistolary relationship developed between Rachel and the researcher during the course of the project. Numerous lengthy letters were exchanged, in which he described in detail what isolation meant to him. In the third letter to Rachel, a number of questions were posed, which included:

What do you experience when you feel isolated?

What do you find most difficult during your periods of isolation?

Are the difficulties you experience in isolation mostly physical, psychological or both? Can you describe these difficulties with some examples?

What makes you cope with isolation?

In his response, Rachel detailed how the difficulties he experienced were both ‘physical and psychological’. He went on to explain:

I have never coped well with negative emotions and my coping strategies, which are also negative, are a short-term fix for me … In a state of sadness and loneliness which leads to depression, I need a “pick me up”. I need something to make me feel a bit better and masturbation provides that.

He described the above as his ‘vicious circle’, which he explained as follows:

The short-lived pleasure of an orgasm is my release from this psychological torture. Then the cycle starts again, and again, and again. How can one break this cycle whilst locked in a concrete block between 18 + 22 hours a day? No light at the end of a long and very dark road. No company. No one to chat with. Only hopelessness and despair.

The letter exchanges following this focused on other aspects of isolation. As explained previously, a number of ‘sample’ letters were used as templates for conversations with participants. When it came to sample letter 5, detailed above, it is evident why hesitations arose in sending it. The aim of the letter was to demonstrate what letter-writing could achieve that interviews could not. In an interview context ‘isolation as it happens’ could only be addressed by thinking retrospectively at an event or incident, whereas by letter one could capture a participant's thoughts at that moment – two qualitatively different approaches.

The researcher was aware, however, of the shame Rachel felt and difficulties he experienced while alone. The potential risk of re-traumatisation was real and safeguarding Rachel's well-being was a paramount consideration. Equally, and perhaps less obviously, the researcher also wished to safeguard herself. Rachel's accounts had been harrowing and challenging to process at an emotional level. It was a difficult situation to manage, particularly when the only means of explanation was a written one.

A few letters later, letter 5 was sent to Rachel, albeit set out slightly differently:

The next question I have set out is one I have asked other participants, but I have waited to ask you because of the difficulties you have at times experienced whilst in isolation. I am sharing it with you now because I feel it is only fair having corresponded with you on the issue for some time, but please, do not feel you have to reply if you would prefer not to.

Rachel replied to the letter about ‘isolation as it happens’ but chose to omit certain details. The researcher had concerns to have caused him distress and apologised in the next letter to him. He shared the following in his reply:

… my regret is not sharing everything with you in my last letter. May I ask that you allow me to rewrite and re-answer your question of sharing my thoughts and feelings during my isolation time. I would be really happy to share this with you as it's something that I have never shared with anyone before. So, I would be grateful if you would allow me to answer that important question again. Allow me to take you on this trip and let you see the stages from A to E. It will give you a clearer understanding of my thoughts and feelings at times of isolation and how I cope and make myself feel better if only for a short period. I would like to share this with you.

In his following letter, Rachel shared his experience in detail, but then apologised profusely, feeling worried that the exchanges would come to an end as a result. His letter was a difficult read, and an emotionally, as well as ethically, challenging one. It did, however, depict a vividly sombre picture of his life in isolation. While reading the letter, a real sense of presence was felt, which added emotional depth to Rachel's accounts of the re-experience of trauma in isolation, as he described going back to childhood flashbacks of abuse. At an ethical level however, it felt as though the researcher should not have been there, as an observer, watching this experience. It was too private, too raw and too painful to witness, reflecting the essence of recounting stories of pain in prison research (Liebling, 1999, 2014).

The reply to Rachel's letter said:

You do not need to apologise for what you shared with me. If anything, I am the one who needs to apologise to you, for asking you to share things you felt uncomfortable sharing. I should have foreseen this would have been difficult for you but at the time I felt I had to ask you because I was asking that of all participants. Perhaps I shouldn’t have. On the other hand, all the thoughts you shared about your family, your feelings, the negative emotions, the stress, really gave me such a clear picture of what your mind goes through in times of loneliness, and of the ‘vicious circle’ you have talked about time and time again. I am so grateful to you for sharing all of this with me. I feel privileged, genuinely, because it means we have established, over letters, a degree of trust that goes beyond prison walls. You have felt free to share these things when you are locked up inside. I think that is amazing. So, thank you!

This experience proved a difficult process for both researcher and participant. Upon reflection, the researcher was close to crossing an ethical borderline. The process highlighted our vulnerability as researchers and the difficulties we encounter in retaining emotional boundaries, as well as ethical ones. It denotes that despite the care and responsibility we take towards safeguarding participants, unintended harm can be caused. Nevertheless, from a research perspective, as a result of these exchanges very intimate, intricate and complex details of a prisoner's experience of isolation were illuminated. Without the depth of relationship established throughout the correspondence, it is doubtful whether the same result would have been achieved via other qualitative means.

As noted by Stamper (2020), in a study on criminal record holders’ experiences of gaining and maintaining employment in which letter-writing with prisoners was also adopted, ending the epistolary relationship may prove a challenge. This is because a close rapport over many months was built with participants and ending it required a degree of empathy, particularly when the correspondence evoked difficult emotions. When the project came to an end, all participants were sent a book as a ‘thank you’. ⁵ Additionally, the researcher is involved with a playwright and theatre director in the creation of a script for a play from the correspondence, the evolution of which participants have been kept abreast of. Therefore whilst the research has come to an end, participants are kept in the loop in relation to the development of the play.

The shortfalls of pen and paper

There are, however, inherent risks attached to embarking on a correspondence project. In many respects, from a methodological perspective, risks permeated the project from start to finish. There were risks relating to whether the advert would attract any participants, and, secondly, whether there would be a sufficient number of them. A further associated risk concerned the degree of engagement of participants. Initially, the project was envisaged to past 9 months. Would participants have engaged for that long? How would their level of interest be maintained when no incentive was offered to take part? ⁶ More questions arose related to risks concerning the quality of the data being collected. As explained further below, it was very positive of participants to have agency over their letters, but it equally brought uncertainty in relation to whether the amount of data gathered would have sufficed. The concerns raised by Bosworth et al. (2005) on doing prison research by mail were shared, in which they noted the ‘limited control a researcher has over the information he or she gathers’ demonstrating ‘just how dependent the researcher is on how the participants choose to respond’ (p. 252).

Recruitment took place from a wide sample of prisoners, with the only requirement for taking part being that of having experienced isolation, which in some form or other is likely in a prison environment. The self-selection element of the sample therefore, carried risks too. Prisoners come and go, and four shorter-term prisoners were released during the course of the project. Two stopped corresponding due to health reasons. One participated until May 2022 and then unexpectedly stopped for reasons unknown. Although remarkably all other participants took part until the very end, and some beyond, a small number were not as equally engaged. There are practical shortfalls too as letters do get lost in the post or misplaced. Over the course of the project some were lost in the post or misplaced within the university law department (as this was used as the mailing address), only to be eventually handed over some months (or years!) later.

Further, and unexpectedly, in December 2021 SSI 2021/446 was introduced by SPS, ⁷ involving the photocopying of all mail received by prisoners due to the risk posed by psychoactive substances being impregnated on paper. At first instance the potential impact of the SSI on the research had not been considered as prisoners continued to receive their mail, albeit photocopied. This quickly changed however when it became clear that that the stamped self-addressed envelopes (SAEs) included in the letters were also being photocopied, with a copy of the envelope being given to prisoners rather than the original. This simply could not have been foreseen at the outset, and it inevitably impacted on the project, causing delay. A number of participants for example, wrote daily waiting longer periods to post their letters to optimise on the use of a second class stamp they would have otherwise had to pay for. There are, therefore, some practical mishaps to be considered if one is to solely rely on correspondence as a means of data collection.

Finally, the question of prisoners’ literacy cannot be underestimated. An inherent difficulty with prisoners’ letters is the inevitability that they will most likely reach those who are most literate, creating a somewhat inevitable form of ‘self-selection’ (Burtt, 2020) which although undesirable is inescapable, particularly when it is widely known that prisoners show levels of literacy well below those in the general population. ⁸ As noted by Vannier (2020) in her own research, ‘letters bar illiterate prisoners from sharing their experiences’ (p. 255).

Whilst at a superficial level, it is hard to disagree with the above, there is a caveat to this argument. The assessment of prison (il)literacy levels is based on a comparison against the wider population and this, Armstrong (2016) observes ‘leads to a limiting and limited understanding of education’. As Galloway (2015, 2021) further argues on the limits of empowerment education and in support rather, of a process of emancipation, in which equality of identity in education is assumed at the outset, rather than inequality. Whilst some participants had some difficulties in writing, this did not bar them from communicating. Hence, notwithstanding suggested low levels of literacy in comparison to the wider population, prisoners in the cohort were able to communicate in writing for a sustained period and express themselves perfectly clearly. Counterintuitively, less fixation on punctuation and sentence structure may well have added a degree of spontaneity to the project that might have otherwise been lacking.

Situating the method

Letter-writing as a method of inquiry has been successfully adopted by different disciplines in different contexts. It has been used as a narrative inquiry practice in the field of education (Ciuffetelli Parker, 2010) as a powerful tool in professional growth in a longitudinal correspondence study over 4 years. Ciuffetelli Parker (2010) named the exchanges ‘literary narratives’, powerfully noting how ‘with each telling, living and re-telling of the stories, a new possibility arose’ (p. 1259). In a study on social isolation and poverty in rural communities, letter-writing was used in understanding the experience of a ‘layered isolation’, similarly to participants in the present study, ‘providing connection and rich data that enhanced our understanding of this community’ (Frank et al., 2022, 276).

There is somewhat limited scholarship however on letter-writing as a method of inquiry in the prison context (Bosworth et al., 2005; Burtt, 2020; Vannier, 2020; Maycock and Dickson, 2021; Maycock, 2022; Jardine, 2022). Significantly, most of it has arisen as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic because access to prisons was denied. There is hardly any analysis on prisoners’ letter-writing as catharsis (Concepcion, 2018; Burtt, 2020), and only Vannier (2020) addresses some of the ethical (beyond the practical elements of ‘ethics’) and emotional aspects of this particular field in the prison context.

In the present study, the method was chosen because of the limited choices available at the time. Research questions would normally inform the method of inquiry. However, in the circumstances of a worldwide pandemic, research access to prisons had been brought to a[n indefinite] halt. Whilst the initial focus of the research was meant to be that of segregative practices in Scottish prisons, due to the rapid spread of COVID-19 and the inability to undertake ethnographic fieldwork, the research topic was broadened to cover experiences of isolation more widely. As touched upon previously, the decision to widen the topic of research also came as a result of the impact of COVID-19 on prisoners both worldwide (Burki, 2020; de Carvalho 2020; WHO, 2020) and in the Scottish context (Maycock and Dickson, 2021; Morrison and Graham, 2022; Maycock, 2022), which meant that the original focus of the study, segregation, could no longer be researched in a vacuum but needed to reflect the reality of isolation in prisons during this time.

The option of letter-writing as a means of qualitative inquiry presented itself as a viable alternative also due to the researcher's previous experience as a prison lawyer in England and Wales during a period of approximately 15 years, in which the letter represented the main means of communication with her client group [prisoners]. Having had knowledge and experience of it in the professional context, however, did not necessarily imply it would successfully translate into an academic one.

As the researcher embarked on the project, she observed how during its entirety, she was never once located in the same physical space as that of her participants. From a qualitative and ethnographic point of view this could appear as yet another shortfall, as she was distant from participants and not in close proximity. Unexpectedly however, this proved to be one of its strengths. Being located outside the carceral space, meant the letter acted as a bridge between the prison and the world beyond (Shabazz, 2014; Nocente, 2021). In this context, the ability of participants to communicate with the outside world via a means which would exit the prison space juxtaposed the depth, weight and tightness of the prison realm (Crewe, 2011, 2021). As noted by Shabazz (2014), the prisoners’ epistolary journey became a ‘spatial act’ in which they could connect in a different space, thus reimagining ‘their relationship to the carceral world that holds them’ (p. 592).

Prisoners put themselves on paper, opening up sensitive and intimate realities of their lives in isolation. The power dynamics between researcher and participant therefore differed from other qualitative contexts and were more evenly distributed. The researcher did not enter the prison for a conversation, to then leave, but remained outside, but also inside their letters. The letters felt like a continuum, the pauses in between never broke this, because the anticipation and expectation of receipt remained very much alive between exchanges. Unlike Bosworth et al. (2005, 253), who considered that ‘delay between interactions can let emotions simmer and awkward written expression can be entirely misunderstood’, the delay allowed time for reflection and further clarification if needed on any of the difficult questions posed during the correspondence, as exemplified by the case of Rachel above.

Writing as cathartic storytelling

Catharsis remains a rather intangible concept, historically originating from Aristotle's Poetics in the context of tragedy, to be later adopted in psychoanalysis by Sigmund Freud. Scheff and Bushnell (1984) elaborated on the notion proposing a theory of catharsis involving the interaction of biological, psychological and social elements in the context of ‘coarse emotions’ (James, 1890), essentially grief, anger, fear and shame. Such emotions are likely to arise within research concerned with sensitive topics. In the present study, the topic of research (isolation) coupled with a hard-to-reach group (prisoners) and a method of inquiry which engaged participants deeply (letter-writing) resulted in a process of catharsis in a number of participants.

The notion of letter-writing being cathartic is not new. Back in 1896, Major James Osmond Nelson, the new governor of Reading Gaol, allowed Oscar Wilde as much writing material as he needed, as well as light into the dark hours, for his writing, and in particular for his long letter to Bosie, mentioned previously (Belford, 2000, 272). In the then governor's view, in Wilde's case letter-writing was adopted as a far more cathartic means of addressing his mental health needs than any form of physical labour he could endure.

Again, unlike Bosworth et al. (2005, 253), who found that ‘research by mail highlights the ambivalent nature of the ties between the researcher and the contributors’, participants in the study not only found ‘the goals of the research’ very clear but also, that they were not ‘unable to trust the researcher, because it is hard to open up to a stranger’. On the contrary, they opened up, even too much, resulting in emotional repercussions addressed further below.

The process of ‘opening up’ was, for the majority of participants, a cathartic one. Participation in the research positively absorbed them. There were a number of prisoners in particular for whom the correspondence had meaning well beyond the research. Matt, for example, found it ‘cathartic & freeing in some small way’. Phoebe noted, ‘Yes; writing IS a very cathartic process for me’ (emphasis in original).

Such a process is not immediate and requires time. In a methodologically equivalent project, albeit in the field of nursing, Kralik et al. (2000), used the correspondence method for a period of 12 months to research the effect of chronic illness on women of middle age. They found that although by its very nature, ‘writing distances us from lived experience’ it also, contemporaneously, enabled discovery of ‘the existential structures of the experience’ (p. 912). Similarly to the current study, the time, space and thought process involved in writing added a therapeutic element to it that provided participants with an ‘emotional safety zone’ (p. 915), within which they were able to reflect upon their experiences of isolation and transpose their thoughts on paper.

The letters project gave participants’ a stronger voice than perhaps anticipated, and ‘doing justice’ to their accounts became an imperative consideration of the research, through the adoption of a phenomenological approach. Kralik et al. (2000) identified in their own correspondence study how ‘[participants] themselves became the expert of their own phenomenological perspective’ (p. 913) [emphasis added]. In the current study, the letters led the researcher in a position of close proximity to participants’ own voices, making phenomenology the suitable instrument of choice.

Barry, a prisoner serving an OLR had spent most of his time in prison isolated in segregation units because of his violent and refractory behaviour. At the start of the exchanges his accounts felt dry, emotionless and void of any hope. As the project progressed, the changes in Barry were tangible. Half way through the exchanges he said he found our correspondence ‘very cathartic and helps me as I have never discussed my time in segregation with anyone not in any detail’. For a prisoner who had spent 8 years in custody most of which in segregation, it felt perturbing to read he had hardly spoken about his segregation with anyone throughout his time inside. He went on to say:

Thanks again though as I do learn a lot about myself from your questions. You can go years in here with the same routine and you never give much thought about any deep meaning to things so it's good to step away from the normal routine of sport, gym, work, box sets.

Poignantly, the writing helped Barry reflect on his use of violence, to the point that he now tries his ‘best to avoid’ it to ‘better’ himself. During the letter exchanges Barry reflected on his violent behaviour, noting how ‘he had got into a pattern of using serious violence without giving it a thought, it had become normal’.

Barry gave the cathartic element of letter-writing significant consideration throughout the project. He noted how he had been on a number of offender treatment programmes and that his ‘main concern is that often if not always, the prisoner is only doing the programme to tick a box’. He then observed:

Then they wonder why guys end up back inside or re-offend, doing the letters and sharing experiences I have gotten far more from than any group or programme I have been on or completed.

Barry found that in ‘the process of sharing experiences via letters’ it was ‘the action of writing it down’ that made it real. He went on to explain how:

The process of writing it down for me means I don’t minimise what I have done and on the other means I don’t minimise how it affected me. I don’t know the turning point in making the decision to change, I would say dozens of individual things all playing a part.

Similarly to Barry, Nathan noted how:

Engagement with your research, in combination with my personal psychological therapies and learning, has led to a significant shift for me. Given my sentence I can never “leave” the criminal justice system, so, instead I am going to endeavour to make some good from all the bad.

The cathartic process of writing is well-documented (Bolton, 1999; Berman, 2010; Nettle, 2010; Thompson, 2010; Jolly, 2011). ⁹ As it is in the re-telling of stories of trauma in the context of storytelling. As Kearney (2007) observed, ‘one of the most enduring functions of narrative is catharsis’ (p. 51). However, as pointed out earlier, there is limited specific scholarship focusing on prisoners’ letter-writing as catharsis. Concepcion (2018) is the only scholar identified who has considered the cathartic element of prisoners’ stories in some depth, exploring the notion of ‘emotional catharsis’ in a study on political prisoners’ autobiographies under Marco's martial law regime, in which prisoners felt empowered through their writing.

And yet it is through the writing of their own stories, as Barry described above, that a process of catharsis happens (Kearney, 2007, 2008). Towards the end of the project participants were offered £5 to cover postage costs incurred due to the repercussions of the introduction of SSI 2021/446. This was Jimmy's response:

I will sign off for now, but before I go I must address your very kind offer of transferring £5 into my prison account. Your project has enabled me to address a very negative period in my life, so much so that being a small part in your journey … has transformed my thoughts to a reassured positive nature. That in itself is more reward than I could ever have expected.

What participants gained from the project was an experience which allowed them space for their own thoughts, recognising their significance as both participants and human beings. As Rachel pointed out:

In the time that I’ve been writing to you, explaining some things to you, telling you about myself … it has given me a small feeling of worth. For the first time in a long time, despite being in this pit surrounded by fruitcakes and junkies, I feel like I’ve helped someone … I would like to thank you for making me feel like a human being. (emphasis added)

Prisoners lack agency in almost every aspect of their carceral existence. The opportunity to tell their story through letter-writing gave them agency in unexpected ways. In a prison context, this is a hugely empowering process. The questions posed did not require an answer there and then. Upon reading their letters, participants were faced with a number of potential choices which included inter alia, replying in part, in full, digressing into other areas or not replying at all. The same options are not readily available to the same degree when participant and researcher are face to face. As noted by Farrant (2014, 462), ‘it is through storytelling that we reach human understanding’, and that is exactly what participants wanted to do. They wanted to tell their stories and the letter provided them with the space and ability to do so.

In individuals who have experienced extensive trauma, storytelling can be a significantly powerful tool. Jensen (2019) observed how, in individuals suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), as were a number of participants in the study, new approaches to therapy involving storytelling:

enable sufferers to interpret the processes of their traumatized brains and produce a new, resilient mind-story: a story of hope. (p. 247)

Specifically, Jensen drew on research published by psychological experts in PTSD, who observed improvement in patients’ physical and mental well-being following participation in post-traumatic writing programmes where the expression of emotions associated with trauma was encouraged (Sloan et al., 2007: 156). Similarly, letter-writing has been used as a narrative therapy intervention (Tadros et al., 2024) and in clinical practice (Epston, 2009).

The above resonates with the story of Rachel, diagnosed with PTSD as a result of childhood trauma, specifically sexual abuse. What was clear from his accounts is that the trauma he suffered had never left him, and that throughout times of distress during his sentence, he has continued to re-live that trauma, repeatedly, time and time again. The poignancy of the re-experience of trauma in isolation is that it is re-lived as an infinite cycle of despair, because of the inescapability of one's own thoughts.

As Jensen (2019, 73) notes:

Uniquely in the case of posttraumatic stress disorder, one can not only recall a past event but also reexperience it fully in both mind and body. Flashbacks bring the past viscerally into today as if it were the present, as what is no longer surfaces as what is. [emphasis in original]

By telling his story, Rachel put his experiences of trauma on paper in a form of ‘posttraumatic storytelling’. Jensen described the latter as an experience which:

… broke down walls, communicated feelings, reached across words and phrases and forms to express something seemingly inexpressible. (p. 277)

The above echoes the thoughts and feelings Rachel so candidly shared on paper throughout the project. Rachel's isolated and isolating carceral existence is a direct cause of the difficulties he has experienced with his sexuality:

My problem in life, was/is communication with females. I lost many girlfriends as I was unable to communicate thoughts and feeling. I pushed people away for fear of being ridiculed due to my cross dressing and thoughts and feelings on becoming a woman. You allowed me to speak about it. You allowed me to tell you things being Rachel. I could be Rachel with you. I’ve never done that before. [emphasis added]

It is poignant that throughout his time in prison, Rachel has only ever been able to express himself as such with a researcher whom he had never previously met in person, via letter-writing.

Emotional implications

As noted by Vannier (2020):

Emotions are not peripheral to the production of knowledge, they are very much an integral, if not a constitutive, part thereof. (p. 260)

The emotional aspects intrinsic to prison research have been analysed by a number of scholars (Liebling, 1999, 2014; Jewkes, 2012, 2014), who have identified the significance of acknowledging emotions as part of the research process itself. Emotions are inherent to the research and have the potential of deepening the analysis ‘giving life, vividness, and luminosity to our writing’ (Jewkes, 2014, 387). Some of the most exemplary work in prison research has come as a result of some degree of emotional recognition (Sparks, 2002) and the need for emotional honesty in the field remains paramount.

Emotions enriched the project's epistolary research journey and undoubtedly brought depth to it. This did, however, come with a degree of emotional turmoil, which at times felt challenging to process. In fact, what was most unexpected from the project was the emotional upheaval experienced throughout it. Having engaged with prisoners’ letters as a solicitor for well over a decade, the researcher had, during the course of her professional experience, become numb to their contents. Perhaps this was because in that professional capacity a specific role was attached to the use of the law to achieve an end. In other words, emotions could be channelled into the law, as an avenue to resolve clients’ issues. Regardless of the end result, the process did not resuscitate any emotions because by then, they had already been channelled elsewhere.

As a researcher however, the process of channelling emotions is more difficult. As Jewkes (2012) noted ‘the researcher is inevitably faced with the problem of knowing what to do with these personal, intimate exchanges’ (p. 67). Over the course of a year, harrowing accounts of experiences of isolation were read. The weight and pain of those prison stories, therefore, is also borne by researchers themselves.

The emphasis, however, has generally rested on participant vulnerability as opposed to that of researchers (Dickson-Swift et al., 2008). Despite the author's status as a mature student with extensive experience of working with prisoners, exposure to Rachel's letters in particular and the epistolary relationship itself caused her a considerable degree of apprehension. It became clear as the study progressed that emotional work formed a constituent part of the correspondence. Recognising the ‘human cost’ (Hochschild, 1983) and vulnerability inherent to emotional labour was, at times, ‘confronting and uncomfortable to write and to read’ about (Emerald and Carpenter, 2015, 746). What also became clear is that as researchers we make sense of the world through our emotions (Game, 1997) and that this in turn creates ‘emotionally sensed knowledge’ (Hubbard et al. 2001), which forms an essential component of the research process.

As a researcher, reading prisoners’ own accounts on paper was qualitatively very different from hearing their stories had they been interviewed instead. Only one participant was met in person as part of a separate research study on segregation in Scotland (Ravalde and Russo, 2023). Throughout the time of the correspondence therefore, the physical appearance of participants was unknown, and they could only be identified by their unique handwriting. Reading their handwritten accounts gave a real, tangible sense of what isolation felt like for them. In her detailed account of solitary confinement at Pelican Bay, Reiter (2016) used letters as part of her toolbox of methods and made the following observation:

The handwriting – especially of prisoners in isolation – is often precise and compact, meticulously scratched out by someone with infinite time on his hands in a tiny space. And the whole thing always smells institutional – like a stale hospital room. (pp. 129–130)

In Wilson's (2000) view, prisoners’ letters possess what she names ‘paraliteracy features’, which she associates to the five senses, resonating with Reiter's ‘institutional smell’ but also acknowledging the physicality of letters and the ‘material value of the letter itself’ (p. 182). In her own epistolary research on experiences of detention, Perego (2016, 85) noted how letters symbolised a form of materiale umano – human(e) material – emphasising the physical significance of letters, especially so in the context of a carceral existence of few possessions.

Through the senses, the letter takes different forms, each evoking profound emotions in participant and researcher alike. The power of the letter in eliciting narratives of carceral reality is, therefore, to be exploited as a space for researchers to determine the more concealed facets of prisoners’ experiences if, as Sloan and Drake (2013) observed, ‘we are to achieve a more complete picture of the pressures and strains of prison life’ (p. 25).

Conclusion

There remains an urgent need to do prison research more creatively (Earle, 2014), as well as differently (Jewkes, 2012). Letter-writing has the potential to do just that, furthering opportunities to enrich our analysis of prison life through a different lens. Researchers should have more confidence in prison research via mail and exploit this means by integrating it with other methods to help complement findings. It is clear that in the present study qualitative research options were limited due to the spread of COVID-19 at the time. In ‘normal’ research circumstances (if such ever exist) complementing a correspondence-based method with in-person interviews would allow for a more comprehensive research approach. Although this article has focused on letter-writing, the importance of a shared physical human presence in interviews is something letters cannot replace.

Prisons are harmful places lumbered with pain (Liebling and Maruna, 2005; Haggerty and Bucerius, 2020; Crewe et al., 2022). When researching traumatic and sensitive topics, as those arising from incarceration, being aware that prisoners’ participation will result in beneficial outcomes (Vivienne, 2008) makes it a compelling argument to integrate letter-writing into prison research more widely. Exploring sensitive topics via mail allows more time for reflection and honesty, in an environment in which many prisoners may struggle to fit in and be themselves. As explored in this article, sensitive aspects of prison research may arise at different points in varying forms, be they ‘methodological, technical, ethical, political or legal’ (Lee, 1993, 1) and the letter represents a valuable means of exploring all of these in depth whilst at the same time allowing time and space for reflection. Equally, the emotions evoked in both participant and researcher through writing have the ability to deepen their relationship, thus relinquishing power dynamics that may otherwise be present in other settings.